Chapter 3: 1

I never knew making a cake would be this hard. But thankfully, my brother is here now because—embarrassing as it is to admit—I don’t know how to cook. Not even a little.

I’ve never stepped foot in the kitchen, all thanks to my mother, who always says, She doesn’t need to learn how to cook as long as I can feed her with my own hands. In short, I’m the sole princess of my family.

Okay, fine. Maybe a little bratty too. But can you blame me? They’ve been treating me like a princess since the day I was born. They even have a million different names for me.

“Laddu!”

That tender, sweet—yet annoyingly persistent—voice pulled me back to reality. Of course, it was my brother’s favorite nickname for me.

“Pass me the frosting,” he said, glancing up with a teasing smirk. “We need to decorate this fast, or Mom and Dad will walk in, and your surprise will flop.”

Right. The cake. My first-ever attempt at baking, and honestly, the struggle was real.

I hurried to grab the frosting bowl and handed it over, watching as he started decorating. Perched on the kitchen counter, I helped in whatever way I could—passing him utensils, handing over ingredients.

“Bi, will this even be sweet enough? We haven’t tasted it yet,” I asked, biting my lip.

He shot me a sharp glare, making me shut my mouth instantly. Sheepishly, I grinned at him.

Before I could react, something cold smeared across my nose.

I gasped. My brother was standing there, grinning wickedly, his finger coated in frosting.

“Oh, you’re so dead,” I declared, grabbing a handful of frosting with my small hands.

He bolted. I chased after him through the living room, giggling, as the party planners continued decorating for our parents' 27th anniversary. My cheeks and nose were now practically dipped in frosting, but I didn’t care. The laughter filled the house, echoing through the walls—until the doorbell rang.

We both froze.

“Go check who it is while I finish the cake,” my brother said, running back into the kitchen.

I groaned, wiping my face with the back of my hand as I walked toward the door. Halfway through cleaning up, I pulled it open—only to freeze mid-motion.

My hands stilled on my cheeks. My breath hitched.

Oh God.

Why the hell did he have to be here?

I turned on my heel and bolted straight into the kitchen.

“You invited him?” I demanded, my voice almost a whisper.

My brother, completely unbothered, kept decorating. “Yeah. Mom and Dad will be happy if he comes.”

“Wait… is he here?”

“Obviously.”

Great. Fantastic. Why me?

Not wanting to argue, I did the next best thing—I grabbed some frosting and smeared it across my brother’s cheek before sprinting out of the kitchen, laughing.

“You look like a monkey god! You totally deserved that!” I cackled as I ran upstairs.

He just chuckled, shaking his head.

“I’ll see you later,” he called after me.

I didn’t reply, slamming my bedroom door shut behind me. My heart was still pounding as I flopped onto my bed, my thoughts swirling around him.

My big brother’s best friend.

The one I’ve always avoided.

The one who’s always been a little too intimidating.

And now… he was here.