Mahil :
"Oh my dear Nachos, last night I made a mistake when I decided to save you guys for today. How cruel of these people to stop me from having this delight," I held the orange packet of Cornitos which was half-empty.
On usual days, I could go without food for some ten to twelve hours easily, but when they asked me specifically to not eat anything just for three hours, my stomach was growling with hunger.
"I absolutely hate this. Why didn't someone tell me to have my lunch before going there?" Placing the pack above the refrigerator, I walked back to the living room fearing that my mind might turn rebellious any given moment.
If I wanted to comply with Kuhoo's instructions, then staying in the kitchen while staring at doritos and mayonnaise wasn't a good idea. Television showed nothing interesting. I tried to flip through the pages of 'The monk who sold his Ferrari' but it couldn't help me to forget my huge unsatiated appetite. It was already two hours since I reached home, did she forget about the offer to cook for us?
I felt stupid waiting for a woman whom I had known just for one and a half week. Even during this period we hardly had civil conversations. Maybe she was caught up with something. Why did I feel sad at the thought of her not showing up?
My chain of thoughts broke as the phone buzzed with Freyer's call. Swiping it right, I put the speaker on, "What is it?"
"Miss Khurana called. She was asking for our confirmation regarding the schedule. So, are we still going to start from Wednesday?" He asked.
"Yes," I answered.
"Boss, Wednesday is day after tomorrow. We aren't even ready with the basics yet," He sounded sceptic.
"Send me the songs that she handed over to you during the meeting and give our confirmation to Miss Khurana that everything will be as per schedule," I told. He just hummed before cutting the call.
Doorbell rang and I went ahead to open the door. I couldn't help but feel a bit hazy looking at her standing on the other side in a loose palazzo and cream sweatshirt, carrying an airtight casserole. So, she actually cooked for me! Was I supposed to be happy about it? It felt weird giving to the fact that I either prepared food for myself or ate in restaurants. My eyes swelled with tears at the memory that last time when someone else cooked me anything home-made was also the last time I saw my parents alive.
Ten years mamma, ten years. How was the fate so gruesome, or maybe I was too cold to the world? If it didn't happen in these ten years, why was she standing at my doorstep tormenting the plain lines on the graph of my life? Why had I not refused Kuhoo when she proposed it in the first place?
Promise me, you will wait for her.
Mamma's words fell on my ears and I released a shaky breath as waves of goosebumps passed across my skin. Trying hard to gulp the suddenly formed lump in my throat, I nodded and signalled her to come inside when she was about to step back sensing the awkwardness.
"Where's the kitchen?" She asked.
Unable to form coherent words, I just pointed in the left direction.
What the hell was that?
Making my way to the fridge, I drank cold water almost emptying the bottle while she got busy serving the pasta in two plates.
Was I really ready to do this?
Maybe not, but then why did the thought of her walking away feel weirdly painful?
"I hope you like mac and cheese. Because anything too spicy, sour, or sweet won't be good for a few days," She smiled placing two forks in the dishes one by one.
"I do," My voice came out a bit hoarse. Clearing my throat, I continued, "As long as I get to eat, anything will be fine."
"That hungry, huh?" She chuckled, "A few years back, disturbed food habits used to wreck my brains. But since I moved to Chicago, I have skipped my lunch so many times due to workload that it doesn't even matter anymore."
"That's not healthy, you know." Concern was evident in my voice.
How could she make me jump from Mr-shaky-breaths to concerned-for-her-creep in a span of few minutes?
"Thank you for educating a doctor about health," My heart was baffled at the hint of amusement dancing in her eyes.
Did Kuhoo realize that she was almost flirting with me?
"Sorry, I forgot that I was an uneducated fool," I smirked raising my arms in surrender and sauntered towards the kitchen counter in order to help her.
"Eh, I apologize for the afternoon. Honestly speaking, it would trigger any Neurosurgeon if you compare them with a dentist, considering that it is a super-speciality branch. I might sound prejudiced to say this but it happens in medical profession at times. I guess it does in every field. That does not mean I don't respect their work. You're right, both are doctors. And I was wrong at that moment, but some thoughts are just so deep in our veins; it is difficult to change them despite knowing that they are incorrect on moral grounds," She seemed lost in the flow of her own words.
