“You chose it,” I shrug. “You should test it.” For a moment she just stares at me. Then she steps closer. Slowly. The space between us shrinks. I suddenly become very aware of everything.The faint scent of the oils around us. The soft sound of her breathing. The way her fingers tremble slightly as she lifts the bottle. She dips the tiny glass stick into the oil. Then reaches for my wrist. Her touch is gentle. Barely there. But the moment her fingers wrap around my hand something shifts inside me. Heat spreads slowly through my chest. Divya’s eyes remain focused on what she’s doing. Careful. Concentrated. She presses the oil against my pulse point. The scent blooms instantly. Warm. Earthy. Intoxicating.
Her thumb brushes lightly against my skin as she finishes. My breath catches. She doesn’t pull away immediately. Her fingers linger on my wrist. Just for a second. When she finally looks up our faces are much closer than before. Her eyes search mine. Curious. Unsure. I realize suddenly that my other hand has moved to the edge of the counter behind her. Without thinking. Without planning.
The air between us feels different now. Heavy. Charged. “You were right,” I say quietly. Her voice comes out softer than usual.
“About what?”
“This suits me.”
She swallows. “Good.” Neither of us moves.Her hand is still resting lightly against my wrist. My fingers are inches from her waist. If either of us leans forward even slightly—the thought lingers in my mind. Divya seems to realize it too. Her breath quickens. Then she steps back.
Just one step. The spell breaks slightly. She clears her throat and quickly screws the cap back onto the bottle. “You should wear it sometimes,” she says.
“I will.” She places the bottle in my hand.
“Consider it a… housewarming gift.” I look at the small glass vial resting in my palm. Then back at her. “You know,” I say slowly.
“What?”
“If this is how customers get treated here…” She raises an eyebrow. “…I might start visiting the shop more often.”
Divya laughs again. But the blush on her cheeks doesn’t fade. And neither does the warmth spreading quietly through my chest.
9. FLOUR FIGHTS
DIVYA
Dinner starts quietly enough.
The three of us sit around the small table the way we have been doing every evening lately, plates filled, the ceiling fan turning lazily above us while the smell of cumin and garlic still lingers in the air from the food Aditya cooked. I am halfway through my meal when Neel suddenly clears his throat.
Not the absent-minded kind of cough people make while eating.
A very deliberate throat clear.
The kind that means an announcement is coming.
Aditya looks up first. I follow a second later. Neel is sitting straighter than usual in his chair, his small hands folded neatly on the table like he is about to address a board meeting.
“I hope,” he begins slowly, his gaze moving between us with exaggerated seriousness, “that you two did not think I forgot about the list.”
I close my eyes for a second.
Of course he didn’t forget.
When I open them again, Aditya is already watching me. One eyebrow is raised slightly, the corner of his mouth tilted upward in a way that instantly makes warmth crawl up the back of my neck. It’s the same amused look he gets whenever Neel starts orchestrating our lives.
Neel continues proudly. “Today,” he declares, “is the chocolate cake date.”
I nearly choke on my rice.
Across the table, Aditya coughs into his hand like he is hiding a laugh. I glare at him, which only seems to make the situation more entertaining for him.
“We will go,” Aditya says calmly after a moment, picking up another bite of food like this is the most normal dinner conversation in the world, “after you finish your dinner and go to sleep.”
Neel doesn’t need to be told twice.
The boy suddenly begins eating like someone pressed a timer somewhere. Rice disappears. Dal disappears. Vegetables vanish in alarming speed.
