PTM days are every student's personal horror story.

The day started off fine—birds chirping, sun shining, kids playing—but for Amaira and Dhruv, it was a straight-up funeral march.

She sat beside her father, Prakash, in the classroom, pretending to be invisible while her class teacher flipped through the marksheet.

It was her half yearly results.

"Mr.Gupta, Amaira is… quite distracted these days," her teacher began, clearing her throat as if preparing to drop a nuclear bomb.

Prakash's gaze sharpened. Amaira held her breath.

"She got 15 out of 100 in Maths."

Silence.

Prakash turned his head towards Amaira in slow motion. Her soul left her body.

"Fifteen" he said with a calm voice.

But Amaira knew it was just the calm before the storm.

Amaira, already preparing her 'marks don’t define intelligence' argument, gave a sheepish smile. "At least it's not zero?"

Wrong answer.

Then her teacher spoke again "Other subjects are good. Lekin boards me Maths bhi matter karta hai"

Prakash took a deep breath, nodding and stood up "Dhruv ka kya result hai"

The teacher smiled awkwardly "His class teacher wants to meet you personally"

This definitely did not sound good.

As soon as they entered Dhruv’s class, his teacher gave a tired sigh, like she had fought a war before they even arrived.

"Mr. Gupta, please sit."

Prakash looked at Dhruv, who was grinning shamelessly.

"Beta, agar tu fail hua na, apna PS5 bhul jana"

Dhruv eyes widened but before he could react, the teacher handed Prakash the report card.

Silence.

More silence.

He took a deep breath before asking "Kisi me toh achha laya hoga?"

The teacher sighed "Bas English me 82 aaya hai baki kisi subject me 20 se jyada nhi mila hai"

Prakash narrowed his eyes. "Aur Maths?"

The teacher looked directly into his soul.

"Mathematics— 02 out of 100."

Prakash physically recoiled and spoke sarcastically "2?! Are beta, itna bhi kyu layaa? Zero lata na"

Dhruv shrugged. "Papa, dekho na, English toh best hai na?"

Prakash ignored him and looked at the teacher again "Chalo, koi aur complaints toh nahi?"

The teacher looked like she was waiting for that question.

"Yes, about Dhruv and Avni Verma—"

Prakash closed his eyes. "Main jaanta tha."

"They are… the principal’s biggest headache. Consistently punished every week for pranks, disturbing classes, and setting off the fire alarm—"

Prakash slowly turned to Dhruv.

"Beta, ye jo teri English strong hai na… apni chhati pe likh le. Kyunki agar tune sudharne ka naam nahi liya toh ek rickshaw dilwa dunga tujhe."

Dhruv gasped. "Papa, please ye bohut galat hai!"

"Kya galat hai?" He glared at his soul

"M....m....me, main galat hu"

Prakash took a deep breath and headed towards his car with Amaira and Dhruv following behind him

The whole car ride was silent.

As soon as they stepped inside the house, Prakash's voice echoed through the room.

"Sit"

Prakash took a deep breath, rubbing his temples and started with his first child

"Fifteen Amaira? Fifteen?! Beta, tu maths ke numbers gin rhi thi ya bas number likh ke aayi thi?"

"Papa, at least pass ke aas paas toh aaye hai na, aap uski khushi manao" she offered weakly.

Before her father could continue his ‘back in my day’ lecture, a wild Dhruv appeared.

"Arre, Papa, relax! At least didi toh Maths mein fail hui hai, main toh—"

He froze.

Amaira smirked.

Prakash’s focus shifted. "Haan, TU! Tere toh sab subject mein hi doob gaye hain marks!Amaira kam se kam Maths mein fail hui. Tu toh har subject mein barabar fail hai."

Dhruv scowled. "Aree, main fail nahi hua, bas thoda—"

Prakash snatched his report card off the table and started reading aloud.

"Hindi: 11."

"Science: 13."

"SST: 14."

"Maths... arey wah! 2!"

Dhruv gave a nervous chuckle. "Papa, dekho na, double digits toh aaye..."

"Maths me 2 aaye hai, kaha hai double digits?"

"Aree matlab sirf 2 nhi aaye hai 02 aaye hai"

Prakash’s dad glare activated as he folded his arms

Dhruv, realizing he had dug his own grave, turned to his mother. "Maa, kuch toh bolo!"

Their mother, Sunita, scrolling through her phone, didn’t even look up. "Jab boya ped babul ka toh aam kaha se hoye"

Amaira burst out laughing. Dhruv? TRAUMATISED.

