Chess & Checkers

25. Surprise, surprise

The breakfast table was cloaked in an unbearable, suffocating silence. It wasn't the peaceful kind—the kind one usually hopes for in the morning. It was, in fact, the very opposite of that as the members of the Khan family sat in their respective seats and had their breakfast, the clinking of cutlery against porcelain the only sound echoing in the room. But no one was truly eating. Not really. All eyes flickered again and again, toward Maa Begum. There she sat—composed, unreadable, her posture regal as ever—yet her presence today felt unsettlingly unfamiliar.

The same questions circled in everyone's minds: Why was she here all of a sudden? and why did it feel like the calm before the storm?

Since her arrival, she had barely spoken a word. Not to Maryam, not to the house help—no one. Her singular, unwavering demand had been clear: "Call Murtasim and Meerab. I will wait until they're home."

Now, with all present, Meerab and Murtasim exchanged quick, wary glances. They were seated side by side and both turned their attention to Maryam with silent questions in their eyes. She, in turn, simply shrugged, wide-eyed and helpless, before casting a glance at her mother, who was chewing a piece of toast like this were any other morning.

The tension was unbearable now. The air in the room had turned thick, so finally, unable to stand it anymore, Murtasim cleared his throat. His voice, soft yet urgent, broke the silence, "Maa, is everything alright? Aap aaj achanak yahan kyun?"

Maa Begum paused. She didn't look up immediately. Slowly, she set her cutlery down with deliberate care, then dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin. The room seemed to still further as she finally met her son's eyes.

A slight raise of the eyebrow. A deep breath. Then, in her composed, authoritative voice, she replied, "Baat hi kuch aisi thi... achanak aana para."

That was it. No elaboration. Just a vague explanation that did nothing to ease the rising anxiety simmering beneath the surface.

Meerab's brows furrowed. Murtasim leaned slightly forward. Maryam looked between the three.

Still unsatisfied, Murtasim asked again, a little firmer this time, "Aisi kya baat hai? You could have just told me or Meerab, we would have handled it."

Maa Begum's expression softened just slightly. A knowing smile curled at the edges of her lips, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. Her tone changed—lighter, almost casual, but with a sharpness that was impossible to miss, "Kuch nahi, gaon ki kuch auraton ke boht zaroori masle thei jinhe hal karne mujhe khud aana para, aur mai chahti thi ke Meerab aur Maryam mere saath houn taake woh bhi dekhein aur samjhe."

Murtasim's brows drew together, a flicker of concern darkening his expression—he was certain there was more to the story than his mother was letting on.

Beside him, Meerab stiffened for a moment before forcing herself to swallow the bite she had been chewing. The moment she heard she'd have to accompany Maa Begum again—to listen to another long list of grievances and settle disputes among the village women—a quiet sigh echoed within her chest. It wasn't that she was not empathetic towards them, she also understood it was part of her role now, that being the Khaani came with certain expectations and responsibilities... but that didn't make it any less boring because eight out of ten times, the 'problems' involved two women making an issue out of the silliest thing: a non issue that could be solved if they would just use some common sense—something that Meerab came to realize was not so common in the rural, less literate population.

Hence why, what others saw as duty, she often saw as a performance; One she hadn't signed up for, and one she wasn't always in the mood to give. Today especially, she wanted nothing more than to stay out of the spotlight and maybe just... breathe.