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Wrong Family
comedyEveryone5 contributors · 5 paragraphs deep
Sunday came. I stood outside the house holding a box of sweets from the shop, like a man about to take an exam he didn't study for. Through the window: at least 15 people. The smell of biryani reached the street. I rang the bell. Footsteps. A voice yelled, "THE NEW NUMBER IS HERE!"
Inside, Grandma pointed at a young guy standing by the samosas. Grandma: "That is Bilal. His number we meant to add." Bilal: "So YOU'RE the wrong number. You're famous, man." He shook my hand like we were old friends. Grandma pushed a plate into my hands: "Sit. Both of you. A family can always fit one more." And honestly? The biryani deserved its reputation.
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