You always say that, Gehna gestured back.

Because it’s always true. Maybe she doesn’t use the right words, but she loves you. Whatever she does, she does for your own good.

Gehna glanced at her mom. Nina Rai was squinting back and forth between the two of them, trying to concentrate. She had picked up only basic sign language. When Gehna wanted to speak privately with Druhi, all they had to do was move their fingers faster.

Druhi patted Gehna’s head affectionately. A child is hard work. But it is also a blessing. If you have made up your mind, then I am with you. You will make a beautiful mother.

‘What was that?’ Nina Rai asked. ‘I missed the last part.’

‘She said,’ Gehna replied, smiling gratefully at Druhi, ‘that I’m being stubborn.’

‘We’ll see what your father has to say about this.’ When Gehna went back to gazing out of the window, Nina Rai’s voice rose in both pitch and volume. ‘Why aren’t you packing?’

‘I dunno. Am I going somewhere?’

‘If you think,’ Nina Rai said, rising to her full height, ‘that I’m leaving you here alone in your condition, you should think again. You’re coming home with us right now.’

Gehna decided against arguing. There would be other, bigger, battles ahead.

Eram was having cash trouble.

Ever since he’d quit school, he had been making enough money by playing poker to support himself. He was a social recluse, so he didn’t need money for movies or the mall. Clothes were purely a necessity; he bought a pair of jeans every six months, and functional tees in basic black and white that came packed in threes. He was paying off in easy monthly instalments the loan on his second-hand Honda. His phone, the Wi-Fi router and computer were top-shelf, but those had been a one-time expense. The problem was the minimum required buy-in to The Big Drop.

Five lakhs. I’m barely halfway there. How did this happen?

Eram knew how it had happened. He had broken The Baron’s primary rule of financial management, which was to keep his poker bankroll separate from everything else. The slippages had been small at first, but they became bigger. He’d dipped into the shoebox in which he kept the tight rolls of his winnings to pay for the occasional groceries delivery. The newspaper guy. The street sweeper. An electricity bill. The package from the pharmacy of nine different medications that arrived once a week and which Faizl had to take thrice daily. The hospital bill for their most recent overnight visit had been a whopping forty Gs. Eram had paid it.

Afterwards, he always ended up angry with himself for having chosen the path of least resistance. Because even though paying the bills put a massive dent in his savings and endangered his entrance to The Big Drop, it was easier than dealing with his father. Faizl, especially when it came to matters of money, was now just a big old bowl of crazy. On good days, he was simply forgetful and had to be reminded eight times that there was a bill pending. On bad days, his disease made him paranoid, utterly convinced that everyone in the world was trying to steal from him. Around 1 a.m. on a night not long ago, Eram had gone to Faizl’s bedroom to see if he needed anything and found him missing. The main door was open. Eram had torn around the neighbourhood in a panic for half an hour before spotting Faizl in his pyjamas inside an ATM kiosk. He said he had come out to confirm that nobody had ‘hacked’ his cards. The thing that really scared the crap out of Eram was that it wasn’t just the debit and credit cards that Faizl had brought with him. It was every single card he owned, including a driver’s licence, voter ID and a loyalty card from his hair salon, all of which he had been intent on pushing into the ATM. It had taken Eram another hour to persuade his father to return home.