I try to help with the garlic and somehow end up dropping half of it.
“Okay,” he says, deadpan. “We are banning you from knife duty permanently.”
“Excuse you,” I say, offended. “I’mlearning.”
“Learning would imply progress.”
I flick a piece of onion at him.
He catches it mid-air and drops it into the pan with a flourish. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
I lean my chin into my palm, watching him with the kind of fondness I never thought I’d feel this deeply for anyone. “You keep saying that like it’s not the entire reason you put up with me.” I smirk.
He doesn’t answer for a second. He just glances sideways at me, his expression shifting into something quieter, gentler.
“It’s not,” he says softly.
Something tightens in my chest.
God, how does he do that? Flip the mood like a switch—from teasing to heartfelt in a breath?
The rest of the dinner comes together quickly. I pour the drinks, even though he doesn’t trust me near anything remotely fragile. We set the plates down on the small table near the balcony, the city lights glowing softly in the distance.
The food is, obviously, perfect. Becausehemade it.
“You’re really annoying, you know,” I say, chewing thoughtfully. “Like, couldn’t you mess up just once?”
He raises an eyebrow. “You want me to intentionally ruin food?”
“No, I want to win for once. Compete with you in a kitchen and win.”
He laughs. “Aditi, you literally burnt pasta once. Water was involved.Water.”
I sigh dramatically. “Let’s not bring up the past. I’ve grown.”
“You’re unhinged.”
“And you’re stuck with me.”
That slow smile comes back. “Yeah,” he says, almost to himself. “I am.”
And just like that, we fall into a kind of comfortable silence—the kind that feels earned. The kind that happens only when two people have seen each other’s worst and still sit across the table, still choose to stay.
Sometimes, it’s in the soft clinks of cutlery. The way he pulls my stool closer without asking. The way I steal a bite from his plate and he lets me. The way our knees bump under the table and neither of us moves away.
It’s in the way we end up on the couch later, legs tangled, my head on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat slow and steady beneath my ear.
This isn’t perfect.
It’s real.
And for someone like me—who’s spent a lifetime trying to be perfect—real feels like magic.
CHAPTER 52
ADITI
The elevator doors haven’t even closed completely when his lips crash onto mine. Today we didn't have many meetings, so Abhimaan decided to take half a day off. And it's the best decision.
