My phone buzzed at 9pm. New group chat: FAMILY DINNER PLANNING. 14 people. I know none of them. Wrong number, clearly. I went to tap Leave. Then Grandma texted: "I am bringing my famous biryani Sunday. Everyone say what you are bringing." The replies rolled in. Kebabs. Salad. "The good plates." Then Uncle Tariq tagged me: "And what is this new number bringing?" The whole chat went quiet, waiting for my answer.

I don't know why I did it. I panicked. Me: "I'll bring dessert." Three people liked it instantly. Grandma: "Good boy." Grandma called me good boy. I felt weirdly proud of myself. Then Auntie Shazia typed: "Which dessert? Be specific. We all remember the fruit incident." The fruit incident?

Me: "What was the fruit incident?" Auntie Shazia: "We don't discuss it." Uncle Tariq: "Cousin Danish brought a fruit platter to Eid. A FRUIT PLATTER." Grandma: "He is still learning." Auntie Shazia: "So. Which dessert are you bringing? Think carefully before you answer."

Me: "It's a surprise." Wrong answer. Auntie Shazia: "This family does not do surprises. Not since the fruit." Uncle Tariq started a poll: "Trust the new number's surprise dessert? YES / NO." The votes came in live. I sat there watching strangers vote on whether they believed in me.

The poll ended 9 to 5. YES. Nine strangers believed in me. Uncle Tariq: "Fine. But if this goes like the fruit, you're finished." Sunday, I walked in with a three-layer trifle I had practiced twice. Silence. Then Grandma held up her phone and took a photo of it. She has never once photographed Uncle Tariq's kebabs. He brings it up every single week. I am never leaving this family.