Prakash massaged his temples. "Tum dono ke papers dekhke na, mujhe doubt hota hai ki tum mere hi bachche ho ya hospital ne exchange kar diye the."

Amaira and Dhruv exchanged glances.

Then, in perfect synchronization, they turned to their mother. "Maa, sach batao. Adopted toh nahi hain na?"

Their mother flipped her phone and headed towards the kitchen "Bas kar do nautanki. Khaana banana hai mujhe."

Prakash sighed deeply, shaking his head like a disappointed dad. "Tum dono ka kuch nahi ho sakta."

"Mujhe lagta hai tum dono ke dimaag pe ek hi cheez ka asar hai—PHONE!"

Amaira and Dhruv stiffened. Oh no. Not the phone.

Before they could protest, Prakash held out his hand. "Phones. Abhi ke abhi."

Amaira clutched her phone to her chest like a mother protecting her child. "Papa, please! Aap kaise le sakte ho?!"

"Aise" he snatched her phone.

Dhruv tried the legal argument. "Papa, yeh unconstitutional hai! Fundamental rights ka violation hai!"

Prakash gave him a deadpan look. "Tere fundamental rights toh main violate karunga—ek thappad se."

Dhruv handed his phone immediately.

Amaira gasped. "Tu itna jaldi haar gaya? Kya yaar, thoda toh fight karta!"

Dhruv scoffed. "Main shaheed ho jaunga par phone bachaane ke chakkar mein nahi pitunga!"

Amaira turned to her mother for support. "Maa, dekho na, unfair hai!"

Her mother barely looked up. "Baccho ko phone nahi padhai pe dhyaan dena chahiye."

Amaira’s jaw dropped. "Aap bhi?!"

Prakash took their phones and stuffed them in his pocket. "Ek hafta phone nahi milega. Tum dono ke marks dekhke mujhe lagta hai tumhari aankhon ko phone se break chahiye."

Dhruv gasped. "EK HAFTA?!"

Amaira groaned dramatically, flopping onto the couch. "Papa, yeh zulm hai! Yeh atyachaar hai!"

Prakash smirked. "Beta, abhi toh tumhe tuition bhi bhejna hai. Woh asli atyachaar hoga."

Amaira's soul left her body. Dhruv choked on air.

Before they could argue further, he spoke up "Bohut ho gya discussions. Ab apne kamre me jaake padhai karo dono"

Back in her room, Amaira flopped onto her bed, mourning the loss of her phone.

How am I supposed to survive a whole week? This is a punishment worse than jail.  She thought to herself.

She was deep in her thoughts when—BAM.

Her door slammed open, and Dhruv entered like a villain in a Bollywood movie.

Amaira groaned. "Kya chaiye tujhe?"

Dhruv plopped down on her bed, messing up her neatly arranged blanket.

How dare he?!

"Kuch nahi. Bas dekh raha tha apni maths genius ko." He smirked.

Amaira threw a pillow at him. "Shut up and get out."

"Warna kya?" He challenged smugly

"Warna me papa ko bula dungi"

"Huh jo karna hai kar" he laid down on her bed as if it's his personal bed.

Amaira narrowed her eyes, ready to use her ultimate weapon.

She cleared her throat dramatically—"PAPA—"

Dhruv jumped off the bed in 0.2 sec.

"Okay okay okay, Ja raha hu. Pure maholle ko jagane ki jarurat nhi hai!"

Amaira smirked in victory as he ran out, slamming the door behind him.

She sighed, staring at the ceiling.

________________________________

The Gupta family dinner table—a place where peace goes to die. Tonight was no different.

Dhruv, with all the audacity of a kid who barely scraped by in his exams, was dragging ketchup across his plate, making emojis.

A smiling face, a sad face, and—just for good measure—a face that looked suspiciously like their father.

Prakash Gupta cleared his throat. Loudly.

Dhruv froze mid-doodle. "Papa apko vicks chaiye?" he asked innocently.

Prakash didn't even bother replying. His glare alone had Dhruv straightening up and passing the ketchup bottle to Amaira like it was some illegal contraband.

Ignoring his son’s antics, Prakash picked up his phone and dialed a number.

"Hello, Sharma ji, kaise hain aap?" he began, his voice suddenly warm. "Ek kaam tha… Mere dono bacche tuition join karna chahte—"

"—Nahi chahte!" Amaira instantly corrected.

