The neighbor looked at the bills resting on the table. He squinted at them under his flashlight and then started laughing so hard he nearly dropped his light.

"Maybe your thoughts are too bright," Podi Malli groaned. "And look at the water bill. It’s enough to fill a swimming pool. Are you taking ten baths a day? Or is there a secret waterfall under the house we don’t know about?"

"Both! It’s a double attack!" Podi Malli collapsed into a plastic chair, staring at the numbers on the bills as if they were written in an ancient, cursed language. "Look at the electricity bill. Did we start a factory overnight? Did you leave the iron on for three days? Or did the fridge decide to host a party for all the other appliances in the neighborhood?"

"See?" Chooty Malli said, leaning back and picking up his cold tea. "I told you my thoughts were bright. I knew all along it wasn't our bill."

Chooty Malli and Podi Malli stared at each other. The tension evaporated instantly. Chooty Malli lunged for the light switch, flooding the room with a warm glow, while Podi Malli ran to the kitchen to turn on the tap just to hear the beautiful sound of running water.

"You idiots," the neighbor gasped. "These aren't yours. Look at the address! These belong to the big villa at the end of the lane. The postman must have swapped them in his rush."

The morning sun had barely touched the rooftops of the quiet village when a familiar, rhythmic rattling echoed down the main road. It was the sound of a rusted bicycle, pedaled with frantic urgency by the local postman. But today, he wasn't bringing letters from loved ones or colorful postcards. He was the bearer of the "Twin Terrors" of every Sri Lankan household.