Wild Card

Achha. Tum pehle.

A short story we wrote around Wild Card. Fiction, not a review.

You smiled, put your cards down, and let him go first.

Diwali card night at Masi’s. Twelve people, two tables, everyone playing for the last box of kaju katli like it’s a World Cup final.
Your cousin has been talking big since dinner. Loud, sure, slapping the table. You’ve barely said a word. You’ve just been watching.
Then you look at your hand. Okay. Not bad. Maybe very not bad. Or maybe you’re about to be very embarrassed. Genuinely hard to say.
You tuck the cards closer, faces turned your way, acid lime and blue-white checks bright against the edges. Smile: neutral. Heart: very much not neutral.
Across the table, he leans in, itching to go first. You lean back and let him. Cards close. Smile on. Achha. Tum pehle.