The sweet smell of banana milk still hung in the kitchen. I had just blended a glass especially for Masal — smooth, creamy, and cold — and set it on the table for her.
Before she could even touch it, Masa walked in, reached out, and grabbed the glass as if it had his name on it.
"Masa! That's mine!" Masal's voice shot up like a firecracker.
He tried to look innocent. "Just one sip."
But she was already in full defense mode. "No! It's mine!" She gave him a quick smack on the arm.
"Masal!" I stepped in, catching her ear gently. "I will bet you… why you bet your brother?"
She pouted. "He tried to drink my banana milk!"
"Yes, I saw," I said, pointing to the glass. "That's the one I made for you."
Her chin tilted up proudly. "I made it."
"Really? You made it? From peeling the bananas to blending the milk?"
She hesitated. "…Okay, Amma, you made it."
"That's better," I said.
"But for me — not Masa," she insisted.
"Yes, for you," I said, "but so what if he wants to drink a little banana milk? He is your brother."
Her eyes flared. "No! It's mine. I'm not giving him."
"Masal, it's just banana milk," I reminded her.
"Even if it's just banana milk, it's mine," she said, hugging the glass like it was treasure.
Masa grinned. "Amma loves me more, that's why she wants me to have some."
Masal gasped. "Amma! You love Masa more than Masal?"
"Ya Allah, give me patience," I muttered.
Finally, I sighed. "Next time, I'll make two glasses."
Masal shook her head. "No — three. Because Appa also likes banana milk. Remember once he fought with his friend just for banana milk? We don't want him to fight both of us over it."
The three of us laughed, the banana milk safe for now — until the next battle.