15. YOU BELONG WITH ME
DIVYA
The kitchen smells like soy sauce and ginger by the time I finally turn the stove off. For a moment I just stand there, staring at the pan like it might suddenly reveal whether this was a good idea or not.
Paneer chilli.
I poke one cube cautiously with the spoon. It looks… decent. Not restaurant-level impressive obviously, but also not something that would send a person running for medical help.
Which, in my book, counts as success. I wipe my hands on the edge of the towel and glance at the clock.
It’s almost twelve. Neel is at school. Aditya is at work.
And I am standing in my kitchen packing lunch for my husband. The thought makes me snort softly. If someone had told me a month ago I would willingly be cooking for someone and trying new dishes, I would have laughed them out of the room.
Yet here I am.
Carefully spooning paneer chilli into a steel container and arranging it next to two warm rotis wrapped in foil.
I pause before closing the lid. What if he hates it?
No. He liked the noodles. Actually, he said they were “beyond seven.” Which still makes me smile every time I remember it.
I snap the lid shut before I can overthink this any further and slide the container into a small cloth bag. Then I grab my keys.
The walk there takes about fifteen minutes. It’s warm outside, the afternoon sun hanging lazily above the buildings, and the streets are quieter than usual because most people are still at work.
I keep rehearsing what I’ll say.
I was passing by.
No.
That sounds suspicious.
I thought you might forget to eat.
That sounds worse. By the time I reach the building, I still haven’t figured it out. The receptionist at the front desk looks up when I step inside. She smiles instantly as if she recalls me.
“Hi,” I say awkwardly. “I’m looking for Aditya.”
She instructs. “Second floor.”
I thank her and climb the stairs. The hallway upstairs is lined with glass doors and shelves filled with books stacked in uneven piles.
The air smells faintly of paper and coffee. Voices drift from somewhere down the corridor.
I follow the sound. And then I see him. Aditya is standing near one of the desks, leaning slightly against it while talking to a woman I’ve never seen before.
She’s probably around my age. Maybe a little older. Her hair is tied in a messy bun, and she’s holding a manuscript in one hand while gesturing animatedly with the other.
Aditya laughs at something she says. Not the polite laugh he gives strangers. The real one. That I have seen and happen to like it too much. The one that makes his shoulders shake slightly.
Something in my chest tightens unexpectedly. I stop walking.
They’re clearly in the middle of a conversation. The woman nudges his arm playfully with the manuscript.
“See? I told you that ending was ridiculous.”
