Then Akaal did something he had never done in his twenty-three years of privilege. He took off his gold ring—the one from his father, the one that symbolized the unbreakable line of his inheritance—and placed it in Fateh’s palm.
“Remember Mrs. Dhillon?” Fateh said. “She said we were twins.”
Fateh gestured to the rickshaw, then to Akaal’s empty hands. “Now I think… maybe the point wasn’t the line. Maybe the point was the eraser.”
The end.
Akaal nodded.