Chapter 2: Challenging the Rules

Uncle Ramesh’s smile was polite but distant. “I’m taking young master to the punishment room. He broke sir’s rule—he must learn his lesson.”

“He’s only seven.”

“Madam, these are Arora family rules. You’ll get used to it.”

I stared, jaw set. “Put him down.”

Uncle Ramesh’s look was layered with meaning. “Madam, sir set these rules. Wait for him to return and discuss it. If sir gets angry, we can’t explain.”

“Put him down, or pack your bags and leave.”

Uncle Ramesh’s lips twitched. “We’ve served the Arora family twenty years, madam. These rules have been here longer than you. Win sir’s favour first, then change things.” He swaggered off, Kabir in tow, ignoring the boy’s struggles.

The air in the hallway was thick with the scent of incense from morning puja, now fading, and old money. The ancestral portraits seemed to judge me as I followed them to the punishment room.

The room was small, dark, windowless. The air was so thick, it smelled of old naphthalene balls and damp cement, the kind that clings to your skin in the monsoon. Uncle Ramesh locked Kabir inside; I squeezed in too. Annoyed, he sneered, then slammed the door.

Inside, I switched on my phone torch. Kabir had been crying, but stopped when he saw me.

I reached out, ruffling his hair the way my own nani used to when I was upset. He shook me off. I tried again—he shook me off again.

I whispered, “Can you let me hold your hand? It’s so dark, I’m scared.”

Kabir didn’t reply. This time, when I reached for his hand, he let me, but turned away, refusing to look at me.

“Why did you come in here with me?”

“I was worried about you.”

“You’re lying. I’m a bad kid, no one likes me.”

“Who said that? I like you. On my first day, none of the staff spoke to me—only you did, helped me find clothes. I’ve never seen a kinder child.”

“But... I’m picky, I smashed the katori, I curse and hit people.”

His voice was soft, searching for approval.

My heart twisted. How much blame had he endured, to think so little of himself?

“I’m picky too. Everyone is. Adults just cook what they like and call kids picky because they can’t shop or cook. It’s unfair. If I was treated like this, I’d smash bowls too. What you did shows you have spirit—you don’t give in easily. I like you so much.”

“R...really? Adults are picky too?”

“Of course! I can’t stand karela. Have you seen Aunty Radha or Uncle Ramesh eat everything? If something never shows up, it’s because they don’t like it.”

I opened BigBasket’s veggie section for him. His small finger scrolled, eyes lighting up. “Karela never appears. Nor tinda.”

I grinned. “When we get out, we’ll make them eat karela every day.”

“Okay!” He perked up, leaning in. I smoothed his hair gently. He froze, then turned his head, a little shy.

Suddenly he whispered, “But yesterday you said I was that kind of child. Am I bad?”

Heh. You remembered that, little rascal.

I smiled. “Of course not. Only kids who do something wrong get called by their full name. You didn’t do anything wrong—so you’re Kabi.”

Kabir’s lips curled up, then he tried to hide it. “My mum called me Kabi.”

“Okay, Kabi. My name is Meera. Call me Meera-didi or Meera-aunty.”

We sat for a while. The air was stifling, the silence heavy. I couldn’t imagine how many times Kabir had been locked in here.

Anyone who does this to a seven-year-old is a monster.

Holding back my anger, I called Arjun. No answer. Called again—busy tone.

Had Arjun blocked me?

Kabir let out a bitter laugh. “It’s useless. Mum couldn’t reach him either. Even when she was sick, he wouldn’t answer.”

In the darkness, Kabir’s profile looked even smaller, like he might vanish if left alone too long. My heart thudded like when the electricity suddenly goes off at night.