It was not long before I heard the dreaded sound.

“Who broke my mug? I’m going to kill you!” my sister wailed in anguish.

You might be wondering why someone would care so much just about a mug, but my sister was attached to it not because of its use, but because of the memories attached to it. You see, a few months back, my sister and her closest friends had gone on a vacation to Europe’s most popular tourist destinations. She often declared with pride and happiness that it was the best fortnight she had ever had in her whole life.

Along with dozens of photographs, gifts and what not, she had also received a mug from the tourism agency through which they had organised their trip. On it were imprinted a few of the best photos she had taken with her friends. To her it was not just a mug, but an invaluable souvenir.

Unfortunately for me, it was I who had broken it. As I was taking my own mug out of the cupboard for my daily helping of milk and cornflakes, my hand hit her treasured mug and I watched in horror and despair as it went crashing onto the marble floor into a thousand pieces. Not even a jigsaw puzzle making enthusiast would have been able to put it together.

At first I stood there paralysed with fear at the consequences, but then moved quickly into action, running away from the crime scene. However, my escape from hell was not going to be as easy as that.

An hour later, when my sister had woken up and had drowsily dragged herself to the kitchen, I knew exactly when she got to find out about her mug. I was happily reading, when a scream so terrifying was heard that I was left with goose bumps.

Then she came into my room, marching right up to my bed and demanded with anger and tears in her voice, “Did you break my mug?”

To me, she sounded like a fierce tiger who was prepared to attack a helpless, unfortunate victim.

Seeing her in such rage and with my guilty conscience, my reply was in the form of a feeble stutter, “Ummm… m-m-m-aybe?”

Her reaction would have had a tyrannosaurus rex pleading for mercy, it was that fierce. I, on the other hand, was only human, and remembered her reaction to my clumsiness for the rest of my life.

Her eyes boiled with anger, and being the drama queen that she was, she looked up to the ceiling and let out a wail like a banshee, cried, “Noooooo!”

I thought that I had been let off lightly, but that was not all. She glared at me with hatred and the next words she spoke cut through me as easily as a knife through butter, “You will pay for this, Syed Sameer-ul-Hasan.”

Leaving those ominous words hanging in the air, my sister stomped off, banging the door shut behind her. The echoes could be heard throughout the house, but I did not concentrate on it; I was left wondering with shaking hands what sticky situation I had brought myself into and how I would get out of it.

Published in Dawn, Young World, October 10th, 2020