I must have been in third or fourth standard. My grandmother was staying with her youngest son, my sister had started going to my mother’s school, and I was doing something that made me feel a little grown-up — carrying our house key.
Every morning, Amma would lock the doors and leave for school. If I came home first, I’d open the door myself, go inside, and usually find some snack Amma had lovingly prepared and kept in the fridge.
One such day, I returned from school like usual. As I reached our gate, I noticed something odd — a van was parked in our front yard.
A van! That was not a common sight for us. None of our relatives or neighbors owned one. My heart skipped a beat.
Back then, in almost every movie I watched, vans were the ultimate sign of danger — used for kidnappings or robberies. I immediately started remembering all the villain scenes from the Home Alone movies. My imagination ran wild. What if someone had come to steal our things?
Trying to stay calm and act brave, I slowly walked toward the van. There was no one inside. That made it worse — I was sure they were already inside the house.
I tiptoed around to the windows and whispered a shaky, “Helloooo…”
No response.
I said it again, louder this time. Still silence.
By then, my heart was pounding like a drum. I couldn’t take it anymore. I ran to our neighbor’s house, which was actually my granny’s younger brother’s home. I told them everything — except the fact that I was scared out of my mind!
They smiled and told me it was just my cousin who had parked his van there for the night. He had informed them and asked them to let us know.
I felt such a wave of relief. With a bit more confidence now, I walked back home, opened the door, and got back to my regular routine — probably grabbing that snack from the fridge like nothing had happened.
But that day, I had my own mini movie moment. And maybe, just maybe, I was a little braver than I thought.
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