Not because she demanded it, but because she had declared her bed a sovereign nation—and we were all willing subjects.

The Royal Court of Blankets

"Someone tell Netflix to stop suggesting thrillers. I am already stressed about my plants."

Every Sunday morning, the house belonged to Aunty Priya.

"Who finished the pickle? I will not name names. But Rohan. It was Rohan."

And then she pulled the blanket over her head, muffling her laughter, and declared court adjourned until lunch.

"Saw a pigeon outside my window. It looked judgmental. I have reported it to building security."