My eleven-year-old son Wasim slides his book bag from his shoulders and runs towards the new birdcage, his eyes brimming with excitement.
“Thank you for these beautiful birds, Ammi,” he says.
“Glad you like them,” I ruffle his hair.
He peers at the silent birds, then scrolls through my phone and reads, “These birds are budgerigars, not parrots. The one with the brown spot above its beak is the male, and the other is the female.” He furrows his brow to think hard. “We’ll call them Raja and Rani. Okay?”
I smile and ruffle his hair. “Yes. Whatever you say.”
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