Fallen Anklet

In the quiet afternoon lull, the Mishra household came alive with its usual flavor — clinking steel plates, a burst of radio static, the smell of roasted papad, and Timtim’s voice echoing from the kitchen like a warning siren.

“Maa, how long will you all keep taunting me for my board marks? It’s ancient history now!”

Her mother chuckled. “Ancient? Beta, it’s been three weeks.”

Aariz Sheikh Pataudi, who was on the upstairs balcony just above the dining hall, paused mid-sip of his black coffee. His ears, honed by years of catching lies and secrets, instinctively picked up the conversation.

Her father chimed in, “Even your Maths teacher came home with a laddoo box to celebrate your passing. I thought he was crying tears of relief.”

A giggle erupted from her mother. “Do you remember how she wrote the formula for area of circle as ‘Apple Pie R Square’? Apple pie, she said!”

A loud, offended gasp followed. “That was a memory trick!” Timtim’s voice protested. “Miss Preeti Ma’am said creativity is good!”

“Creativity is one thing,” her father said. “You drew a stick figure next to the formula and gave it earrings.”

Even Aariz, silent and sharp as always, felt the corner of his mouth twitch.

So that’s what Miss Trouble was hiding behind all that drama — a report card that barely survived.

Downstairs, Timtim groaned loudly and flopped into a chair. “You’re harassing me emotionally. I’m just built differently. Einstein failed too!”

Her mother deadpanned, “Einstein didn’t get 36 in Maths.”

Timtim huffed. “Fine. Fine! Remind me to become successful and build you a private bungalow just to escape your mocking.”

“Please do,” her father said. “We’ll keep your progress report in the drawing room. Framed.”

---

That evening, as the sun dipped low and the sky was soaked in the dusty orange of late August, Timtim emerged in her floral housewear kurta, ready to pick her bougainvillea blooms and trim her spider plant — who had been traumatized by aerial hanging, thank you very much.

Her silver anklets jingled gently with every step.

She didn’t realize he was already there.

Leaning against the balcony railing, arms folded, wearing a plain charcoal grey t-shirt and loose lounge pants, Aariz looked less mafia villain and more casually dangerous — like someone who could break a man or fix a fan, depending on his mood.

She looked up, eyes narrowing.

“You again.”

“Your spider plant sends its regards,” he said calmly.

She ignored him.

He watched her trim Reshma with fake affection.

And then, he said it.

That one sentence.

“By the way,” he began casually, “I heard apple pie is a great way to remember the area of a circle.”

She froze.

Her scissors paused mid-snip. Her lips parted. Her eyes widened.

He smirked.

She stared at him like he’d just revealed her darkest secret to the Prime Minister.

“You were eavesdropping?!”

“I was on my balcony,” he said innocently. “The universe sent me wisdom. And comedy.”

“You—!” she stomped her foot. “That was private parent conversation! You’re not allowed to store embarrassing data on your tenants!”

“I’m not storing anything,” he replied calmly. “Just wondering if the earrings on the stick figure helped the examiner remember the answer.”

She turned a shade of red no artist could paint.

And in her flustered fury, as she stomped again — one of her delicate silver anklets snapped off and fell onto the stairs with a soft metallic ting.

They both stared at it.

Aariz moved first.

He bent slowly, picked it up between his fingers — and for a second, he didn’t say anything. Just stared at the small circle of silver, the tiny bells barely clinking.

“Seems like your ankle couldn’t handle your ego,” he murmured.

She snatched it from his hand. “My anklet just broke under the weight of humiliation.”

“You should wear it as a reminder.”

“Reminder of what?” she narrowed her eyes.

He paused. And then — with a faint smile — “That you’re not as invincible as you pretend to be.”

Her lips parted, ready to deliver a fiery comeback.

But nothing came.

Because for the first time…

He wasn’t mocking.

There was something quieter in his voice.

Something that made her chest feel strange.

She looked away quickly.

“Whatever,” she mumbled. “You’re still a tenant. Temporary.”

And she turned, rushing down the stairs, cheeks warm, anklet clasped tightly in her palm like a secret.

But Aariz stood there longer.

Holding his coffee again.

Staring at the staircase she just disappeared into.

There was something about that shade of pink on her cheeks. That soft flash of embarrassment. That way her fingers trembled when she took the anklet.

She’d dropped more than just silver.

She’d dropped her guard — just for a second.

And he had noticed.