I vividly remember the summer I began college. It was a heady phase — independence, freedom, and, believe it or not, respect from my mother. I truly felt that I had arrived.

In the very first week, our class decided to mass bunk the last period and watch a movie instead. I don’t recall the movie name (for reasons that will become clear), but it was in Connaught Place, a major hangout in those days.

We had just settled in when I noticed my next-door neighbour Aunty in the same hall. As luck would have it, she was sitting right next to me.

Naturally, she asked if I didn’t have college that day. I explained, a little too eagerly, that we had a free period and decided to watch a film. I knew immediately she would tell my mother. And since she had a car while I had to take the bus, she would reach before me. I spent the next three hours worrying more about my mother’s reaction than the film.

By the time I climbed the stairs at home, my heart was heavy. Her expression confirmed it — she already knew.

I confessed everything. Then she asked me a question that stopped me in my tracks: Would you have told me about this if Aunty hadn’t seen you there? After some thought, I admitted that I probably wouldn’t have.

That’s when she told me something that has stayed with me forever. With freedom comes responsibility. Now that I was on my own, she needed to trust me to always do the right thing. She didn’t expect me to confide in her about everything, but she expected me never to lie or insult her intelligence. “I will always know the truth,” she said.

It was a reset. That day, something shifted in our relationship — we were no longer just parent and child. We were two adults navigating trust, truth, and responsibility.