chapter 25

Aarti paced back and forth in her living room, phone in hand. “This is a terrible idea. Terrible.”  Kabir, lounging comfortably on her couch with a plate of fafda-jalebi, smirked. “Relax, Mehta. It’s just a conversation.”  She shot him a glare. “It’s not just a conversation. It’s telling my parents that I’m dating my neighbor—you—a loud, butter-chicken-loving Punjabi man.”  Kabir chuckled, unfazed. “A Punjabi man who can make bharela ringna for you.”  Aarti sighed. “I don’t think that cancels out their concerns.”  Before she could delay further, her phone rang. - Mom.  She took a deep breath and answered. “Hi, Mummy.”  “Aarti beta, how are you?” Her mother’s warm voice filled the room.  “I’m… good,” Aarti said hesitantly. “Uh, actually, I wanted to tell you something.”  A pause. “Yes?”  Aarti glanced at Kabir, who gave her an encouraging thumbs-up.  “There’s someone in my life,” Aarti finally admitted. “His name is Kabir. He’s… he’s my neighbor, and we’ve been seeing each other for a while now.”  Silence.  Aarti winced. “Mummy?”  Her mother finally spoke. “Kabir?”  Aarti braced herself. “Yes. He’s Punjabi. And a chef. And a food blogger. And—”  “And he makes her chai every morning,” Kabir called out, unhelpfully.  Aarti threw a cushion at him.  On the other end, her mother sighed. “Aarti, we just didn’t expect this. You’ve always been so… reserved.”  “I know,” Aarti said softly. “But he makes me happy, Mummy.”  A longer pause. Then—  “Does he eat non-veg in the house?”  Aarti glanced at Kabir, who held up his hands innocently.  “No, Mummy.” she said. “He respects my space. He even tries vegetarian food for me.”  Her mother sighed again, but this time, there was something gentler in it. “If you’re happy, beta, that’s what matters.”  Aarti let out a relieved breath. “Really?”  “Really,” her mother said. “But you’re bringing him home soon. We have to meet him.”  Aarti glanced at Kabir, who was now stuffing his face with jalebi, completely unaware of the grilling he was about to face.  “Deal,” she said, smiling.  On Kabir's turn... Kabir went to Delhi for it. Kabir sat across from his parents at their family home in Delhi, trying not to fidget as his mother gave him a long, scrutinizing stare.  “So,” she said finally, folding her arms. “You’re telling me that after years of rejecting every girl we introduced, you fell for your Gujarati neighbor?”  Kabir grinned. “Sounds about right.”  His father sighed, shaking his head. “Beta, Gujaratis are so different from us. No butter chicken, no mutton curry—what will you eat?”  Kabir smirked. “More thepla and undhiyu, apparently.”  His mother groaned. “Hai Rabba.”  Kabir’s grin softened. “Maa, she makes me happy. She keeps me sane. And she tolerates my nonsense, which is impressive.”  His father eyed him for a moment. “And does she love you?”  Kabir’s smile turned softer. “Yeah. I think she does.”  His mother exhaled. “Then we’ll support you. But if she makes you stop eating butter chicken, don’t come crying to me.”  Kabir laughed. “Noted.”  His parents exchanged glances, and then his mother patted his cheek. “We’ll meet her soon, okay?”  Kabir nodded, heart feeling lighter than it had in days.  On the next night, he and Aarti sat on their adjoining balconies, sipping chai in silence.  “So,” Aarti finally asked. “How did your parents take it?”  Kabir smirked. “Better than expected.”They clinked their cups together.  “Looks like we survived the first test.” Kabir said.  Aarti rolled her eyes. “Don’t jinx it, Singh.”  But she was smiling. And so was he.. To be continue...