The Ankle that Wasn't There
The Ankle That Wasn’t There Two Ankles, One Story Denzil Jayasinghe 5 min read D uring my school years, I spent most of my time away at boarding school, but when the month-long holidays came around, I would return home, slipping back into the rhythm of family life as if I had never left. Each evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, my father would take me to the water well for our nightly bathing ritual. He would draw bucket after bucket of cool, clear water, the creak of the rope against the pulley blending with the evening chorus of crickets. There was something almost methodical in the way he bathed me, his hands firm yet gentle as he scrubbed with soap, his eyes carefully scanning our bodies as if ensuring every inch was thoroughly cleaned. During one of these moments, as he wrapped me in the family towel — its familiar scent of sun and wind — he noticed something unusual. His sharp eyes caught the subtle difference: my left ankle wasn’t quite the same as my right. He p...