Great.
Just great.
Behind me the door upstairs creaks open.
“Divya?” Aditya’s voice floats down the staircase, warm and annoyingly calm.
I grit my teeth.
“I’m fine,” I say immediately, even though he hasn’t actually asked anything yet.
He appears at the top of the stairs a moment later, one hand resting on the railing. His hair is still slightly damp from a shower, and he’s rolling his sleeves up the way he does when he’s getting ready for work.
He studies me for half a second. “You haven’t eaten.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You said that yesterday too. I can't let you miss two meal.”
I slide the key into the shop lock and push the door open with more force than necessary.
“I said I’m not hungry.” The words come out sharper than I intend.
Aditya doesn’t respond right away. I can feel his eyes on my back as I step inside and start arranging the bottles on the counter, even though they are already arranged perfectly.
Footsteps patter down the stairs behind him.
Neel appears next, dragging his school bag across the floor like it personally offended him. “Didi,” he says slowly, “why are you angry at the table?”
“I’m not angry at the table.”
“And you slammed the door.”
“I didn’t slam the door.”
“You definitely slammed the door.”
Aditya leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You’re snapping at furniture now.”
I glare at both of them.
“I am not snapping at furniture.”
Neel tilts his head thoughtfully. “Oh no.”
“What?”
“Oh no,” he repeats dramatically.
Aditya sighs. “What is it, Neel?”
Neel looks between us with the serious expression of a tiny doctor diagnosing a rare disease. “Didi is sick.”
“I am not sick.”
“You are definitely sick.”
“I am definitely not sick.”
