My Mother’s Prince - The Mistake That Wasn’t Small - Part 5

 

The Mistake That Wasn’t Small

Month-end arrived like a villain entry scene.

Even the office fan sounded stressed.

Files were stacked.
Voices were sharper.
Tea consumption doubled.

He was handling vendor payments that day — real money now, not practice entries.

His fingers moved carefully on the keyboard.

Double check.
Triple check.
Breathe.
Enter.

At 4:17 PM, the manager’s voice echoed.

“Who processed the Shankar Traders payment?”

Silence.

His stomach dropped.

“I… did, sir.”

The manager turned the screen toward him.

“You transferred ₹75,000 instead of ₹57,000.”

For one second, his brain stopped working.

Seventy-five.

Not fifty-seven.

Numbers had betrayed him.

His ears rang.

“I… I’m sorry, sir. I’ll correct it.”

“You can’t ‘correct’ money after sending it.”

The office felt smaller.

Meera looked at the screen.

“Sir, wait,” she said calmly.

She checked the voucher file.

Then the email printout.

Then the entry again.

She looked up.

“Sir, the vendor mail says ₹75,000. The handwritten bill says ₹57,000. I think they updated the amount.”

The manager frowned.

“Call them.”

She called.

Speaker on.

After two rings, the vendor answered.

“Yes madam, correct amount is ₹75,000. We mailed revised invoice.”

The manager exhaled.

“Okay.”

He looked at him.

“Next time, inform before processing.”

“Yes, sir.”

But the storm had already passed.

The mistake wasn’t a mistake.

Still, his heart hadn’t received that memo.

---

After the manager left, he sat frozen.

His hands were slightly shaking.

Meera noticed.

“Hey.”

He didn’t look up.

“I really thought I messed up.”

“You didn’t.”

“I saw ₹57,000 first. I didn’t even notice the mail update.”

“That’s not a crime.”

He gave a weak smile.

“It felt like one.”

She leaned back in her chair.

“You know what your problem is?”

He prepared for impact.

“You assume the worst before checking the full story.”

He blinked.

“That’s very specific.”

“I observe aggressively.”

He almost laughed.

Almost.

---

At tea break, he didn’t go.

He stayed staring at the ledger.

Meera came back with two cups.

“Drink.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I didn’t ask if you wanted it.”

He accepted the cup.

Silence.

Then she said casually,

“If you had really transferred wrong amount, what would you have done?”

He thought.

“I would have repaid from my salary.”

She nearly spilled tea.

“Your entire salary?”

“Yes.”

“Great. Then you’d work here for nine months free. Very royal plan.”

He smiled slightly.

“It’s not about money.”

“I know,” she said gently. “It’s about not failing.”

He didn’t respond.

Because she was right again.

---

That evening, while leaving, she walked beside him down the staircase.

“You know,” she said, “introverts are not weak.”

He glanced at her.

“Random topic.”

“Not random. You panic internally but still show up every day. That’s strength.”

He didn’t know what to say.

No one had ever described him like that.

At the bus stop, she waved casually.

“See you tomorrow, Mr. Almost-Criminal.”

He smiled properly this time.

“See you.”

---

At home, his mother noticed the tiredness.

“Tough day?”

He nodded.

“Big mistake?”

“Almost.”

“But not?”

He shook his head.

She placed dinner in front of him.

“You know,” she said softly, “even kings make wrong decisions.”

“I’m not a king.”

She smiled.

“No. But you are learning how not to run away.”

He paused.

For the first time, he realized something.

He didn’t run today.

He stayed.
He faced it.
He survived it.

Maybe being a prince was never about crowns.

Maybe it was about standing steady when your heart wants to escape.

And somewhere between panic and relief —

He had grown a little.

Not visibly.

But undeniably.