A short story defining the stages of love.
Inara Khan was petulant: stubborn, short-tempered, blunt, and a middle child. She had her life planned until she stumbled on a betrayal by one she had never considered a possibility from.
Life threw a cur...
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Inara paced the area of the kitchen, checking on the Idli she steamed on one stove and another where her sambhar brewed. She had been craving some South Indian breakfast for a while and had made Afreen step out taking over the kitchen for the breakfast today.
Not that the sweet lady she was blessed as her mother-in-law ever let her spend her mornings cooking as she hurried for office. Today being one such day, Afreen had assured her that she would cook her anything she craved but it wasn't only the dish she wanted.
Inara wanted to cook.
She had taken up cooking in her home later than Iram. While her twin was being trained as the ideal wedding material, Inara was getting her master's in Marketing and job searching before their father dropped this N-bomb.
In the 3 months that followed their alliance, Inara had gotten serious with cooking and learning dishes she enjoyed cooking. She feared that if she didn't like what was served to her, one should know enough to satisfy their hunger.
While brides shopped, Inara was busy taking a crash course in cooking.
So fast forward 3 months, and by the time of her Mehendi day, she had learned a maximum of her favorite dishes and some more to please her in-laws after marriage.
Not that she had to.
Her in-laws were great people who never once made her work in the kitchen, if not for her intruding Afreen's dinner preparation each day for 2 months of her marriage, she was sure she would have forgotten every little dish she had made so much effort to perfect.
9 weeks and 3 days later, it was her alone in this warzone battling vegetables, throwing spices as her weapons, and conspiring to take over the craving fort.
She laughed at her weird analogies but it soon faltered as she glanced at the clock and back at her phone which was yet to ring with a notification.
She was supposed to leave for the office in another hour lest she wanted to be right on the dot. It wasn't the time but it was the stupid cab service her office offered that seemed to have been ambushed by the local protestors. The public transport drivers were protesting the rise in fuel prices, making her anxious with a lack of travel means.
Why had they chosen a work day? Shouldn't be protesting on a Sunday for the government?
Why bother people like her who rely on public transport to reach their work? This wasn't an occasion she could ask for a leave as well. She had taken 8 days just for her wedding day and was tight on future leaves for the next 4 months in this calendar year.
"Tell me you have spoiled the sambhar and waiting for a delivery to replace it." Rahil's comment made her roll her eyes.
"I know how to cook." She reminded me for the tenth time in the past 24 hours that she had announced her special breakfast.