"What should I say? Apology accepted. But I still don't find it right, you skipping lunch, whatever be the reason," I clicked my tongue.
"And why does it concern you, Mr. Malhotra?" She wriggled the eyebrows.
Was it only me who felt she was flirting?
I never thought that being called 'Mr. Malhotra' would one day flutter butterflies in my heart.
Trying to put a straight face, I bowed, "Well, taking into account that you cooked for me, it is my duty to care for you."
I waited for her reply but she gave me none. The conversation fell silent. We stood facing each other, a gap of merely one foot separating us. Her pupils were larger than usual. That was when I noticed she had flecks of golden brown in her velvety black eyes.
"Beautiful," The words escaped my mouth.
She blinked saying, "Where should we sit?"
"The living room?" I suggested.
She handed me one plate before walking out of the kitchen. Once I shifted the small side table and set our dishes along with a water jug, we both took a seat on the couch. The cheese macroni was medium-warm with a subtle taste and fragrance of herbs. The cheddar gave it a perfect creamy texture. It was exactly the kind of pasta I would love to cherish with a glass of Chardonnay, simple yet exquisitely extravagant on the taste buds.
"Now this might make me sound nosy, but it will be better for this dental filling if you avoid alcohol for a week," She said before taking a spoonful of creamy good in her mouth.
Did she know how to read minds?
"And what's your deal with alcohol?" I asked.
"It isn't restricted as such after a simple procedure like cleaning and deep scaling," Kuhoo furrowed probably wondering about my inquisitiveness.
It seemed difficult to put in the right words, "I meant... Uh... That night at the club, when we met for the first time, you refused the Amaretto sour saying 'I don't fancy alcohol'. In the next two hours, I see you drunk. I was asking if you fancy it or not?"
Kuhoo sighed, "Look Mahil, it was just a bad night. Something disturbed me and boom, I just downed vodka shots. The after effects, you have seen. I really don't consider it highly of me to have done something like that. Long story short, no, I don't fancy alcohol. In fact, it isn't even allowed for me."
"Are you on some kind of rehab?" I frowned but soon realized that it was an imbecile question on my part as she gave me a ridiculed expression. "Okay, then what do you mean by 'not allowed' thing?"
"Well, it isn't allowed in my family. Drinking almost feels like a sin there. Throughout my growing years, I have despised it, contrary to the opinion of the major population here. But as I said, some faiths are just so deep in us. Of course, in the end, the choice is ours," She contemplated before saying the last statement.
No doubt the very first sight of her reminded me of you mamma.
With her beliefs; she was just so you.
Raising an eyebrow in appreciation, I said, "Certainly. So, apart from being a Neurosurgeon, disliking alcohol, nurturing the balcony plants on Sundays, fighting with me every time, and then telling the same to your best friend who hurls curses at random men over phone calls, what else do you do?"
Where was the censor that I usually switched on while conversing with my clients?
Crap, did I sound like a creep?
Kuhoo chuckled. Thank heavens; she did not take any offense. "That pretty much sums up me. But remember this, not a word against my best friend, or else," rolling up the sleeves dramatically, she faked a thick manly voice while holding an imaginary mustache, "or else, you don't know me."
I laughed, "Oh, no, no. How did I forget to add that to this list? I have first-hand experience of being bashed with the strength of these hands. How did you learn that trick anyways?"
She sighed. Something showed up on her face for an infinitesimally small moment, only to disappear later. Exasperation? Consternation? Regret? For that slightest time, she didn't look like the Kuhoo I saw all the time and then again her eyes were the same as if nothing changed. As if she didn't just put my heart on the edge with the probability of the thought something terrible had happened to her. Like that glowing wheaty skin didn't crack open for a few seconds baring the black shadows of the past which probably still lived within her.
She seemed to be a master at hiding them. But much to my misery, I was acquainted with melancholic afflictions at a pretty young age. And how could pain not identify pain?
"Wrong question?" I voiced.
She clicked her tongue, "A story for another time?"
I nodded.
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Whom do you like more so far, Mahil or Kuhoo?