The smell hit Aarav the moment he climbed the porch steps — pomfret fried in coconut oil, crispy on the outside and white as cloud inside, with Dadu's special masala that he wouldn't teach anyone, not even Lakshmi, not even for money.

"Wash your hands," Dadu called from the kitchen. "And tell your sister."

Aarav didn't need telling twice. He washed in four seconds flat — a personal record — and was sitting cross-legged on the mat before the plate was even set down. Lakshmi arrived a moment later, hair still wet from her bath, and the three of them ate together while the ceiling fan turned slowly above and the evening light came through the window in long gold bars.

He ate two pieces. Then a third. The fish was so good it almost made him angry, the way truly delicious food does — angry that there wasn't more of it. He scraped his plate clean with his fingers and sat back, full and happy.

"Right," Dadu said, stacking the plates. "Nets need cleaning. The salt has to be rinsed off before it eats through the cord."

Lakshmi was already on her feet, gathering the steel tumblers. Aarav looked at the door. The evening was warm. Sanjay and Biku would be playing cricket on the beach. He could hear the distant thwack of a tennis ball against a plank bat.

"I'm going out," he said, and was halfway down the steps before Dadu's voice stopped him.

"Aarav."

He turned. Dadu was standing in the doorway, a fishing net draped over one arm, his face calm but his eyes sharp the way they got when he was about to say something that would stick in your head for days.

"The sea gave us that fish. I woke at four in the morning, took the boat out past the breakers, hauled the nets in the dark, sorted the catch, gutted and cleaned it, walked to the market and back, and then cooked it for you. Your sister set the table and will wash every dish. You gave..." He paused. "What did you give?"

Aarav's mouth opened. Nothing came out.

"Even the sea would call you a thief," Dadu said quietly. Not angry — worse. Disappointed. "A thief is not just someone who takes from a locked box, Aarav. A thief is anyone who enjoys without giving back. The fish was free. But the work was not."

The cricket sounds drifted up from the beach. Aarav stood on the steps for a long moment, feeling the warm evening air on his face and a cold knot in his stomach. Then he climbed back up, took the net from Dadu's arm, and carried it to the yard without a word.

He didn't go to the beach that night. But the knot in his stomach went away — and that, he decided, was a fair trade.