We were interrupted by Ishaani. She entered with her usual enthusiasm. I wish to punch her on her face for disturbing but nevermind.
"Guys, let's cook, since all three of us are here at my house," she said.
"No, Ish," I replied quickly.
"Please, I'm going to die of hunger," she pleaded, pouting dramatically.
"We can just order, Ish," I suggested.
"Fine, let's cook," he interrupted, his tone calm but firm.
I turned to look at him with wide eyes while Ishaani smiled in victory.
"How about cooking pizza?" she suggested.
I nodded slowly. Truth was, I didn't know much about cooking—especially not Italian dishes. I only knew a bit about Indian food, and that too barely. But he seemed oddly confident. Which was the most annoying thing ever.
"I'm sick, you guys cook for me," Ishaani declared, dramatically flopping onto the sofa."i love you guys you know".
"Ma'am, you weren't sick a moment ago," I said, narrowing my eyes.
"Well, now I am. So please shut up and cook for me," she shot back, grinning.
I sighed. Me and him headed toward the kitchen. Honestly, I had zero expectations from my dearest collector. I didn't even think he was capable of doing anything beyond his official work and maintaining his constant grumpiness.
"Flour, five cups—that's what the lady in this video is saying," I read aloud from my phone.
"Nandini, we don't need five cups. That's too much," he said calmly.
"I know better," I argued.
"Okay then, do it," he said, stepping back.
So, I added five cups of flour and then a few more ingredients. But the mixture didn't feel right. Still, I pretended everything was fine. Instead of forming dough, it turned into… syrup.
I looked at him nervously and forced a smile. "Uh… I mean, sometimes people make mistakes."
"I see. People really do make mistakes, right?" he said, mocking me with that infuriating smirk.
I pouted. "Oh, please, shut up."
He walked closer, took over, and within minutes, he had made a perfect dough. My jaw dropped.
"Understood?" he asked, raising a brow.
I nodded quickly, embarrassed.
"Give me some tomatoes," he said.
I brought them and started chopping, but then an evil idea crossed my mind. I picked up one slice and suddenly smeared it across his cheek.
He froze and turned to me, his face serious. "Is this funny?" His voice was stern, deep, intimidating.
"I—I'm sorry," I stuttered.
He stepped toward me, and instinctively, I stepped back. He kept walking towards me, his gaze locked on mine, until my back hit the wall. His arms came up on either side of me, trapping me.
"Was this supposed to be a joke, Nandini?" he asked again, his voice low but firm.
"Y-yeah," I whispered, trembling slightly. I shut my eyes, bracing myself for whatever came next.
But instead of anger, I felt his fingers brush lightly across my cheek, wiping away a stray bit of tomato. My eyes fluttered open, confused. He was so close now I could feel his breath.
His expression softened, just a little. "You're unbelievable," he muttered, his voice carrying both softness and something unspoken beneath it.
For a moment, the kitchen fell silent. My heart hammered in my chest. He didn't move away, and I couldn't either. I could feel his heartbeats too.
His phone rang, and I came back to reality. Or maybe I was the only one who did—because he never left reality. I was the only one imagining something strange. I knew he wasn't. I pushed him slightly and went back to cooking.
I busied myself with chopping again, trying to hide the flush on my cheeks. My hands weren't steady, though, and he noticed.
"Careful, Nandini," he said, his tone softer this time. "You'll cut yourself."
"I won't," I muttered, but the knife slipped, nicking my finger ever so slightly.
"Ahh!" I hissed, pulling my hand back.
Before I could reach for a tissue, he caught my wrist gently and examined the cut. His brows furrowed in concern. "You don't listen to anyone, do you?"
"I told you it's nothing," I said quickly, embarrassed. I looked at my hand bleeding.
Ignoring me, he pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around my finger with surprising care. His touch was gentle, his hands warm against mine.
My heart skipped a beat. This was the same man who scared half the town with his sternness, and yet here he was, fussing over a tiny cut like it mattered.
"There," he said finally, tying the knot. "Now don't argue."
I stared at him, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. "You–you're not always grumpy, are you?"
He raised an eyebrow, smirking faintly. "Don't get used to it, Nandini."
I laughed softly, shaking my head. "Vyom, you surprise me sometimes."
"And you annoy me all the time," he retorted, but there was no real bite in his voice.
The moment stretched between us, the air charged with something unspoken. His eyes lingered on mine a second too long, and I found myself unable to look away.
Just then, Ishaani's voice rang from the living room:
"Is my pizza ready or should I order myself a boyfriend who knows how to cook?"
I jumped, pulling my hand back. He stepped away too, clearing his throat, his usual stern mask slipping back into place.
I rolled my eyes, shouting back, "Almost done, Ish! Keep your drama to yourself!"
But inside, my heart was still racing, and my finger throbbed—not from the cut, but from the memory of his touch.
We went back to cooking, though my mind was far from the dough or the sauce. Every time our hands brushed while reaching for an ingredient, I felt a tiny spark. I tried to ignore it, but it was impossible when he was standing so close, his presence filling the kitchen.
"Pass me the cheese," he said, his voice low.
I handed it to him, our fingers brushing again. This time, neither of us pulled back immediately. His gaze flickered to mine, steady and unreadable, but there was something softer hiding in his eyes.
I quickly looked away, pretending to busy myself with the rolling pin. My palms were sweaty, and the dough wasn't cooperating.
"You're pressing too hard," he said, stepping behind me.
Before I could protest, his hands covered mine, guiding the motion gently. "Like this–steady, not forceful."
My breath caught in my throat. His chest was so close I could feel the warmth radiating from him. My fingers tensed under his, but his touch was firm yet patient.
"See?" he murmured, his voice brushing against my ear. "Now it's perfect."
I turned my head slightly, and for a fleeting moment, our eyes met—too close, too intense. My heartbeat quickened, thundering in my ears.
I swallowed, my voice barely above a whisper. "you are not a bad cook though and maybe not as bad as I thought."
He smirked faintly, his lips dangerously close to mine. "And you're worse than I thought… stubborn, careless, impossible—"
"Excuse me?!" I pulled my hands free, glaring at him.
But he only chuckled, the sound rich and warm. "—and yet," he continued, leaning in just enough to make my heart stumble, "somehow… you make this kitchen less dull."
I blinked, stunned into silence.
He stepped back then, as if nothing had happened, returning to the sauce. Meanwhile, I was left gripping the rolling pin like it was the only thing keeping me upright.