A Question of Strings

The boys were finally asleep. Thank God.

Neha Patel stood in the kitchen, barefoot on the cool tile, wiping down the already-clean counter for the third time. The smell of cumin still lingered in the air from dinner—dal and rice, simple, fast. She’d worked a double shift at the clinic, and her back ached in the same place it always did, a sharp knot just below the shoulder blades. But she couldn’t leave the apartment messy. She’d learned long ago that the mornings went smoother when the nights ended tidy.

The dishwasher hummed softly. In the next room, Rahul was reading—some thick paperback with a bookmark she was sure he never moved. He didn’t speak when she walked by, and she didn’t mind. They were past the part of marriage where silence meant something was wrong. Sometimes silence just meant quiet.

She was just finishing up when the door eased open.

It was Indira.

Neha straightened, lips pressed together, watching her daughter tiptoe in like a thief. She had her shoes in one hand, her phone in the other. And bags. So many bags. Paper ones with gold lettering, ribbon handles. Expensive.

Neha stepped into the living room, arms crossed, her voice a soft hiss.

"Indira. Where were you?"

Indira froze, then winced, whispering back.

"I was at the mall. With friends."

"With these?" Neha reached out, touching one of the bags. She knew the brand—Élan Intimates. She’d once seen a bra from there that cost more than their grocery bill for the week.

Indira nodded, eyes wide, sheepish.

"They bought them for me."

Neha blinked.

"All of them?"

"Yeah. I didn’t ask. They just… did it. Said I needed new stuff."

Neha took a breath, lowering her voice again as she glanced toward the boys’ room.

"Who are these friends?"

"Madison. Aynsley. Donna. You'd love Donna. She's older. So cool."

"And rich, I’m guessing."

Indira nodded.

"Very. All of them are. Like... private driver rich."

Neha’s eyes narrowed.

"And they bought you all this? Why? Are they asking for anything?"

Indira shook her head quickly.

"No. Nothing like that. They just… they like me, I guess. They said I shouldn’t have to feel weird about having nice things. That I deserve it. They’re really nice, Ma."

Neha sat on the arm of the couch, rubbing her eyes.

"You didn’t feel like you had to say yes?"

"No! I didn’t say yes. They didn’t even let me say no. Madison just kept handing things to the clerk. And Donna paid for everything."

"Indira..."

"I know. I know it’s weird. But they didn’t ask for anything."

Neha looked at her daughter. Really looked. She was glowing a little, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. The same girl, but not quite. Maybe just the new clothes. Or maybe something else.

She sighed.

"Okay. Go put your new things away. Be quiet. Your brothers just fell asleep."

Indira smiled, relieved, and crept off toward her room.

Neha stayed where she was, staring at the closed door to her daughter’s room, still half-lit from the hallway light.

She didn’t like it.

Gifts always had strings. Even if they weren’t visible at first.

But then again… having rich friends was always nice. Maybe it was just luck. Maybe this was just one of those moments when things turned in your favour.

Still. She’d keep an eye on it.

She had to.

Indira was a good girl.

But the world was not always good back.