And maybe it tastes better than it looks.
I give myself a little pep talk as I smooth down my kurta and walk to the door, doing my best not to look as nervous as I feel.
The moment I open it, my smile widens on its own. Sidharth stands there in a navy blue shirt with sleeves casually rolled up to his forearms. A light stubble shadows his jaw, and his hair is slightly messy in that effortless, infuriatingly perfect way.
“Hi,” he greets me.
“Hi,” I breathe. Damn, his lopsided smile is making it hard for me to focus on anything else.
“For you,” he says, holding out a single sunflower.
I smile, surprised. “You remembered I told you that I loved sunflowers?”
“You should know better by now. I remember everything you say,” he replies.
I nod mutely, my heart fluttering in the most ridiculous way at those simple words. Damn him. I step aside to let him in.
He takes a few steps inside, then pauses, sniffing the air.
“Something smells… hmm… good?”
I let out a nervous laugh. “That would be dinner.”
We walk over to the table, and I gesture with an exaggerated flourish. “Ta-da.”
“This is… impressive,” he says slowly, lowering himself into the chair as his eyes roam over the table. “Did you cook all this?”
I nod proudly, placing the sunflower into the vase at the center of the table. “Yup.”
“Wow. I can’t wait to try,” he says, rubbing his hands together with a grin.
Nervous, I pick up the serving spoon and ladle a portion of aloo matar onto his plate, then add a generous scoop of rice beside it. I sit down next to him just as he picks up his spoon, scoops a bite, and pops it into his mouth.
“And?” I ask, my eyes wide, heart thumping in my chest.
He chews slowly, then swallows, and clears his throat. “It’s good.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he nods, smiling.
I grin. I knew it. It couldn’t possibly be as bad as it looked. Feeling suddenly confident, I scoop some onto my plate and take a bite.
The moment it hits my tongue, I nearly choke. The salt is uneven, the peas are mushy, and I have no idea what I did to the gravy, but it tastes horrible. I quickly grab a napkin and spit it out.
“You call this good?” I manage to ask, my voice cracking with embarrassment as I meet his gaze.
His eyes soften. “Yup. Because you made it, and I know what it took for you to do that. That matters more than taste.”
I blink up at him, my heart cracking wide open. I swear, this man has a PhD in being swoon-worthy. And damn, he’s good at it.
Shaking my head, I sigh. “This dinner’s going straight to the bin. I’d better order something before we both end up with food poisoning.”
He chuckles. “I don’t want to sound mean, but I think that’s a very wise idea.”
We both burst out laughing. Just then, his phone buzzes on the table. He glances at the screen and lets out a slow breath.
“It’s my mom.”
