“I am quality control,” Neel replies firmly.
Aditya lets out a quiet laugh under his breath. “You’re seven.”
“And you are in my kitchen,” Neel says with equal seriousness.
I press my lips together, trying very hard not to laugh.
Aditya lifts one eyebrow. “Your kitchen?”
“Yes.” Neel gestures proudly around the room. “This house belongs to my sister. Which means technically it belongs to me too.”
Aditya pauses his chopping long enough to nod thoughtfully. “That’s a strong argument.”
“Thank you.” Neel leans closer again, inspecting the vegetables like he’s evaluating a priceless artifact.
“You are much better at this than didi,” he announces.
My jaw drops. “Excuse me?” I step into the doorway with my arms crossed. Neel gasps and spins around so fast he nearly loses his balance on the stool.
“Didi!”
He stares at me like I’ve materialized out of thin air. Aditya glances over his shoulder at me and immediately starts laughing. Neel recovers quickly. He gives me a huge grin that is so shamelessly charming it almost works.
“You know, didi,” he says sweetly, “I was joking.”
“Oh really?” I narrow my eyes at him, though it’s getting harder not to smile.
“Yes.” He leans closer to me and stage-whispers—loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear.
“I have to make sure he cooks good food so we both get to eat it.”
Aditya bursts out laughing. I fold my arms and glare at my little traitor. “So this is how it is now?”
Neel shrugs dramatically. “I believe in honesty.”
“Honesty?”
“Yes.”
“You just insulted me in my own house.”
“Constructive criticism,” he corrects. I stare at him.
Aditya is still chuckling beside the counter. “Neel,” I say slowly, “you are testing the limits of my patience this morning.”
He grins unapologetically. “You love me.” Unfortunately, that part is true.
I sigh and step into the kitchen. “Come on,” I say, pointing toward the hallway. “Go get ready. Your auto will be here in thirty minutes.”
Neel hops off the stool. Before leaving, he turns back toward Aditya with a very serious expression. “You’re doing very well,” he says approvingly.
Aditya presses a hand dramatically against his chest. “That means a lot.”
Then Neel runs off toward the bathroom. The moment he disappears down the hallway, the kitchen settles into a softer rhythm. Aditya resumes chopping. I lean against the counter across from him, still half asleep.
And that’s when I really look at him.
He’s wearing a simple grey t-shirt and loose pajama pants. His hair is still slightly messy from sleep, falling over his forehead in a way that looks frustratingly good.
