Unbelievable, thought Eram. Where’s all his charm when it’s just the two of us?

He was hurt that Faizl never made this kind of effort with him. The two of them had, without either being aware of it, started following a set script. Eram’s role was to be the long-suffering caregiver and Faizl’s the defiant invalid. There was no room for play between them. Gehna’s presence had shaken things up.

As Eram laid out dining mats and plates and forks on the table, he tried to remember the last time it had been used. He couldn’t. On ordinary days, a part-time cook came in the morning and made a bunch of food that Eram and Faizl would eat at odd times, as and when they felt like, either in front of the TV or separately in their rooms. Sitting down to eat, at a properly set table with people passing things to each other, was a novel experience for Eram. Pleasant as it was, he knew it couldn’t last.

Gehna, while listening to Faizl pontificate about how Mumbai was actually seven islands joined together, poured orange juice for all of them. Eram watched his father’s hand—his right hand—move towards a glass. Usually, Eram stuck a straw into anything he gave Faizl to drink. It was easier. But today, partly because he was still mad at him and partly because he didn’t want to embarrass Faizl, Eram didn’t move. He just watched as Faizl lifted the glass to drink from it. A violent spasm shook his hand, and suddenly there was juice everywhere—on Faizl’s clothes, on the floor, soaking through the pile of toast on the table.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then Faizl, red-faced, banged the glass he was still holding down on the table. ‘These are the WRONG glasses,’ he yelled at Eram. ‘You can’t even set a table properly, how will you make anything of your life?’

He stormed off into his room without saying another word. Gehna was stunned at how quickly the mood in the room had changed. She looked at Eram, who didn’t seem particularly troubled and was already carrying used plates into the kitchen.

‘I’m, uh, I’m sorry,’ Gehna said. ‘Was it something I did? I mean, I don’t know . . .’

Eram smiled tightly at her. ‘Don’t worry about it. Just another day in the life of. Beats squalor and slaves for keeping people away, no?’

They cleared the table in silence, wiping the juice off with handfuls of soggy paper napkins.

Later, while Eram went to check on his dad, Gehna had a look around his room. In one corner was a single bed, with the sheets tucked in and the blanket folded at the bottom with militaristic precision. Opposite that was a work desk with nothing on it, except an iMac covered with a dust jacket. The curtain was a basic beige. No carpet, no posters on the walls, no obligatory bean bag or other soft furnishings.