23-06-2025, 12:54 AM
Not yet.
“You want something to eat?” he asked.
Varnika gave a lazy shrug. “We could order something... or you could impress me with your cooking.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Dangerous suggestion.”
“I like danger,” she said, a faint smile curving her rosy lips.
There it was again—that soft, teasing defiance. He watched her for a beat longer than necessary, his thoughts drifting far beyond lunch.
“I can make decent Maggi,” he offered, half-joking.
“Perfect,” she grinned. “Chef it is.”
She didn’t move from the couch.
Instead, she watched him as he entered the kitchen, leaning her chin on the armrest, her long legs folded up beside her.
There was something quietly intimate about it—the sound of water boiling, the spice of masala wafting through the air, her presence just around the corner.
“So...” she called out, voice soft but clear. “How long have you known my sister?”
He glanced back over his shoulder. “Few weeks. We met on the terrace. Yoga.”
“Ah,” she said knowingly. “Partner yoga.”
He turned back to the stove with a sheepish smile.
“Must be... interesting,” she added. “All that bending and stretching. Getting aligned.”
“Helps with flexibility,” he said innocently.
“I bet,” she murmured.
When he brought the bowls out, two steaming cups of spicy Maggi, she scooted over, patting the cushion beside her.
He sat, slightly closer this time.
“You want something to eat?” he asked.
Varnika gave a lazy shrug. “We could order something... or you could impress me with your cooking.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Dangerous suggestion.”
“I like danger,” she said, a faint smile curving her rosy lips.
There it was again—that soft, teasing defiance. He watched her for a beat longer than necessary, his thoughts drifting far beyond lunch.
“I can make decent Maggi,” he offered, half-joking.
“Perfect,” she grinned. “Chef it is.”
She didn’t move from the couch.
Instead, she watched him as he entered the kitchen, leaning her chin on the armrest, her long legs folded up beside her.
There was something quietly intimate about it—the sound of water boiling, the spice of masala wafting through the air, her presence just around the corner.
“So...” she called out, voice soft but clear. “How long have you known my sister?”
He glanced back over his shoulder. “Few weeks. We met on the terrace. Yoga.”
“Ah,” she said knowingly. “Partner yoga.”
He turned back to the stove with a sheepish smile.
“Must be... interesting,” she added. “All that bending and stretching. Getting aligned.”
“Helps with flexibility,” he said innocently.
“I bet,” she murmured.
When he brought the bowls out, two steaming cups of spicy Maggi, she scooted over, patting the cushion beside her.
He sat, slightly closer this time.
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