Maya had not turned a page in Eleven minutes. Her eyes moved across the same paragraph — the rise of some forgotten empire, the fall of some forgotten king.
The morning light had shifted across the floor, lengthening slowly. The mirror rippled, not the mirror on the wall. The one inside her.
Maya. She did not look up. Maya. Maya. Maya.
"I heard you the first time."
Then why didn't you answer?
"Because I was reading."
You haven't turned a page in eleven minutes, you have been staring at the same paragraph. What was it about? Do you even know?
Maya said nothing.
No, you don't because you weren't reading. You were thinking. And you don't like what you're thinking. Am I wrong?
"No, you're not wrong."
I know I'm not wrong. I'm never wrong. That's what makes me so irritating.
Maya closed her eyes for exactly one second.
There are five gifts on that table and you haven't opened a single one. They've been sitting there all morning, watching you read the same page, and you haven't even looked at them properly.
"They're not going anywhere."
No. But you are. You're going to sit here all day and pretend they don't exist and then tomorrow you'll pretend they don't exist and the day after that —
"Yama."
Open them.
"No."
Open them.
"I said no."
Maya set the documentary down on the arm of the chair. She folded her hands in her lap. "Why do you care?"
Because I'm bored.
"That's not why."
It's part of why.
"That's not all of why."
Yama was quiet for a moment. When she spoke again, No, it's not all of why.
I want to see what's in them. I want to see what they thought you were worth. I want to see which brother spent money and which brother spent time, and which brother spent effort.
Maya said nothing.
And I want to see your face when you open them.
Then, slowly —Maya rose from the armchair. She crossed the room and stopped beside the small table where the five gifts sat in a neat row.
She reached out and picked up the one wrapped in plain, unmarked paper. It was a small box. Just paper and string.
That one's Fahim's, Yama said and there was something almost like admiration in her voice. I can tell. It's the ugliest wrapping here. He didn't even try.
Maya untied the string. Inside was a pair of gloves. Not the kind she wore now.
These were different. Custom-made. The color of deep charcoal. The fingertips were open just barely, just enough to allow sensation.
And tucked into the fold of the left glove was a small, handwritten card. She picked it up, the handwriting was neat, The card read:
Welcome to the Sunayana family, little sister.
Maya looked at the card for a long time, her expression did not change.
Nothing? Yama said and her voice had lost its lazy curl. It was sharper now.
Nothing at all? Your brother — your brother — spent his own time and his own money and his own thoughts, on making you something that would help you.
Something that would let you stop wearing those awful gloves. And you have no reaction? You look at it the way you look at a wall?
Maya lowered the card.
You should be happy. You should be, I don't know what you should be something, anything. That's what normal people do.
Maya's fingers closed slowly around the card.
"Too late. Everything is too late now. I'm not a child anymore. I stopped waiting for people to give me things. "
She looked down at the gloves in her other hand.
"I don't need gifts. I don't need people to be kind to me. I learned a long time ago that kindness is just another way of keeping score."
That's not fair —
"Fair is a word for people who had someone to be fair to them. I didn't."
She set the gloves back in the box, the card back on top of the gloves, closed the lid and smoothed the paper flat.
Maya, wait —
"No." She picked up the box and crossed the room, opened the tall wardrobe and placed the box on the top shelf, beside the few things she had brought with her from the village.
Aligned them with the edges, closed the wardrobe doors, and turned away.
Yama's voice, when it came, was very quiet.
You didn't even open the rest.
"No."
Why?
Maya returned to her armchair and picked up the documentary. "Because it doesn't matter what's inside."
Yama was silent for a long moment.
You are. You're afraid that if you let them in — if you let any of them in, you'll lose them. So you'd rather have nothing than have something and lose it.
Maya's hand, resting on the page, stopped. "You are wrong. I'm not afraid of losing them. I'm afraid of what happens if I don't."
Maya had just closed the documentary when the knock came, soft, hesitant, "Miss Maya?" Maya's gaze moved toward the door. "...Come in."
The door opened and Anjali stepped inside,"Miss Naya is asking for you, she is in the side hall."
Maya closed the book fully and set it on the arm of the chair. "Alright. Let's go."
She rose without hurry. She smoothed the front of her simple dark shirt, adjusted the position of her glasses on her nose and walked toward the door.
Anjali stepped aside to let her pass, then fell into step a half-beat behind her. They walked through the corridors in silence.
The morning light had shifted — the harsh gold of early hours giving way to the softer white of mid-morning. It spilled through the tall windows.
Maya's footsteps made almost no sound, her eyes moved.
Left — the family sitting room, its double . Empty.
Ahead — the grand staircase, its curve gleaming under the chandelier. Empty. The east corridor. Empty.
She slowed, enough that Anjali, walking behind her, almost bumped into her and had to catch herself. "Where is everyone?"
"They have gone out, Miss. Mr. Fahad had a call with the Singapore branch — something about quarterly projections. Mr. Fahim had a meeting at the hospital.
Mr. Fahan went back to the engineering lab and Mr. Faha had a rehearsal at the studio. Mr. Fahish went with him — he said he wanted to sketch the set designs."
