[chore or responsibility / it was a chore he didn’t want to do.]

The light flicked on in the room at the end of the hall, it was just visible
through the crack in her own door. She heard papers being moved, the filing
drawers sliding on their heavy rails, and then landing with a heavy but muted
boom.

She glanced at the clock, again, though she knew it had scarcely changed time
since the last time she’d looked.

3:16. 3:17, it changed as she watched it. She closed her eyes, willing sleep to
overtake her, but when she opened them again, she saw the clock flip to 3:18. 

Another muffled clunk as drawers were opened and shut. 

Meera got up and pulled her housecoat on and trod down the long hallway.

She stood just outside the door, peeking through the half-closed gap and
watching her sister meandering through the files and papers without any hurry.

She paused on one folder, and lifted it out of the stack, opening it and
starting midway through.

She couldn’t see what was in it, but it wasn’t as neat as papers, by the look.

More slow leafing through the contents, and she couldn’t just watch anymore.
She pushed the door gently, and her sister looked up, slightly surprised, but
then back at the folder and back up. 

“Look at this.”

She held out the folder.

A photograph slipped out, landing with a surprising amount of noise on the
floor. Sama bent to pick it up, and Meera could see the contents of the folder.
Photographs and old money, even some coins tucked in near the crack.

“Is that our mother?”

“Yeah! And there’s some of father, too. These are old! They’re our age!”

“Oh, and that’s Uncle Ram, in the army uniform there, too.”

“I haven’t wanted to even look in this room since. I had no idea Uncle Ram kept
anything like that.”