Uththan

Trigger Warning / Disclaimer

This story contains themes of parental anxiety, child safety, and a potentially distressing situation involving trust and strangers. 

Reader discretion is advised. If you find such themes triggering, please proceed with caution. 

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The morning sun had barely stretched its arms when Meera stood by the gas stove, absently stirring the dal. The steam fogged her glasses, and a familiar ache throbbed between her brows. She had slept late again—balancing office reports after making Kavya memorize her science chapter twice. Her daughter had a class test today, and Meera knew how anxious she got before exams. She could see it in how Kavya bit her nails last night, or how she checked the alarm clock three times before sleeping.

The pressure cooker whistled, snapping her back. She glanced at the wall clock. 7:35 AM.

“Kavya! Come fast! Your van will be here any minute!”

From the bedroom came a muffled response. “Coming, Maa!”

Moments later, Kavya shuffled in, her two tight braids bouncing. Her eyes were slightly puffy—too much reading last night.

Meera knelt down and fixed the pleats of her skirt. “I packed you methi parathas today. And a mini chocolate. For courage.”

Kavya gave a tired smile. “You always say chocolate makes me brave.”

Meera touched her chin. “Because it does. You just don’t believe it yet.”

As they waited outside the gate, Kavya recited answers under her breath while Meera paced beside her.

The van was late.

Meera looked down the lane again. No familiar yellow van. Her heart began to thump unevenly. She called the driver, but the line went unanswered. A knot formed in her stomach, an irrational sense of unease she tried to brush off.

7:42.

A white Swift car passed, then reversed and parked under the gulmohar tree across the road. A man stepped out, adjusting his tie, holding a tiffin bag and a laptop. He locked the car and headed toward the corner tea stall.

Meera’s eyes followed him.

She hesitated. Her phone trembled in her hand.

Then—before she could second guess—she stepped across the road, Kavya trailing behind her.

“Excuse me,” she said to the man.

He turned, eyebrows raised.

“I—I know this is strange,” she stammered. “But my daughter’s school van hasn’t come, and she has an important exam. Your car… are you going toward East Garden School Road by any chance?”

He looked surprised. “Actually, yes. I work in TechLeaf—it’s just two minutes from there.”

Meera’s voice grew smaller. “Could you please… drop her off? I wouldn’t ask, but—”

The man glanced at Kavya, then back at Meera. “She can sit at the back,” he said. “Windows open. And if you want, call me when she arrives. I’ll give you my number.”

Meera’s heart pounded. Her gut twisted. But she nodded.

“Beta, sit at the back,” she said, voice tight. “Keep your phone on.”

Kavya’s fingers gripped her mother’s arm. “Maa… are you sure?”

Meera crouched, her voice low. “You’ll reach it in ten minutes. You can call me once you’re there. He looks safe.”

And yet, even as she said it, a voice in her head screamed—You don’t know him. What if you’re wrong?

But she silenced it.

Inside the house, the silence was sharp. Meera picked up the tea cup but put it down untouched. Her eyes drifted to the clock. 7:57 AM. Kavya’s school was ten minutes away. She should’ve reached by now.

Something pulled her chest tight.

Meera dialed her friend Rashmi whose daughter went to the same school. “The van broke down today,” Rashmi informed her. “I just dropped Rhea myself.”

That was it.

Meera’s hand began to tremble. “Rashmi… I sent Kavya with a man. I didn’t know him. He offered help. And I said yes.”

There was silence.

“You what?” Rashmi’s voice was sharp.

“I don’t know what I was thinking. I just—I panicked. She had a test—”

“Meera,” Rashmi said softly, “call the school. Now.”

“Can you check if Kavya Sharma from Grade 5A has reached?”

There was a pause, then some muffled discussion. The receptionist came back on line. “No, ma’am. She hasn’t checked in yet.”

Meera’s heart dropped. “She left twenty minutes ago. I—I sent her with someone who offered to drop her.”

“Who, ma’am?”

“I… I don’t know his name. Just a man in a white car. Said he was heading in the same direction.”

There was a pause. “We’ll check with security. Please try not to panic.”

Meera sat on the edge of the sofa, her hands trembling. The walls of the house suddenly felt like they were closing in on her. Why didn’t I go with her? Why didn’t I wait a little longer? What was I thinking?