Maya nodded once, "Oh i see."
Ohhhh....Oh, this is beautiful. Look at you, you noticed. Yama's voice uncoiled through her thoughts.
"I noticed nothing."
You noticed before you even asked the question. You slowed down. You counted the corridors. You looked for them.
"Yama."
You noticed before you even asked the question. Don't you??
"Sleep."
What?
"Sleep. You're tired, you've been talking for twenty minutes."
I have been making valid observations for twenty minutes. There is a difference.
"You're exhausting me. So, please sleep."
No.
"Yama."
No. I'm not sleeping. I'm not even slightly sleepy. I'm wide awake. I'm more awake than I've been in weeks. Do you know why?
"I don't care."
Because something is happening. Something is finally happening and I am not going to miss this, I am not going to sleep through this, I am going to stay right here and watch every single second of —
"Sleep."
No.
"Sleep."
Yama was leaning against the wall of her mind with her arms crossed, red hair spilling over her shoulders. You can't make me sleep.
"I can."
You can't. You've never been able to.
"I have."
Once. Two years ago. And you had to bore me into it. You talked about the history of paper for three hours.
"It worked."
It was torture.
"But, It worked."
Yama stared at her. You're not even looking at me. "I don't need to look at you to know you're being difficult. So, sleep."
Maya, I swear —
"Sleep."
— if you say that word one more time —
"Sleep."
— I will —
"Sleep."
— fine....fine. I'll sleep but only because you're boring me.
"Good."
Don't 'good' me. This is not a victory.
"It's a victory."
It's a ceasefire.
"Same thing."
— fine. Fine. I'm going. I'm going. But I want you to know that I am going under protest. And I want you to know that I will remember this.
"I know."
— ugh. The voice faded like a fire being banked for the night. Goodnight, Maya.
Anjali stopped before a wide door and pushed it open. "They are inside, Miss."
"Thank you, Anjali." The maid bowed her head and Maya stepped through.
The side hall was smaller than the main reception room, the late morning light fell through a row of windows along the eastern wall, spilling across the polished floor in long golden panels.
The room smelled faintly of jasmine and vanilla, perhaps or warm milk.
A low wooden table sat at the center of the room, surrounded by wide, cushioned sofas. Spread across the table were plates of cake —
Dark chocolate, pale sponge with cream, a small dish of pastries that glistened faintly under the light. A porcelain teapot rested in the middle, steam curling gently from its spout.
Ohi sat on one end of the sofa, one leg crossed over the other, a small plate balanced on his knee. He was scrolling.
Naya occupied the center of the sofa, she had changed into, something softer since breakfast, a pale rose blouse, a thin gold bracelet circling her wrist.
Nahi sat sprawled on the opposite end, one leg drawn up onto the cushion, a notebook open against his knee. His pen moved in impatient strokes.
Naya looked up first, her face softened into a smile, "Maya. Come here. Sit."
Maya crossed the room and stopped beside the sofa. Her eyes moved across the arrangement.
She nodded once. Then chose the far end of the sofa, the corner closest to the window. Her back was to the light.
Naya did not comment on the choice. She simply reached for the teapot and poured a fresh cup.
"Would you like some tea?"
"Yes, thank you. Miss Naya."
Maya's eyes drifted toward Nahi. He was looking at the notebook on his knee, his pen moving in short, impatient strokes.
Nahi spoke without looking up. "You always stare this much?"
"When something interests me."
Nahi stopped writing. He looked up finally and met her eyes. "That's a weird thing to say."
"Is it?"
"Yeah. Usually people ask what the song is about."
"Would you tell me?"
Nahi considered that, then he shrugged. "Probably not."
"Then why would I ask?"
"...Okay. That's fair."
Naya laughed into her cup. She reached across the table and picked up one of the pastries and placed it gently onto Maya's plate.
"Here. Try it. It's from the bakery in the east wing — the one Faha is obsessed with."
Maya looked down at the pastry. "Thank you, Miss Naya."
"You're welcome."
Maya picked it up and took a small bite. She chewed slowly, her expression unchanged.
Naya set her cup down, "You know, we haven't actually introduced ourselves properly, not really."
Maya looked up from her plate.
Naya gestured lightly between herself and her brothers. "I'm Naya."She tilted her head toward Nahi. "This is my big brother — Nahi."
Then toward Ohi, who had put his phone down and was now leaning back against the sofa with his arms folded."And that's my little brother Ohi."
Maya's eyes moved from one face to the next. She gave a small, measured nod. "I see, Miss Naya. "
Naya smiled. "You can just say our names, you know. You don't have to attach 'Mr.' and 'Miss' to everything."
Maya did not answer that, she simply picked up her cup and took a small sip of tea.
"Let me explain the family properly, since nobody else has bothered to. Grandma had three daughters."
She held up one finger.
"The eldest was your mother. Mahi Sunayana. She's the one everyone in this house is afraid of.
And — and I say this with love — she was the angriest."
She let the words sit.
"She's the one who never stops working. She's a lawyer but more than that — she's the reason half the laws in this country exist at all. She doesn't lose and doesn't forgive so easily."
