Chapter 5: A Night of Broken Trust

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him finish the last dish and was about to repeat it, when Kabir stopped writing, hugged the notebook like a treasure, and gave me a small smile. Then, as if remembering something, he opened the notebook again and started writing something else.

He mouthed each word silently, tongue peeking out in concentration, the tip of his pen tapping gently on the page.

I glanced at the now densely written list and suddenly remembered—

As the male lead, Kabir wasn’t just fine; he was actually above average in intelligence.

This list of dishes should be a piece of cake for him.

In fact, knowing him, he’d probably memorise it and recite it back like some tabla player keeping perfect rhythm.

Thinking that, I relaxed. But just then, footsteps sounded at the corner of the second floor and Mum’s voice got closer.

Her chappals slapped against the marble, and the faint smell of Chandan talcum powder followed her into the corridor.

“Kabir, what are you doing at your sister’s door?”

Her voice was sharper than usual, cutting through the stillness.

At her voice, Kabir was startled. The pen in his hand slipped and hit the ground with a sharp "thunk."

The black pen rolled twice and stopped at my feet.

A moment of pure Indian filmi timing.

I crouched down to pick it up for him, but he bent down at the same time.

"Bang!"—our foreheads smacked together.

For a second, I thought I’d see stars like in those old Govinda movies.

I hissed in pain and landed on my bum.

The cold marble was unforgiving, and my pyjamas twisted uncomfortably. I rubbed my forehead, feeling a bump already forming.

Seeing this, Kabir panicked and instinctively tried to help me up, but from an outsider’s view, it looked like he’d pushed me down.

He stretched out his arm, then pulled it back, unsure if he was allowed to touch me.

At that moment, Mum had already hurried over.

She took in the scene, eyes darting between Kabir and me, her face clouding with worry.

I thought she’d side with Kabir, but to my surprise—

Mum hurriedly helped me up, patted the dust from my pyjama pants, and gently asked if I was hurt. Before I could answer, she turned to Kabir, her gaze a bit reproachful, her tone stern: “Kabir, Mummy’s spent so much effort on you. Your sister grew up with your dadi and finally came home—even if you don’t like her, how could you lay a hand on her?”

Mum’s voice quivered, and she rubbed her forehead, the way she did whenever the electricity bill came late. Her hand lingered protectively on my shoulder, her voice quivering just a bit with frustration and fatigue.

She instinctively assumed Kabir was afraid I’d steal the family’s affection now that I’d returned.

The unspoken 'log kya kahenge' hung in the air, thick as summer humidity.

At the doorway, Kabir looked like he wanted to explain. He shook his head, but Mum’s expression was so serious: “Apologise to your sister! You can speak—you’re not mute!”

Her voice rose, echoing down the hallway, as if the whole mohalla might be listening.

Hearing that, Kabir’s eyes dimmed. The more anxious he got, the less he could speak.

His lips trembled, and he pressed them tightly, fists clenched at his sides. I could see his chest rise and fall, breath coming in short bursts.

[Hmph, see? I told you this sister wasn’t a good person!]

[So scheming at such a young age—what a white lotus. I actually thought she’d changed. I must’ve been blind.]

[Looks like this is when Mum started trusting the supporting character more. Ugh, such a powerless feeling—like my fists can’t reach through the screen!]

The online world kept throwing their verdicts. But in that charged silence, I realised—one wrong move, and the story might swallow us both.