Surprise! ✨

-• theme •-

I've been to countless birthday parties before. Some of them were of my classmates, some of them were the kids of my mom's colleagues, and a few of them were of my cousins. To cover my jealousy after attending those parties, I would indulge in calling those kids spoilt and immature. It was easy on my soul. I would reassure myself with the words like, useless, pointless, waste of time and extra calories. It worked wonders.

For a sixteen year old living in poverty, calling birthdays pointless was the only way to ignore that I was knee dip in miseries.

I was not one of those kids who'd make a scene if I didn't get what I wanted, torment my parents with demands, blame the circumstances or pretend I was not what I am. But during birthdays, it was hard to live with the reality.

More than half of my mom's salary would go to my school fees. I don't know who she was trying to prove, herself, me or the world, but admitting me to a private tuitions was a naive mistake she made as a new parent. And no matter how many times I said I'm fine with self-study as long as we have a little more money to cover our necessities, she never listened.

Parents have these "know it all" syndrome. They think they know what's best for their children. And while I do respect that sentiment, it's also important to ask what the child really wants. I'd have loved some monthly countryside trips more than the expensive cafeteria food. I'd have loved it if she hadn't overworked herself every day and instead spent a night watching movie with me. I wish she was there on my important days when I was alone on stage and looking forward to get a glimpse of a familiar face in the crowd. I wish she had made up for the lack of money by showering me with plenty attention and love.

Due to her stubbornness despite our financial condition not being stable enough, made us both suffer. In the end, none of us won.

Sometimes I feel bad for Yuvraaj. He definitely had to put on big man shoes very early in his life. But his "know it all" attitude is just like any other adult's and one day it's going to ruin things for him.

Second of February is more than just a normal day for everyone in this house. Everyone pretends to be unbothered about it but it clearly bothers them. I've been witnessing a tense atmosphere around the house for the last few days and when Vivaan told me their mother's death anniversary falls on the same date as my birthday, it didn't take me more than a second to join the dots.

Grief may not be as wanted as happiness, but it impacts our minds all the same. If Agastya wants to believe their mother was a good woman, let him believe it. Why would you ruin someone's perspective of a dead person just because it doesn't match with yours? Yuvraaj and Yuvaan need to understand this. Among everyone, they are the least empathetic and the thought really troubles me. Emotions are important. They may have stopped acknowledging them, but they still feel everything. And the more they bottle it all up, the more they push themselves into the dark. It's not healthy and it's definitely not helping the bond they have with people around them.

"Did you decide on the theme?" Agastya asks, spread like a butter on my once crisp sheets, which now lie twisted and creased beneath him.

"Do you not have your own room?" I scowl, dipping my brush in white, adding last touch to my finished painting.

I still remember the blue moon vividly. Night had never looked so beautiful before. The moment felt surreal, especially with him right beside the moon, stealing all the glory, shining through the dark, nor dominating it, neither being subdued, rather coexisting, like first snow that falls on a cold winter night. He really appeared out of the blue, on once in a blue moon night, and was absolutely clueless about how hypnotising he looked.

I shake my head, forcing out the thoughts. What's wrong with me? I've a boyfriend. I should not be finding other men beautiful. Especially him. If his memories come back, he'll go back to being an immature, spoilt douche bag. The plastic surgery helped his looks not his mentality.

"How about the walking dead?" Arush speaks up, earning a glare from me. His lips quirk at the corners. "You fit the theme, Tara. C'mon." He picks up my Tangled themed oval shaped handheld mirror and turns it around. I glance at my reflection and true to his words, I do fit the theme. The once high bun is now barely hanging from the side, my blue eyes have these huge dark circles underneath and my lips are in dire need of a chapstick. "Considering the idea?" He tilts his head to the side, shoving the mirror closer to my face.

I knock it off his hands and turn around on my seat, refocusing my attention on the painting.

"What are you going to call it?" Ayush shifts to the corner of my bed so he can take a closer look at the painting.

"Once in a blue moon," I reply.

He nods. "It's beautiful."

I glance at him with a smile before looking back at my painting. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Thank you," I say in gratitude.

"Are you going to make this your profession?" Arush inquires suddenly, surprising me with his question.

I face him, uncertainty flowing through my thoughts as we both hold an awkward pause of silence. "Why do you ask?"

"You're good at it," he points to the canvas.

"I'm not sure yet," I whisper.

"Choose something mainstream," Agastya advises, stealing our attention. "Law, medicine, business, engineering," he shrugs.

"Do you think it's fair?"

"Fair?" Agastya raises a brow in my direction.

"The power dynamics in this house. Sometimes I feel like we are nothing but puppets." I voice out my mind.

