The kitchen was bright and quiet. Tingu pushed the fridge door open with his whole body. There it sat.
A tall glass cone filled with three giant scoops of ice cream. Glistening. Tingu gasped and pointed. 'Melt,' he said.
He dragged his tiny stool across the tile floor to peer inside. The cone waited, perfect and cold.
Tingu hoisted the cone onto the dining table, but the top scoop wobbled. A yellow drip slid down the side.
He tried to lick the drip off the edge, then wiped his sticky palm on his shirt. He looked at the puddle.
He carried the cone toward the living room. His parents were reading on the sofa. The middle scoop slipped free.
It splatted onto the floor with a loud smack. Pink, white, and yellow swirled across the tiles. Tingu froze.
His parents looked up from their book. A tiny strawberry chunk bounced once on the rug. Tingu held his breath.
His mom grabbed the big serving spoon and dipped it into the melting cone. 'One for everyone,' she said.
Tingu's dad leaned in close. All three of them shared the same spoon — chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry.
Chocolate landed on Tingu's nose. He giggled, and the sweet cold melted slowly on his tongue.
The sweet cold melted slowly on his tongue. Outside, the evening breeze rustled the curry leaves on the balcony.
