Part 5: Laughter After Lessons
The house had quieted down. Dinner was over, and the night breeze drifted through the open windows, cooling the lingering heat of the day. Nuwan sat at the edge of his bed, nursing the fading sting in his legs and the even sharper ache in his pride.
He’d barely touched his food.
There was a soft knock on the door.
Nuwan looked up. Nadee peered in, her hair in a messy bun, holding two mugs of hot milk.
“Peace offering,” she said, stepping in.
He didn’t argue. He took the mug with a tired nod.
“I’m not here to scold,” she added. “Already watched enough of that for one day.”
She sat cross-legged on the bed, sipping hers. “You okay?”
He hesitated. “Still processing the pain… and the shame.”
She giggled. “Well, you kind of deserved it. But watching you trying so hard not to cry while kneeling with your hands up…” She covered her mouth, trying not to laugh louder. “I swear, if Amma wasn’t there I would’ve taken a photo.”
He gave her a look. “You’re the worst.”
“You love me,” she teased.
Before he could reply, another voice came from the door.
“Is this the pity party?”
Miss Nisansala leaned against the doorway, now out of her saree and in a long comfy t-shirt and loose pants. Her serious teacher look was gone—but the smirk had stayed.
Nuwan groaned and buried his face in his hands. “Not you too.”
“Oh please,” she said, walking in. “Don’t act like we all didn’t suffer with you today. You think it was easy for me to punish my own brother in front of half the school?”
“You didn’t look like you were struggling,” he muttered.
“That’s called professionalism,” she shot back, grinning. “But if you’d seen your face from my view…” She chuckled. “Arms up, back straight, trying not to tip over like a baby giraffe.”
Even Nadee burst out laughing again.
Nuwan slumped. “Can we not replay the whole day?”
“You’re lucky Amma didn’t make you kneel holding your schoolbag above your head,” Nisansala said. “That was her old trick with me. You got off light.”
“I got caned,” he reminded.
“And you needed it,” Nadee and Nisansala said at the same time.
All three of them paused.
Then laughed.
For the first time that day, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was real.
“You’re not a bad kid, Nuwan,” Nisansala said, getting up. “But you’ve got some growing up to do. Don’t make us go through that again, yeah?”
He nodded slowly. “I won’t.”
She ruffled his hair once—just enough to annoy him—and walked out.
Nadee followed, pausing at the door. “Sleep tight, Mr. Kneel-on-Concrete.”
“Go away,” he mumbled into his pillow.
But he was smiling.
Part 5 (continued): The Memory That Stings
Nisansala was halfway to the door when she paused, her hand resting on the frame.
“You know,” she said, glancing back at her brother, “you’re not the only one in this house who’s knelt on concrete.”
Nuwan blinked. “You?”
Even Nadee turned back, curious. “Wait… Amma punished you like that too?”
Nisansala smirked. “Oh, more than once. And not just Amma—Appachchi too. There was a time in Grade 11, I forgot to bring home my midterm marks card for two weeks. Tried to hide it under the bed.”
“What happened?” Nuwan asked, sitting up straighter.
“She found it,” Nisansala said with a half laugh, “the night before a function. I was dressed in a nice skirt and blouse. Amma didn’t even let me change.”
She walked back into the room now, a nostalgic expression softening her face.
“She made me kneel on the front step, in full view of the neighbors. Hands up. And Appachchi came out, cane in hand. Not angry. Just quiet. That was worse.”
Nadee’s eyes widened. “Even in your late teens?”
“I was sixteen,” she said, “and never forgot that lesson. Amma was always strict—but fair.”
Nuwan looked at her in a new light. “I didn’t think you’d been through all that.”
She smiled. “We all have. It’s a family tradition, you could say.”
Nadee chuckled. “And now you're passing it on.”
Nisansala grinned at her sister, then looked at Nuwan.
“You’ll laugh about it someday too. But not tonight.”
She gave him one final look—this time, not teasing, not proud—just warm.
“Goodnight, little brother.”
And with that, she and Nadee left the room, their footsteps fading down the corridor.
Nuwan lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Somehow, knowing they’d been through it too made it a little easier to bear.
He still ached.
Still felt humiliated.
But he didn’t feel alone.
Part 6: A Sister’s Memory
The house had finally gone quiet.
In their shared room, dimly lit by the glow of a small lamp, Nadee sat on her bed brushing her hair while Nisansala folded some laundry. Neither had spoken for a while—until Nadee broke the silence.
“Akka… was it really that bad? The punishment you got?”
