The exam results were coming at four o'clock.

Lakshmi had decided she did not care. She had announced this at lunch, loudly, to the whole family: "I've done my best. Whatever happens, happens. I'm at peace with it." She had even put her phone face-down on the kitchen shelf and walked away from it with her chin held high.

Aarav was impressed. His sister usually paced the house before results like a caged animal at the Nandankanan Zoo. But today she sat on the verandah reading a novel, turning pages slowly, the picture of calm.

Dadu was not impressed. He sat in his cane chair, mending a fishing net with thick fingers, and watched Lakshmi with one eye.

At 3:47, Lakshmi stretched, yawned, and went inside for a glass of water. She came back thirteen seconds later. Aarav noticed because he had been counting — no one fills a glass of water in thirteen seconds and comes back without the glass.

At 3:51, she put her book down, walked to the kitchen "to check if the rice was soaking," and came back rubbing her hands on her kurta. The rice container sat untouched on the counter — Aarav peeked.

At 3:55, she dropped her novel, said "I think I left my hair clip inside," and walked straight to the kitchen shelf where her phone sat face-down. Her hand hovered over it. She turned it over. The screen lit up — no notification yet. She put it back down and returned to the verandah, cheeks pink.

"Beta," Dadu said mildly, not looking up from his net.

"What?"

"You have locked the door. But you have left all the windows open."

Lakshmi stared at him. "What does that mean?"

"It means your body is sitting here reading a book. Very impressive. Very calm. But your mind has checked that phone three times in eight minutes. You have not left the kitchen alone since three-thirty. You are pretending not to care, but every part of your mind is screaming about those results."

Lakshmi opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. Her shoulders dropped. "Fine," she said quietly. "I care. I care a lot. I studied so hard, Dadu, and I just want to know."

"Then care!" Dadu said, and he smiled wide enough to show his missing tooth. "There is no shame in caring. The shame is only in pretending you don't. Sit with your phone. Wait honestly. Let your insides match your outsides."

Lakshmi picked up her phone and held it in her lap, and for the first time all afternoon, she looked like herself — nervous, hopeful, real. At 4:02, the notification buzzed. She had passed with distinction. But the real victory, Dadu thought, was the five minutes before — when she stopped pretending and let herself be human.