Prakash waved a dismissive hand at her, continuing, "—toh socha aapke yahan bhej doon."

Amaira protested again "Papa main nhi jaa rhi tuition"

Prakash gave her a look. “Kyu? tujhe maths nahi aata. Dhruv ko kuch nahi aata. Dono ja rahe ho."

Sunita snorted, not even looking up from her plate. “Sahi keh rahe ho, Prakash ji. Dhruv ka dimag toh sirf Avni ke saath shararat karne mein chalta hai.”

Dhruv just shrugged and Amaira looked at her father again. "Papa, aapko Merese puchna toh chaiye tha!"

"Kyu? Tune 15 lane se pehle mujhse pucha tha?"

Dhruv, who had been quietly eating, burst out laughing

Amaira raised her hand, swatting the head of her good-for-nothing brother. "Shut up!"

"Oii"  her brother whined, rubbing his head and laughing at the same time.

"Enough" their father said firmly, silencing the chaos.

He looked at Amaira and said in a tone that left no room for argument, "Tum dono kal se tuition jaoge. End of discussion."

Amaira crossed her arms and slumped back in her chair, muttering, "Ise na child labour kehte hai. Do I even have rights in this house?"

Her father glanced at her with mock sarcasm. "Rights hai na beta. The right to study, the right to pass your exams, and the right to not embarrass us at the next PTM."

"I hate tuition! Me already apni adhi jindagi school me khatam karti hu aur aap chahte hai me baki ki adhi jindagi tuition me barbaad karu?" Amaira blurted out.

Her father gave her a stern look. "Shayad apni wahi adhi wali jindagi me padhai kar li hoti toh baki ki adhi barbaad na karni padti."

Amaira turned to her mother, her last hope. She gave her a pleading look, the kind of look that said, Mummy, please help.

Her mother looked at her, took a long sip of water, and then, with a perfectly straight face, said, "Kya? Aise dekh ke koi fayda nhi. I think tuition itna bhi bekar nhi hai."

Amaira whined "Mummy yaar!" Her mother shrugged.

Amaira groaned, dramatically banging her head on the table. "I hate tuition."

Dhruv couldn't help making a sarcastic remark. "Jab boya ped babul ka toh aam kaha se hoy"

She retorted back "Pucha kisine?"

Her father stood up and began clearing the table, effectively ending the conversation.

Dhruv hid his grin. Little did his father know—he had no plans of attending. He shot a knowing look at Amaira, who immediately caught on.

This menace was 100% skipping every class.

And only she knew it.

Amaira lunged at him, but Sunita calmly placed a chapati in her hands. "Gussa baad mein kar lena. Pehle kha lo."

Amaira sulked but obeyed. She would get her revenge later.

After dinner, Prakash was settled comfortably on the couch, eyes glued to the TV screen.

A crucial cricket match was on, and the stakes were high—not just for the teams, but for the two kids waiting for the right moment to strike.

The match was at a critical moment. The bowler charged in, the batsman took his stance, and—BOOM! SIX!

Prakash shot up from his seat. "Arre wah! Kya shot maara hai! Yeh hoti hai batting!" He clapped, fully immersed in the game.

Amaira, the strategist, saw her chance. She leaned in, all innocent. "Papa"

"Hmm?"

"Me phone le lu"

Prakash, still basking in the excitement, waved her off without thinking. "Haan, haan, le lo, le lo!"

She snatched the phone in record time, unlocked it, and sat back like nothing had happened. Mission success.

And then—disaster struck.

Next ball. Batsman OUT. Clean bowled.

The joy on Prakash’s face vanished instantly. "Areee yaar!! Abhi kya jarurat thi ek aur six marne ki?"

He threw his hands up, shaking his head in disappointment.

Dhruv, always the opportunist, sensed the moment. He leaned forward, casual as ever. "Papa, mera bhi phone?"

Prakash turned to him, his eyes narrowing dangerously. The disappointment from the cricket match now had a new target.

"Phone? Tera phone?" he repeated, voice calm but laced with doom.

Dhruv froze. This was not the response he was hoping for. He looked at his mother for backup. "Mumma, dekho naa, this is injustice!"

Sunita burst out laughing and gently patted his head "Koi baat nhi beta. Life is never fair"

Amaira snorted, scrolling through her phone like the queen of the world.

Dhruv leaned back in defeat, arms crossed, face sulky. This was the worst betrayal. The match had ended for Prakash. But for Dhruv? The loss was personal.

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