Chapter 22

The morning had started like any other—a full calendar of meetings, back-to-back calls, and deadlines that needed to be met. But amidst the monotony of my workday, something unexpected happened.

My assistant knocked softly on the door, holding a neatly packed tiffin.

"This was delivered for you, sir," he said, placing it on my desk.

I raised an eyebrow, confused. "Who sent it?"

"It's from Mrs. Mehra," he said with a faint smile before leaving the room.

For a moment, I just stared at the tiffin. Tara had made this for me? The thought filled me with a strange mix of surprise and warmth. Slowly, I opened it, revealing paneer curry, roti, dal tadka, and kheer. On top of it all was a note written in her neat handwriting:

"We might be adults now and not in school anymore, but that doesn't mean you can't have lunch prepared especially for you with care. I am here to do so for the rest of our lives."

I read the note twice, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. My chest felt lighter, my mood inexplicably brighter.

When I took my first bite of the paneer, I realized something: this wasn't just food. It was care, effort, and love all wrapped up in a meal. The flavors were perfect—not overly rich, but just the way I liked them. Even the kheer, a dish I usually ignored, tasted like home.

By the time I finished, I couldn't focus on work anymore. I couldn't wait to get home and tell Tara what this gesture meant to me.

As soon as I walked through the door that evening, I called out, "Tara!"

She appeared moments later, her expression uncertain.

Instead of showing with words, I closed the distance between us and pulled her into a tight hug. "Thank you," I whispered into her hair, my voice thick with emotion. "For the food, for the note, for everything."

Before I knew what I was doing, I leaned down picked her up bridal style and kissed her. It was instinctive, overwhelming, and completely unplanned.

When I pulled back, reality set in. My chest tightened as I searched her face for a reaction. "I'm sorry," I blurted. "I was overwhelmed, and I... I shouldn't have. Please don't hate me."

She blinked up at me, her cheeks turning a deep shade of pink. And then, to my surprise, she leaned up and kissed me gently on the cheek, murmuring, "I liked it and it was my first kiss ever."

Her words sent a wave of relief and happiness that I am her first but with that something deeper—something dark came I couldn't quite name  it

The next few days passed in a blur. Tara was busier than ever, consumed by preparations for the school's annual function. She barely had time to sit down for a meal, let alone spend time with me.

On the weekend, I found myself at home, sulking like a child. She was at school for the final rehearsal, and the mansion felt unbearably empty without her.

Every time my phone buzzed with a notification, I snatched it up, hoping it was a message from her. But it was always something mundane—an email, a work update, or a message from my assistant.

I missed her terribly, and the realization hit me harder than I expected.

As I sat in the quiet of the living room, an idea began to form.

Tara made lunch for me. Why can't I do the same for her?

The memory of her telling me about her favorite grilled cheese sandwiches came flooding back. She had described them with such fondness, and I could still picture the way her eyes lit up as she talked about Dadaji making them for her tiffin.

Without wasting a moment, I grabbed my phone and called her grandfather.

"Dadaji," I said, after a brief exchange of pleasantries. "Tara mentioned a grilled cheese sandwich you used to make for her. Can you tell me how you made it?"

Dadaji chuckled. "You're planning to cook for her? That's a pleasant surprise!"

"Let's just say I owe her one," I replied, smiling despite myself.

He walked me through the recipe, detailing every step with precision. By the time we ended the call, I felt confident—or at least, hopeful.

The kitchen was eerily quiet as I laid out the ingredients: bread, cheese, butter, herbs, and the secret sauce Dadaji had described.

"How hard can this be?" I muttered to myself as I spread butter on the bread.

The first sandwich came out slightly burned, the second fell apart as I tried to flip it, and the third... well, let's just say it wasn't winning any culinary awards.

By the time I finished, I had three sandwiches that were passable at best. Still, I packed them into a tiffin, determined to surprise Tara.

I drove to her school, my excitement tempered by a touch of nervousness. When I arrived, I realized walking in would cause a commotion, so I parked outside and called her.

"Tara," I said when she picked up. "Can you step outside for a moment?"

"Veer? What are you doing here?" she asked, sounding surprised.

"Just come," I said, unable to hide the smile in my voice.

When she walked out of the school gates and saw me standing there with the tiffin in hand, her eyes widened in disbelief.

"You brought lunch?" she asked, her tone a mix of surprise and curiosity.

"Not just lunch," I said, holding out the tiffin. "Grilled cheese sandwiches. The ones you like."

Her expression softened as she took the tiffin from me. Opening it, she gasped softly at the slightly burned sandwiches inside.

"You made these?" she asked, looking up at me with wide eyes.

I nodded, feeling a little sheepish. "They're not perfect, but—"

Before I could finish, she pulled out her phone and snapped a picture of the tiffin.

"What are you doing?" I asked, confused.

"Capturing the moment," she said with a smile. "It's the first time my husband made something for me. I have to keep it as a memory."

I couldn't help but sulk a little as she packed up the tiffin, ready to take it inside. "I'm still going to be alone at home," I muttered under my breath.

Tara laughed, stepping closer and placing a hand on my arm. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"I miss you," I said simply, looking at her with what I hoped was a convincing pout.

She rolled her eyes but smiled, leaning up to plant a quick kiss on my cheek. "Better?"

"Not really," I replied, grinning.

"Go home, Veer," she said, laughing. "I'll be back soon, I promise."

As I watched her walk back into the school, a warmth spread through my chest. The sandwiches might not have been perfect, but her smile made every burned edge worth it.