"Like pawns of a chess game," Ayush adds snidely.

"Aren't Vivaan Bhai and Yuvraaj Bhai almost the same age? Why does he have no authority then?" I ask curiously.

"Because I was never good at controlling my emotions," a familiar voice speaks from the threshold. Our heads turn in synchrony and guilt fills me at the sight of Vivaan standing there looking crestfallen, a small smile playing on his full lips.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend -" he shakes his head, chuckling softly as he lets himself in and leans against the chest of drawers.

"Don't be sorry. I understand why you had that question." He nods softly.

I drop the brush in the pallette, the four of us bearing silence for a few seconds, as though stabilizing the imbalanced atmosphere in the room.

"Being sensitive is rarely praised," Vivaan breaks the ice with the harshest words. "I was closer to Mom than any of you," he glances at Agastya as he says that. "I grew up hearing we both look alike, and I've inherited most of my features from her, so I was in awe of her everytime she showed me tiniest bits of affection. Childhood has this naivety, you look at everything with good in your heart. I did too." He whispers, his voice heavy, laced with overwhelming emotions. "I looked for good in her." He smiles at Agastya. "Like you do."

Agastya shifts uncomfortably on the bed.

"Yuvraaj has always been levelheaded, unlike me. He was more rational than sensitive and he based his decisions around logic and practicality than meaningless emotions. His words not mine," a breathy chuckle escapes his lips. "I envied him. After what we saw in our childhood, after what we went through and suffered, he never let it deter himself, his mind never betrayed him." He nods. "Maybe that's why he leads this household and I don't. Because he'd never want to be like me. But I'd always wish to be like him." Vivaan meets my eyes.

I nod in understanding.

"Alright," he claps his hands, dismissing the tense air thickening like snow. "Let's head down for dinner. You guys have night school, don't you?"

We all nod our heads. I wrap up my things and get off the stool, joining Vivaan at the doorstep as we both wait for the three to come out.

"Is this a frequent hang out spot for you guys now?" Vivaan asks, sounding elated.

"I'd rather not, please. You guys are knee deep in my personal life, spare my privacy at least." I say in horror.

The boys chuckle.

We reach the dining hall and the guard opens the door for us. Dad's surprised eyes land on us first, followed by Yuvraaj and Yuvaan.

"Are you forming a cult or something?" Dad queries when I sit down on my chair that he pulled for me.

"What?" I frown.

"Your followers keep increasing," he points out as if it's very obvious.

I roll my eyes and resist a chuckle. "No, dad, seems like the boys like my room better than their own."

"She has the softest pillows I've ever seen," Agastya says. "Lend me one." His eyes bore into mine demandingly.

"Never." I reply.

He snorts and resumes filling his plate.

"Have you decided on the theme?" Yuvraaj questions sternly.

"Uhm," I fumble with my response. "The walking dead?"

"What's that?"

"A zombie movie."

He sighs. "Taranya, I'm serious."

"I'm too. You'd look good as a zombie. Bet you'd turn heads around." I say, my voice hyped. "What do you guys think?"

Vivaan chuckles while the everyone else try to hide their smiles.

"Let me know your decision by tomorrow morning." Yuvraaj says, dismissing the light humor I try to evoke in the hall.

"Yes, boss!" I salute him before digging into my food.

As the dinner proceeds, Dad and Vivaan attempt to make small talks with everyone. I enjoy them until the topic targets me. "I'm sure you've updated your list," Dad looks at me when Vivaan boasts about being everyone's favorite brother.

I shrug.

"C'mon, tell us." Vivaan leans in. "Let everyone here know I'm still on the top spot." He smiles.

"You are," I reply, smiling when he beams like the brightest star in the sky.

"See, no one's beating me. No one!" He says confidently.

"What about me?" Ayush asks, excited to hear his rank. I smile awkwardly. I wonder why it matters so much. Everyone here must have someone they like the most and they like the least. I'd never want to hear something like this about me. Not that it is important. Someone's feelings towards me doesn't determine my worth and vice versa.

"Second," I relent.

"Oh, thank God." He sighs in relief. "I'm still maintaining my position."

"Same pinch!" Vivaan leans ahead and the two Hi-five each other.

"What about the rest?" Dad prods. My eyes dart across the dining table, watching the rest of them looking at me expectantly. Except Yuvraaj of course. He is too busy on his phone to bother about such silly things.

"Agastya is third," I say, biting back a smile when he fails to hold back a grin, realises he failed and schools his face poker before clearing his throat as he looks down at his plate.

"Am I updated in the list too?" Arush frowns.

I nod. "You're fourth."