8:01. No call.

8:04. Still nothing.

She called Kavya. No response.

Her hands trembled as she dialed again. And again.

Her phone finally again. This time it was Kavya’s teacher, Ms. Ananya. “Ma’am, we’ve checked. Kavya hasn’t reached yet. Are you absolutely sure about this person?”

Meera’s voice cracked. “No! I don’t know him. I didn’t think. I just—she had a test—I panicked.”

She ended the call and stood frozen in the living room, guilt crashing over her like waves. Her mind went to every horror story she’d ever read. A stranger. A missed van. Her daughter is alone in a car.

Meanwhile, Kavya sat in the back seat of the car, eyes locked on the road. She’d noticed they weren’t taking the usual route.

“Uncle,” she said, voice careful, “school is the other way.”

“I know, beta,” the man replied casually. “I just need to ask for directions. Don’t worry.”

Kavya’s grip tightened on her bag. The car turned into a narrow lane lined with shuttered shops. Her heart thudded. The door lock was down, but not child-locked. She stayed alert, fingers inching toward it.

At a paan shop, the man pulled over to ask something. Kavya quickly tested the handle. Unlocked.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t run. She just stayed alert and quiet, watching the road, looking for a chance.

The man had driven silently. Kavya sat straight, her eyes on the window, backpack on her lap. He hadn’t asked her anything, hadn’t even looked at her in the rearview mirror.

The car eventually looped back to a more familiar path. When the school gate appeared, Kavya let out a breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding.

When they reached the school gate, he simply said, “All the best.”

Kavya mumbled a thank you and got out.

The moment the car stopped, she got out without saying another word and hurried toward the building. Ms. Ananya met her at the entrance, visibly shaken.

“Kavya! Are you alright?”

“I’m okay,” she said quietly. “He just got lost.”

“Did he say anything? Touch you?”

“No,” Kavya replied. “Just… wrong turns.”

Back at home, Meera sat frozen on the floor when her phone rang again. It was the teacher.

“She’s safe,” Ms. Ananya said gently. “She just walked in.”

The relief hit Meera so hard she burst into tears. “Thank you,” she whispered over and over.

Meera leaned against the wall and slid to the floor.

Relief washed over her like a wave. But so did something else.

Shame.

—

Meera couldn’t stop replaying it. The walk across the street. The way she had asked. The way she had chosen to risk it.

She sat beside Kavya on the bed that evening. Her daughter was eating chocolate and humming quietly.

“Kavya,” Meera said softly. “Can we talk?”

Kavya looked up.

“I shouldn’t have done what I did this morning,” Meera said. “I panicked. I felt so helpless and afraid that I made a choice I wouldn’t usually make.”

“But I got there safely.”

“You did. And I’m so grateful. But I don’t want to teach you that getting somewhere on time is more important than being safe. It never is. Not ever.”

Kavya stared at her mother, thoughtful.

“I was scared too,” she admitted. “But I saw your face. You looked more scared than me.”

Meera smiled weakly. “Because I knew the voice in my head was warning me. And I still ignored it.”

They sat in silence for a while.

Then Kavya said, “Next time, even if the van doesn’t come, just tell school I missed the test.”

“I will,” Meera said, pulling her into a hug. “And I’ll tell them proudly.”

—

One Week Later

The school van was late again.

Meera stood at the gate, holding Kavya’s hand.

This time, she didn’t move. She didn’t scan the road. She didn’t rush.

She pulled out her phone and texted the class teacher: “Van delayed. Kavya might miss first period. Apologies.”

Then she looked at her daughter.

“Want to go back inside and make a second breakfast?”

Kavya’s eyes lit up. “With cheese?”

Meera grinned. “And coriander.”

—

It’s not always about the mistakes that end badly. Sometimes, it’s about the ones that didn’t—but easily could have. They leave a mark too. A quiet bruise beneath the skin of your memory.

That morning, Meera didn’t just break a rule. She broke her own belief in what it meant to protect her child.

And in doing so, she rebuilt it—wiser, slower, and a little more fearless.

Because fear isn’t what you feel when danger is near.

It’s what you ignore when it tries to tell you the truth.

—

The End