She held up a second finger.
"My mother is the middle daughter. She's the opposite of yours. Gentle, the kind of woman who has never raised her voice at anyone.
She has raised three children and I have never once seen her lose her temper."
Naya paused, then lifted a third finger.
"And then there's the youngest. Well — grandma adopted her. About a year ago. No one knows about how she came to grandma's attention.
She simply… appeared. And grandma, who had always said she would never take in another child, took her in and named her as her own."
She looked at Maya.
"She's young. Younger than my mother by six year, I think. And she handles all of the family's business matters now.
Everything your grandmother used to manage — she runs. Nobody in the family knew her before. Grandma found her somewhere. She never told us where . She just brought her home one day and said, 'This is your aunt now.'"
Maya set her own cup down.
Naya laughed—a soft, warm sound that filled the quiet room more than it should have.
"Well, my mother is far too gentle for her own good. She couldn't handle those two monkeys. Not for a single day.
They ran circles around her before they could even walk....So she did the only sensible thing she could think of.
She handed them over to aunty."
A pause.
"Your mother was the only one who could ever control them. She would just look at them and they would stop whatever they were doing."
She smiled at the memory.
"She kept them in line. And when she was gone — someone had to keep them in line. So the job fell to me."
She set down her cup and looked at Maya with something between amusement and affection.
"And I've been chasing those monkeys around ever since."
She leaned back, crossing her legs, her posture settling into something more comfortable.
"Anyway that is the short version, if you want the long version, please ask someone else. I've been chasing these two monkeys around since I was fifteen and I am tired."
Maya blinked once. "...Monkeys?"
Naya gestured vaguely toward Nahi and Ohi, as though the word explained itself. "Yes. Monkeys."
Nahi looked up from his notebook, deeply offended. "I am a musician."
"That doesn't make you less of a monkey. It makes you a monkey with a hobby."
Nahi opened his mouth to argue—then closed it, "Unbelievable."
"Wait," Ohi said, straightening. "Why are I included in that? I am not a monkey."
Naya didn't say anything. Ohi's composure wavered. "What?"
"Ohi."
"What."
"You cried when the gardener's shed was locked and you thought you were trapped inside for forty minutes. And the door was not even locked."
"I did not—"
"You once told a funeral director that the flowers 'looked cheap.'"
Silence. Ohi opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. Then, with the wounded dignity of a man who had just lost an argument.
He sank back against the sofa and folded his arms. "I don't have to sit here and be insulted. I have a phone."
"You're still sitting here."
"I'm sitting here voluntarily. That's different."
"It's literally not."
Maya took a sip of tea, her eyes moved from Nahi to Ohi and back again with cataloguing attention.
Naya poured herself another cup of tea. "So — more tea?"
"No, thank you, Miss Naya."
Ohi set his phone face-down on the arm of the sofa."You're sulking, big brother."
"I'm composing."
"Same thing."
Nahi's pen stopped. He lifted his head slowly — the way a person lifts their head when they have decided, against their better judgment to engage.
"I am composing a piece for the winter recital ..... which I have been commissioned to write. Which will be performed in front of an audience of Four-teen million people."
"And how's it going?"
Nahi's jaw tightened. Ohi smiled. "That well?"
"I will throw this notebook at your head."
"You'd miss. You always miss."
"I have never missed."
"You missed the vase in the east corridor last spring."
"That was intentional."
"There was water in it."
"That was unfortunate."
Naya, without looking up from her tea, said, "Both of you. Quiet."
Ohi ignored her. "All I'm saying is — for someone who calls himself a musician, you spend an awful lot of time not making music."
Nahi set his notebook down on the cushion beside him. He turned fully toward Ohi.
"And for someone who calls himself a strategist, you spend an awful lot of time scrolling through your phone and pretending it's work."
Ohi's smile flickered. Naya set her cup down.
"At least I have a job," Ohi said.
"At least mine doesn't require me to lie to people for a living."
"I don't lie. I negotiate."
"You told the funeral director the flowers looked cheap."
"That was honesty."
"It was cruelty with better vocabulary."
"Boys, enough....." It was quiet—barely above a murmur but it landed in the room like a stone in still water. Both brothers stopped mid-sentence and turned toward Naya.
"You are both right. And you are both wrong. So it does not matter which one of you wins. So, so —please stop. It is very exhausting to watch."
Ohi opened his mouth. Closed it. Nahi picked up his notebook, turned a page and muttered, "She is right, you know."
Ohi did not look up. "I know. But you are still very annoying."
"You're still a monkey."
"Musician."
"Monkey with a hobby."
Naya let out a slow breath — the kind of breath a person takes when they have been bracing for a storm and the storm has decided at the last moment, to pass.
She reached for the porcelain teapot and gently tilted it over Maya's cup, its warmth rising in a faint curl of steam.
Maya's eyes followed the motion for a moment. Then she offered Naya a small nod."Thank you for the tea, Miss Naya."
Her voice was soft and very polite—yet devoid of warmth, she lifted the teacup and took a small, measured sip.