His lips automatically smile.

"Oops, Yuvaan," Vivaan pats Yuvaan's back sympathetically. I bite my lower lip nervously and glance at the mentioned person, sighing in relief when I see him roll his eyes as he brushes off Vivaan's hand.

"Yuvraaj is still not in the list," Vivaan looks our eldest brother's way in pity.

Yuvraaj nonchalantly reaches to add some rice to his plate, not even bothering to pay a sliver of his attention.

I look between Yuvaan and Yuvraaj. Are they really so unbothered? I could never. Though, I'm glad. I'm just being fun.

After dinner, we pile into Agastya's car and he drives us to school. For the first time, he allows me to play music of my choice. This day should go down in history. I'm sure it's because of what happened at the dinner with him beating Yuvaan to take his place.

I choose Meghan Trainor and surprisingly, the boys bob their heads to the beat of the music while I sing along with the lyrics.

Upon reaching school, Agastya and we seperate on the ground floor as he heads to his own classroom while we climb stairs to reach ours. The class is embraced in pin drop silence, heads buried in their books. I tap Anagha's desk as a greeting and she gives me a two finger salute in return.

My eyes drift to the corner seat across the class that's beside the window. Shourya has his earbuds on as he scribbles something mindlessly on his notebook, half of his face shadowed under the hood. I drop my backpack on the seat and settle down, getting my books out as per the schedule.

Mr. Qureshi enters the classroom and immediately starts the lecture.

Having eaten to my stomach's brim, I feel sleepy most of the time. Barely holding onto my composure, I sit through the lecture feeling like I'd doze off any second. Maths is an oxymoron. It can be the most interesting subject to the ones who likes solving problems but also the most boring to those who don't.

Fortunately, the hour long lecture ends when the bell rings.

"The next period is self-study and I'm supervising it-" groans echo throughout the class, mine is one of them. "Don't complain. Just this year and then you're seniors. Set an example for your juniors." He chastises. "Pick out a topic, from either geometry or algebra that you find hard to understand and try to solve examples based on it. If you stumble across a problem you find impossible to figure out, I'm here to help you out. Start right away." He wipes the board clean and writes self study on it.

I open my algebra book and deviate towards Factorisation.

The first example has a square root with x² in it. I rub my hand across my face, anxiety driving me insane when I realise the teacher has started to take a stroll between the rows and is just two desks away from mine. I try to doodle something on the notebook, take reference of past examples but I come up completely blank. I swear, if something solely exists to make you feel dumb, it's mathematics.

"Stuck on factorisation again, Tara?"

Sheepishly, I lift my head and look up at him. A nervous smile spreads on my lips.

"Ayush, replace your seat with Shourya. He was there when I taught her this. He'll help her out." He says, causing my breath to hitch. Everyone's eyes, including mine, gravitate towards Shourya who picks up his notebook and pen, casually walking up to my desk.

Ayush glances at me, an unsure look on his face before he unwillingly gets up and changes place with Shourya. Arush doesn't look happy with the situation as well.

"Help her understand the problem," Mr. Qureshi pats on Shourya's shoulder and walks away.

"What example are you solving?" My eyes meet the light brown ones and I point at the problem written in my notebook. He nods and pulls it close, copying it in his own notebook before he begins to explain me.

I look down, trying to understand as he explains me but everything flows past my head. He doesn't simplify things. It's like you asked someone directions to a place and they start using east, west, north, south instead of left and right. While I know nothing about this boy, I can at least advise him to never take teaching as a profession. He'd be a horrible teacher.

"Understood?" I feel like a fool as I nod to his question.

He slaps his notebook close and heads back to his seat. Ayush returns to his own.

I try to solve the example on my own, failing to do so after the first step. Which is just copying the example again in the beginning of the answer. I'm dumb.

"You still didn't understand?" I startle and look up, surprised to find Mr. Qureshi staring down at my notebook. When did he come? That doesn't matter anymore because he looks thoroughly disappointed.

I blink nervously, humiliation impaling me speechless as I sense everyone's eyes on me. I'm gonna cry any second now.

"Did you not explain it to her properly, Shourya?"

"I did," comes his curt response.

"Then why didn't she understand it yet?" Mr. Qureshi continues.

"Because I can only explain it to her. Not understand it for her." Shourya deadpans.

The class bursts out laughing. I close my eyes as shame fills me from within.

"Alright, enough!" Mr. Qureshi says sternly. I see Anagha get up from her spot and request Ayush to change seats with her. He obeys almost immediately, as though he was waiting to get out of this situation if he ends up needing to console me.