Nisansala glanced over. “Worse than what Nuwan got today. Way worse.”
Nadee put the brush down. “You didn’t say everything in his room.”
Nisansala chuckled softly. “Of course not. He doesn’t need to know all of it.”
Nadee slid under her blanket and leaned on her elbow, eyes curious. “Tell me.”
Nisansala hesitated. Then sat on the edge of her own bed, her voice lowering with the weight of memory.
“It was a Saturday. I had just gotten ready for a dance practice at school. Wearing Amma’s old pink skirt and a white blouse… thought I looked so grown up.”
She smiled faintly. “That’s when Amma found the report card. Hidden under my mattress for two weeks.”
“What did she do?”
“She didn’t shout. That’s what scared me. She just said, ‘Go outside. Now.’”
Nadee’s eyes widened.
“She made me kneel on the front steps. Bare knees on hot stone. Hands up—palms flat, high above my head. In that skirt. It kept slipping with the breeze. I was pulling it down with one hand when she snapped at me—‘Both hands up!’”
Nadee winced. “That sounds awful.”
“It was. I remember hearing the gate creak. Our neighbors were watching. Little kids passed by on bicycles. One auntie across the street even asked Amma why I was kneeling—Amma just said, ‘Because she’s forgotten what honesty means.’”
Nisansala looked down at her lap, fingers tightening on the fabric she was folding.
“Then Appachchi came out with the cane. Quiet as ever. He just looked at me—like he didn’t recognize me for a second. Then he said, ‘You’ve made your mother cry today.’ That hurt more than the cane.”
“You cried?”
“After the second stroke,” Nisansala admitted. “Not from the pain… from the shame. I was supposed to be the good one. The responsible daughter.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
Nadee’s voice was soft. “Is that why you’re so strict with Nuwan?”
“Partly. I don’t want him to lie to Amma the way I did. Or hide things. I want him to do better… even if it means he hates me for a while.”
Nadee gave a small nod. “He doesn’t hate you. I think… he just finally saw you as more than just ‘Akka’ today. You became the teacher too.”
Nisansala smiled gently, the kind of smile that holds pride and pain all at once.
“Let’s hope he learns faster than I did.”
Part 8: The Breaking Point
Nadee stood outside, her arms aching now. The morning sun was rising higher, making the concrete beneath her bare feet warm. Sweat gathered at her brow. Her back, slouched. Her arms drooping little by little.
From the veranda, Amma noticed.
“Nadee!” she snapped. “You think this is a joke?”
The teen girl jolted, trying to raise her hands again. “Amma, I’m sorry—I’m trying—”
“You’re not trying hard enough. Kneel. Now. On the sand.”
Nadee's eyes widened.
“But—”
“No backtalk.”
The soft thud of her knees hitting the garden sand followed. She knelt upright this time, eyes blinking back tears, more from the humiliation than the pain. The familiar silence from Amma loomed over her more than yelling ever could.
Moments later, Nisansala stepped outside too—still in her teacher’s outfit, her expression unreadable. She had come from her room with her school bag in one hand… and a familiar cane in the other.
She stood beside Amma and spoke calmly.
“Five minutes,” she said. “And you will stay still. If you move—”
“I won’t,” Nadee mumbled.
The air felt heavier.
And for the first time, Nuwan—watching from the edge of the living room—felt a twist in his stomach. This wasn’t teasing anymore. This was hard to watch.
---
After what felt like forever, Amma finally spoke. “You can get up.”
Nadee didn’t move for a moment, her hands pressed on her thighs, fingers clenched. She rose slowly, brushing sand from her knees and wiping her eyes without letting herself fully cry.
Amma didn’t scold her again.
She simply said, “Clean up. Then come to the kitchen.”
As she walked inside, Nisansala gave her younger sister a brief look. Not angry. Just serious.
“I’ll put the cane back in your school bag,” she said quietly. “So you remember it’s not just for students.”
Nadee nodded.
But then—just as Amma disappeared into the kitchen and Nisansala turned back toward the house—Nuwan approached her cautiously.
“Hey,” he said, trying not to sound smug. “You okay?”
Nadee gave a weak, crooked smile. “No. That sucked.”
They stood in silence.
Then she added, “Now we’re even.”
He nodded.
“Almost.”
They both laughed a little, and Nadee, brushing hair from her face, whispered, “I won’t tease you again. Not for at least a week.”
“Fair enough,” Nuwan said.
And just like that, something softened between them—shared ground earned not through shouting
