Zafar didn't waste a second. He rushed inside the house.
And that's when my brain finally clicked.
Oh no.
I had been cooking in the kitchen earlier when Zafar arrived. Then, caught up in everything — the fairy lights, the lipstick choice, the dress, the whole garden setup — I had completely forgotten about the pressure cooker on the stove.
What a disaster.
I dashed back inside, my heart pounding. The house was filled with smoke, thick and gray, swirling in the air. Our kitchen alarm was screaming like a banshee. I was freaking out.
Zafar and I flung the windows open as fast as we could to let the smoke out. But he didn't say a single word to me.
Not one word.
The alarm kept blaring, and I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me. I had just wanted to cook something nice for him. That's all. Just something sweet and special. Was that too much to ask?
As if the embarrassment wasn't enough, our next-door neighbors — a middle-aged couple — came rushing over after hearing the explosion.
Zafar opened the door. Uncle and Auntie were standing there, concern written all over their faces.
"Why don't you two come over to our place?" Uncle offered gently.
Zafar hesitated. Of course, we didn't want to be a burden, but Auntie insisted. She wouldn't take no for an answer.
So, Zafar finally nodded. He came back inside, took off his coat, and draped it gently over my shoulders. Without a word, he grabbed my wrist.
And we flew out the door like fugitives escaping a crime scene.
For the first ten minutes, I didn't even know what was happening. But when I looked around, I realized we were sitting on our neighbors' couch, in their cozy living room. Zafar sat beside me, close yet cold. Like a stranger.
He still didn't speak.
I didn't either.
Auntie peeked in from the kitchen. "Kids, dinner's ready!"
We moved to the dining table. I wasn't even hungry anymore, but somehow still ended up eating like I hadn't eaten in days. Well, who stays mad at food anyway?
Uncle and Zafar chatted away about how they met their wives, sharing stories like old friends. Auntie and I just nodded along, chewing and smiling. It was weirdly peaceful.
After dinner, Uncle asked Auntie for tea.
"I'll make it!" I chirped quickly.
They both tried to protest, but I insisted, "No, really. I make great tea. Ask Zafar!"
I looked over at him, hoping he'd smile.
Instead, he gave me a dry, unreadable look. No warmth. No spark.
Where did the old Zafar go?
Then he spoke, and I wished he hadn't.
"Yes, she makes amazing tea. And her smoky meat was truly… unforgettable."
My blood boiled.
Smoky meat?! Ugh.
"Oh darling, do tell them more about my cooking skills," I said through clenched teeth, faking a sweet smile.
"Let me help you with the tea, sweetheart," he added suddenly.
"No," I said quickly.
But Auntie smiled warmly. "kid, let him help. Your uncle never helped me in the kitchen. I'm still waiting."
Great. Guilt-tripped by Auntie.
So I headed to the kitchen.
It was beautiful — spacious, organized, and sparkling. The pans were lined up neatly in glass cabinets. I took out one and turned to find Zafar already walking in.
I could see his reflection in the shiny oven door. He walked up behind me, gently took the pan from my hand, and moved to the stove.
He turned it on. It was automatic. Fancy. I might've just fallen in love with the kitchen.
"We should get one of these for our kitchen too," I muttered.
"We'll have to. We're renovating anyway," he replied, his tone clipped.
Still mad, huh?
Fine. I'll pay him back for this.
I was lost in my petty thoughts when I suddenly caught his reflection again — he was staring at me and smiling.
Why was he smiling?
"Why the sad face?" he asked softly.
I turned to the mirrored wall and saw my expression. I did look miserable.
I couldn't hold it in any longer.
"Why weren't you talking to me?" I asked, voice small and real.
He paused. "I wasn't mad. I was just... watching your mood."
My heart softened a little.
"Here, pour water in this cup from the boil tap," he said casually.
He sounded normal again. Maybe… maybe he wasn't mad after all?
I nodded and handed him the hot water.
He started making tea, and I climbed up onto the kitchen counter nearby, perching like a child, just watching him.
Silently staring.