“What?”
“That you can tell a lot about a house by how the kitchen feels.”
I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling now.
“And what does my kitchen say?”
“That someone is trying very hard." My chest tightens unexpectedly.
“You noticed that?”
“I notice things,” he chuckles, "remember?" Of course I do. It makes me feel so seen.
There’s a small pause.
Then he asks, “Did you always live here?”
“Yeah.”
I tuck my hands under the pillow.
“My father bought that house when I was six."
“What was he like?”
The question is gentle. Not intrusive. I smile faintly in the darkness.
“He was… loud.” Aditya laughs softly.
“That’s not the word I expected.”
“He talked a lot,” I explain. “To customers. To neighbors. To random strangers who walked into the shop.”
“The shop downstairs?”
“ Yes, we sell Perfume oils,” I say. “Attar.”
“I could fathom, it smells wonderful in here.” I nod before realizing he can’t see that.
“Yeah. It's a small place but people loved it.” I smile, grateful he can't see me now, "You saved it too, you know...from the debt."
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then he changes the subject gently.
“And Neel?”
"He's my step brother." I sigh softly. “And I love him so much except that boy wakes up at five every morning.” I shake my head in disapproval.
“Five?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I have no idea,” I mutter. “Even on weekends.”
I hear him laugh again. “That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
