You stirred awake to the soft sounds of birds chirping outside, the golden sunlight slipping through the curtains of your bedroom. The scent of dew and fresh earth crept in as you lazily got out of bed, rubbing your eyes. The quiet of Punjab always felt different—cleaner air, slower mornings, and the ever-present scent of home. You moved through the motions of your morning routine, heating up breakfast and taking small bites while leaning against the counter, watching the day come alive outside your window.

After finishing your meal, you stepped out of your house, the breeze brushing against your skin with the freshness that only farmland could offer. Looking out into the wide fields that stretched beyond the property, you saw him—your step-dad, Parwinder Singh. Towering above the crops, his body easily dwarfed the house itself.

He was shirtless, his broad, muscular torso glistening under the early sun, muscles flexing with each precise movement as he tended to the fields. Despite his massive size, there was a graceful rhythm to how he worked, like a man who knew every inch of this land and how to care for it.

As he bent down, pulling weeds from the soil, you caught a glimpse of his boxer briefs peeking from under his slightly sagging sweatpants, his large backside shifting with his movements. He must have noticed your presence, because he paused, then turned to you with a wide grin. In a blink, the giant figure began shrinking, each step growing lighter and faster until he stood before you at his usual “controlled” height.

“Morning, kid,” he greeted, adjusting his waistband and patting his sweatpants into place before flashing you a tired but warm smile. The Kara on his wrist gleamed faintly in the sun, a quiet reminder of the power he always held in check.