"I'll explain her," Anagha volunteers and shakes her head at me softly when my eyes fill up with unintended tears. I smile back, embarrassed to my core as I look down at my notebook while she solves the problem again step by step. This time, I understand it. She breaks down the problem from the core, uses simpler terms and does the most basics of calculations instead of just skipping through them. "Understood?"

I nod with a broad smile.

"Let's solve some similar examples," she says and jots down a few problems for me to solve on my own. This time, I don't get stuck for more than two seconds.

For the next lecture, which is science, Anagha doesn't bother exchanging seats again since it's only for one more hour. We play tic-tac-toe whenever the teacher is facing away from us.

The final bell rings, and we pack our bags to leave the school.

"Did you really understand this time or you pretended again?" Ayush asks me as we make our way out of the classroom.

"I really understood this time," I say, and soon enough Shourya brushes past me. "Someone just needed to be patient," I say intentionally loud so he hears me. He walks off unconcerned.

Prick.

We reach back home and I drop my bag to the floor, sitting before the canvas to add the finishing touch to my painting. I'm not sleepy at all, and the humiliation I had to face today in the class is still burning through me like a boiling lava.

As I search for black paint, I realise I don't have it anymore.

Maybe Yuvaan will have some? He was the one to bring me these art supplies.

I glance at the wall clock. It's only ten forty five. He must be awake.

I get off the stool and exit my room, strolling downstairs to where his room is located. He opens the door on the second knock.

"What?"

"Do you have some black oil paint?" I inquire.

"No. Ask your third favourite brother. He must have some." Then he slams the door close on my face.

I blink.

I was wrong. He's definitely offended.

I go back to my room and decide to just watch some movie until I fall asleep. Cleaning my room, I take a shower and change into some comfortable clothes. It is getting hot recently so I take off my socks and toss them to the floor, getting comfortable beneath the duvet and placing my laptop on my lap before I log into my Netflix account. Just as I click play on the movie, my phone rings.

"Hello there," I greet my best friend.

"Hi, so what's the update?"

"I told you he doesn't remember anything. And he looks at me like he tolerates my presence."

"But he behaves normal, right?" Janet asks curiously.

"Yeah," I nod.

"Alright, so it's true that the mystery man didn't make you commit any crime."

My thoughts still at the mention of him.

"What's wrong? Missing him?" She teases.

"Shut up. I've a boyfriend." I state.

"Though, you wish you didn't."

"Janet," I say sternly. I'm genuinely happy with Atharva. I don't know why she denies to believe me.

"Alright, alright. I'm stopping." She sighs. "So, your birthday is coming up."

"And you're not here." I pout.

"I know." She clicks her tongue. "I've another bad news."

I frown. "What?"

"We've field visit tomorrow. It's a remote place."

"So shitty network?" I guess.

"Yup."

I groan. "How many days?"

"Two nights, three days," she replies.

"The fuck? You'll call me on my birthday, right?"

"I'll try my best."

My mood dampens more at the vague answer. She spends the next hour trying to cheer me up. We end the call at around midnight when I yawn more than twice in five minutes.

My alarm goes off at five fifteen. I force myself to get out of the bed, hop inside my jogging outfit and tie the lace of my sports shoes before meeting Agastya in the living room.

We return to the palace at seven thirty. I take a quick shower, dress myself in school uniform, fill my backpack according to the schedule and then wreck my room because I can't find one of my socks.

I remember tossing it somewhere on the floor but I can't figure out where it went.

Then I check underneath the bed and there it is, on top of the wrapped painting. I drag the canvas out. For the next few minutes, my hands seem to have a mind of their own because they unwrap the painting despite the warning ringing inside my head.

His eyes steal my breath.

I look down at the mask covering his face and lament the fact that I'd never get to see his real face, or even if I do, I'd never be able to recognise him. I don't know why he bothers me so much. Like a thorn stuck deep underneath your skin, his thought is buried deep inside my head, impossible to remove.

I carelessly wrap the painting again, a poor attempt to stop thinking about him and slide the painting back beneath the bed. Wearing my sock, I put on my shoes and exit the room with my phone, backpack and card key.

My eyes fall on Yuvraaj coming out of his corridor. His gaze lands on me and he holds up a finger, signalling me to wait as he finishes his conversation on the phone.

In the meanwhile, I wish everyone else good morning.

"So, did you decide on the theme?" Yuvraaj questions.

I look at my remaining brothers for some input. They barely offer any ideas.

I try to think of something but my mind ends up going back to the painting. The word that comes flying out of my mouth is unfiltered and unintended.

"Masquerade."

Ooh, the theme seems like it's openly inviting someone.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Don't forget to vote and comment. Makes my day.