I sighed as I turned off the stove, flipping the paratha one last time before placing it on a plate. The aroma of the food wafted through the air, but the process of cooking was far from enjoyable for me.
Kruti had taken the day off from university because of her fever, though she was far too stubborn to admit it. And for reasons I didn't entirely want to examine, I had decided to take a day off tooâsecretly.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered to myself, sliding the parathas onto a plate.
Balancing the tray with the food and her medicine, I headed toward her room. But before I even reached the door, I heard faint voices and rustling from the balcony.
I frowned. She was supposed to be resting. What was she up to now?
Setting the tray down on the dining table, I walked toward the balcony, only to pause in my tracks at the scene before me.
Kruti was sitting cross-legged on the cold balcony floor, wrapped in her ridiculous ice cream-patterned blanket like a cocoon. She had a mug of milk in one hand, and in front of her sat a stray cat, purring loudly as it rubbed its head against her other hand.
"You're such a good boy," Kruti cooed, scratching the cat behind its ears. The smile on her face was soft, her cheeks still flushed from the fever but glowing nonetheless.
I leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, and cleared my throat.
Kruti's head snapped up, her eyes widening slightly before narrowing in playful suspicion. "Professor Singhania," she drawled. "What brings you to my humble balcony?"
"What are you doing out here?" I asked, ignoring her tone. "You're supposed to be resting."
"I am resting," she said, gesturing to her blanket. "This is as restful as it gets."
I sighed, stepping closer. "And the cat?"
She grinned. "This is Muffin. He's my friend."
"Muffin?" I raised a brow, looking down at the scruffy gray cat that was now licking milk from the small saucer she had placed on the floor.
"Yes," she said matter-of-factly. "Don't you think he looks like a dessert?"
I stared at the tiny, frail-looking creature, who was now pawing at the blanket in an attempt to climb into her lap. "Not even remotely."
"Well, I think he does," Kruti replied, lifting the cat into her lap and cuddling it against her chest. "Don't listen to him, Muffin. He's just jealous."
"Jealous?" I repeated, my voice rising slightly.
She nodded, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "Of course. You don't have anyone cuddling you, do you?"
I scoffed, feeling a strange irritation bubbling within me as the cat nestled closer to her. "It's a stray. It probably has fleas."
Kruti gasped, holding the cat protectively. "Don't be mean to Muffin! He's cleaner than you are."
I stared at her, completely taken aback. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," she said, smirking as she kissed the top of the cat's head. "He's a gentleman. Unlike you."
"Kruti," I said, my tone a warning. "Put the cat down and come inside. You're going to make yourself worse."
"I'm fine," she said breezily, though the slight rasp in her voice said otherwise. "Besides, Muffin needs me."
I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to rein in my frustration. "Muffin doesn't need you. He's a cat."
"And you're a grumpy old man," she shot back, sticking her tongue out at me.
I opened my mouth to retort, but the sight of her laughing softly as the cat purred in her arms made me pause. Despite the absurdity of the situation, she looked... happy.
And that, for some inexplicable reason, made my chest tighten.
Shaking off the thought, I stepped closer and extended a hand. "Give me the cat."
Her eyes widened in mock horror. "What are you going to do? Throw him off the balcony?"
"Of course not," I said, exasperated. "I'm going to take him outside where he belongs."
"No!" she said, clutching the cat tighter. "He stays."
"Krutiâ"
"He stays," she repeated firmly, her chin jutting out in defiance.
I stared at her, realizing that this argument was going nowhere. With a resigned sigh, I turned on my heel and walked back toward the kitchen.
"Where are you going?" She called after me.
"To get your breakfast," I said without looking back.
A few minutes later, I returned to the balcony with the tray of food and set it down on the small table beside her. "Eat," I commanded.
She wrinkled her nose. "What about Muffin?"
"Muffin is not eating my parathas," I said firmly.
I was getting nowhere, and I knew that. So I did what I always do when I want something to happen. I sat beside her, pulling the plate of parathas, dal, and achaar closer to her.
"You're impossible, you know that?" she muttered, her eyes still on Muffin.
"I'm not leaving until you eat," I said, pushing the plate closer. "You want me to feed you like a little kid?"
She snorted. "I'm not a kid."
"Yeah, well, you're acting like one," I said, leaning back against the wall, watching her.
"Is this your new tactic? Force-feeding me?" She raised an eyebrow, not even looking at me.
"It's not force-feeding. It's called taking care of you," I said, trying to keep my voice neutral, but it came out a little softer than I intended.
Kruti sighed dramatically. "Fine. But I'm not eating the dal. You know I don't like it."
I rolled my eyes. "It's your favorite, Kruti. You used to eat it with every meal."
She crossed her arms again. "I'm not in the mood. Now I can't stand it."
I stared at her for a moment. "You'll eat it. For me. And you'll eat the paratha too."
She frowned at me. "Why are you so bossy all the time?"
"Because you won't listen to anything else," I said, finally breaking my composure and letting out a little laugh.
Kruti, for the first time in a while, didn't argue. She picked up a piece of paratha and took a small bite, her face scrunching up in mock disgust.
"See, that wasn't so bad," I said, my voice smug.
"You're the worst," she mumbled, chewing slowly. "You could've made aloo paratha."
I smiled softly at her, completely ignoring the part of me that was enjoying this more than I should. It wasn't just about the food. It was the fact that she was sitting here, wrapped in her ridiculous ice cream blanket, acting like a kid. And yet, I couldn't help but adore every moment of it.
She grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You know, if you were half as nice to me as you are to these parathas, I might actually like you."
I rolled my eyes. "If you were half as obedient as you pretend to be, I might actually tolerate you."
Her laughter rang out, clear and unrestrained. "Tolerate me? Please. You'd be lost without me."
I didn't respond, choosing instead to watch as she fed a small piece of paratha to Muffin, who gobbled it up eagerly.
For a moment, the silence between us was comfortable, almost companionable.
And despite myself, I found my gaze lingering on her faceâthe way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled, the way her fingers gently stroked the cat's fur.
She looked... peaceful.
But, of course, the moment couldn't last.
"Dev," she said suddenly, her tone teasing.
"What?"
"You're staring," she said, smirking.
I felt my face heat up and quickly looked away. "I'm not."
"You so are," she insisted, leaning closer.
"Eat your breakfast, Kruti," I said, my voice clipped.
She chuckled, sitting back and taking another bite of her food. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"And you're insufferable," I shot back, though there was no real heat in my words.
"Muffin doesn't think so," she said, glancing down at the cat, who was now curled up at her feet.
I narrowed my eyes at the feline, who seemed to be mocking me with its contented purring. "Muffin doesn't have taste."
Kruti gasped dramatically. "How dare you insult my baby?"
"Your baby?" I repeated incredulously. "It's a stray cat."
"He's family," she said, her voice filled with mock seriousness.
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "You're impossible."
"And yet, here you are," she said, smiling cheekily.
After she finished her breakfast and the tray was cleared, I finally managed to convince her to come inside. But as she settled back onto the couch with Muffin in her lap, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy at how much attention she was giving the cat.
"You know," I said, leaning against the doorway, "if you spent half as much time talking to me as you do to that cat, we might actually get along."
She looked up at me, her expression amused. "Are you jealous, Dev?"
"Of course not," I said quickly, though my tone was far too defensive.
Her grin widened. "You totally are."
"I am not," I insisted, though the heat rising to my cheeks betrayed me.
Kruti laughed, her eyes sparkling with delight. "Don't worry, Professor. You're still my favorite grump."
I rolled my eyes, but despite my irritation, I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips.