chapter 6

The next evening, Aarti stepped onto her balcony with a plate of something golden and steaming. She carefully placed it on the little table she’d set up, her chai next to it. Across the divider, Kabir was already seated, laptop open on his lap.  He glanced up, his eyes immediately locking on her plate. "What’s that?" he asked, tilting his head like a curious child.  Aarti smirked. "Khaman. Ever heard of it, chef?"  Kabir frowned, pretending to think. "Khaman... Oh, wait, isn’t that basically dhokla?"  "Excuse me?" Aarti said, narrowing her eyes. "It’s not ‘basically dhokla.’ They’re completely different. You’re a food blogger, and you don’t know this?"  Kabir grinned, closing his laptop. "Relax, Mehta. I know the difference. I’m just messing with you."  "Typical," Aarti muttered, stabbing a piece of khaman with her spoon. "Anyway, this is homemade. Want to try some?"  Kabir raised an eyebrow. "Is it… vegetarian?"  Aarti gave him a withering look. "Khaman, Kabir. Of course, it’s vegetarian. Not everyone needs chicken in every meal, you know."  "Hey, I’m just asking," Kabir said, holding up his hands defensively. "Vegetarian food can be good. It’s just… missing the best part."  "And what’s that?" Aarti challenged, folding her arms.  "Flavor," Kabir said with a dramatic sigh, leaning back in his chair.  "Excuse me?" Aarti said, her voice rising. "Have you tried Gujarati food? We practically invented flavor."  Kabir laughed. "Alright, alright, don’t get defensive. I’ll try it. But if it’s bland, I’m blaming you."  Aarti rolled her eyes but picked up a piece of khaman and handed it over the divider. Kabir took it, inspecting it like it was some rare artifact.  "It’s food, not a science experiment," Aarti said, watching him.  "I’m a food blogger," Kabir said, taking a sniff. "This is my process."  "Just eat it," Aarti insisted.  Kabir finally popped the piece into his mouth. He chewed slowly, his expression unreadable.  "So?" Aarti prompted, leaning closer.  Kabir swallowed, then nodded. "Okay, I’ll admit it—this is good. Light, fluffy, tangy… Did you make the chutney too?"  Aarti smirked. "Of course. And don’t act so surprised. I told you Gujarati food is flavorful."  Kabir grinned. "Fine, point to you. But this doesn’t mean I’m giving up my butter chicken anytime soon."  "I wasn’t expecting a miracle," Aarti said dryly.  Kabir leaned on the railing, looking at her. "So, is all your cooking this good, or are you just showing off tonight?"  "You’ll have to stick around to find out," Aarti said, a playful glint in her eye.  "Challenge accepted," Kabir said, raising an imaginary toast. "But since we’re talking food, let me tell you about real flavor. Ever had a perfectly grilled tandoori chicken?"  Aarti wrinkled her nose. "I don’t think this conversation is going anywhere good for me."  "Come on, Aarti," Kabir teased. "You’ve never even been tempted? Not even by a plate of smoky kebabs or buttery naan with mutton curry?"  "Never," Aarti said firmly. "I don’t need meat to enjoy my food. And naan tastes just as good with dal, thank you very much."  The two of them sat there, the conversation drifting between playful banter and genuine curiosity about each other’s culinary worlds.  As the evening deepened, Aarti couldn’t help but admit—she liked these conversations with Kabir. Even if their palates were polar opposites, there was something fun about the way they clashed.  And on his side of the balcony, Kabir was also thinking in the same way. . To be continue...