**Misty Hill House, Do Not Sell**

Shillong ki subah waise hi thodi cinematic hoti hai—grey mist, wet pine smell, aur door kahin church bell ki halki si awaaz. Lisha ko college jaane se pehle hamesha lagta tha jaise poora town abhi bhi sleep mode mein ho, bas chai ki steam aur scooter ke engine ka sound sabse pehle jagte hain. Rina ko toh subah bhi reel-worthy lagti thi, aur woh har dusre din verandah pe khadi hoke bolti, “Yaar, is light mein toh even old walls look expensive.”

Dadi ke hill-house mein un dono sisters ka weekend ritual pakka tha. College ke baad ya event volunteer ka kaam khatam karke seedha wahan. Creaky wooden floors, old trunk boxes, faded family photos, aur kitchen se aati ginger-tea ki smell—sab kuch itna familiar tha ki dono ko lagta tha jaise ghar nahi, ek memory chal rahi ho. Dadi verandah ki rocking chair pe baith ke unki bakwaas sunti, kabhi kabhi sirf smile karti, aur kabhi ek aadha sentence bolke pura scene samjha deti.

“Yeh ghar old-school hai,” Lisha aksar bolti. “Kuch na kuch kar lenge, Dadi.”

Rina uske opposite hoti. “Haan yaar, isko aesthetic ka thoda upgrade chahiye. Bas vibe preserve karni hai.”

Dadi bas halki si hansi deti aur kehti, “Tum log bas chai piyo. Ghar apne aap sambhal jaayega.”

Par ghar apne aap sambhal nahi raha tha. Roof mein ek jagah leak thi, backyard ki wooden railing kharab ho chuki thi, aur monsoon aate hi kitchen ke paas wali wall se damp smell uthne lagti thi. Sabko pata tha ki maintenance costly hai. Sabko pata tha ki easy solution kya hai. Bas koi bolna nahi chahta tha.

Woh Sunday family meeting mein baat finally nikal hi aayi.

Rakesh, jo city mein job karta tha aur hamesha numbers ke saath baat karta tha, dining table pe file khol ke baitha tha. “Main seedha bol raha hoon,” usne kaha, “is house ka maintenance ab sustainable nahi hai. Tax alag, repairs alag, aur income practically zero. Better hai bech dete hain. Jo bhi value mile, usse Dadi ke liye aur family ke kaam aa jayega.”

Room mein ek second ke liye silence aa gayi.

Lisha ne apni chai ka cup dheere se rakha. Rina ka face seedha freeze ho gaya, jaise kisi ne uski favorite playlist achanak stop kar di ho.

“Bech dete hain?” Rina ka voice thoda high ho gaya. “Seriously, Mama? Yeh koi old sofa hai kya jo replace kar doge?”

Rakesh ne thoda impatient hoke kaha, “Emotion samajh raha hoon, but bill emotion se pay nahi hote. Roof leak hai, plumbing weak hai, aur koi long-term plan bhi nahi. Main practical baat kar raha hoon.”

Lisha ne deep breath li. Uska dimag hamesha pehle solution dhoondta tha, phir feeling process karta tha. “Okay, but sell karna last option hona chahiye. Hum kuch aur kar sakte hain.”

“Like what?” Rakesh asked.

Rina almost jumped in. “Homestay. Obvious. Hill-house hai, heritage feel hai, tourists love this stuff.”

Rakesh ne usko dekha, phir ek dry laugh diya. “Tumhari generation ko har cheez mein homestay aur café hi kyun dikhta hai? Yeh business hai, mood board nahi.”

Rina ka face aur red ho gaya. “Aap log bas har idea ko dismiss kar dete ho.”

Dadi, jo ab tak chup thi, bas boli, “Jo sahi lage, woh karo. Mujhe koi problem nahi.”

Bas itna sunna tha ki Lisha ke andar kuch aur toot gaya. Dadi ke tone mein complaint nahi thi, par us silence mein itna weight tha ki laga jaise woh already decision accept kar chuki hain. Rina ne bhi wahi suna, bas usne alag meaning nikaala—jaise family Dadi ko side pe kar ke house ko asset samajh rahi ho.

Us raat dono sisters verandah pe baithi rahi. Mist neeche valley mein utar aayi thi aur pine trees ke beech se streetlight ka glow dhundla lag raha tha.

“Main bol rahi hoon, unko bas paise ki padi hai,” Rina ne gusse mein kaha. “This is literally our childhood. Kaise sell kar sakte hain?”

Lisha ne shrug kiya, but uska voice unusually low tha. “Maybe Dadi khud bhi tired hain. Har baar maintenance, repairs, sab unke liye burden hoga. She’s saying ‘sell it’ because she doesn’t want to be a problem.”

Rina uski taraf ghoor ke boli, “And you’re okay with that?”

“Main okay nahi hoon,” Lisha ne slowly bola. “Main bas… soch rahi hoon ki Dadi ko force bhi nahi kar sakte.”

Rina ka frustration aur badh gaya. “Tum hamesha aise bolti ho jaise sab kuch spreadsheet se solve ho jayega.”

Aur Lisha, jo usually composed rehti thi, us din thodi sharp ho gayi. “Aur tum hamesha aise react karti ho jaise loud hona hi care karna hota hai.”

Bas. Dono ke beech woh line aa gayi jo usually family mein log bolte nahi, par feel zaroor karte hain. Rina ne uth ke andar chali gayi. Lisha verandah mein hi reh gayi, aur uske dimag mein ek hi thought baar-baar aa raha tha—agar house sell hua, toh Dadi ka place, unki identity, unka anchor sab chala jayega.

Next morning, Lisha ko Dadi ke room mein old cupboard ka bottom drawer khula mila. Dadi shayad kisi kaam se bahar gayi thi. Drawer ke andar ek purani notebook thi, jiska cover faded blue tha. Lisha ne curiosity mein khol liya. Pehle page pe neat handwriting mein likha tha: “House upkeep ideas.”

Uske baad jo pages mile, unmein small sketches the—guest room ka layout, old furniture repair ka note, local food menu ideas, monsoon drainage ke liye suggestions, aur ek line jo Lisha ko seedha chubh gayi: “Ghar ko kaise zinda rakha jaaye.”

Woh notebook dekh ke Lisha ka throat tight ho gaya.

Rina ko bulaaya gaya. Woh notebook dekh ke pehle silent rahi, phir usne page ulta-pulta, aur uski aankhon mein usual drama ke saath ek real sadness aa gayi. “Dadi ne yeh sab likha tha?”

Lisha ne nod kiya. “She wasn’t giving up. She was… preparing.”