I’d begged, pleaded, used every tactic in the book—including fake crying.
Worth it.
And now, I’m sixteen. Officially deserving of a dagger set of my own.
Apparently not.
“What’s that?” Papa’s voice cuts in, laced with suspicion.
“Uh...”
“Vik,” Mumma tries, her tone warning.
“No.” He’s already shaking his head while in a comical mid-meltdown. “That’s—no. Gree!”
He looks at her like she’s betrayed him by throwing hismalai koftaleftovers in the trash.
But all I want to do is laugh.
Before I can explain or lie or do anything, Aaru zooms around the corner, yelling something about a T-Rex, and screeches to a stop in front of me.
“What’s that,Didi?”
I slam the box shut faster than he can blink.
“Amma,” I whisper, eyes wide.Help me.
But she’s smirking.
Smirking!
“You gave her... daggers?” Papa gapes like his wife just admitted to robbing a bank. “Actualdaggers?!”
“She...” Mumma clears her throat. “It’s therapeutic, baby.”
“Gree,” he groans, rubbing his forehead like he’s aged ten years in the last ten seconds. Then he swivels on the carpet toward me. “You willnotuse them outside this home. Got it?”
Okay. So now’s probably not the time to tell him I’ve been teaching my best friends after school. In a park. With trees.
Mumma picks up Aaru and settles him with crayons and a half-colored T-Rex page, giving me a wink like she knows I won’t say a word.
Sneaky.
I grin, practically vibrating.
“Thank you!” I launch at her, wrapping my arms tight around her neck. The box still clutched in my hands.
“Careful with the daggers,beta,” she teases, hugging me back.
Then I turn to Papa—who’s still sulking—and wrap him in a tentative hug.
“C’mon, Papa. Your wife does it. I can too. I’m sixteen now.”
Mumma mutters under her breath, “Well, you started when you were fifteen.”
He whips his head toward her. “Fifteen?”
She freezes. “I mean—”
