They froze when I entered. I didn’t yell. I didn’t even set down my bag. I just stood there, keys digging into my palm, listening to the roar in my ears. Aarav tried to fill the silence: “They were just helping organize—” but I looked right through him. That night, I didn’t sleep—not from fear, but from a fury so bright it lit up the dark.
I should have seen it sooner. Priya and Rajan hadn’t just contributed to the house—they came with it, like a very hands-on home warranty. They rearranged my kitchen “for better flow,” brought curtains they “knew would look nicer,” and installed a security system without asking, complete with a lecture on how “families look out for each other.” They dropped off groceries and restocked my fridge like pantry managers. When I asked for notice next time, Priya would smile and say, “You’re welcome.” Aarav insisted they meant well. I tried to believe him.
