B. Halwa and Cigarettes

I raised an eyebrow, letting out a dry laugh. "Oh, so you've been checking out my lips?"

Wait, don't judge me too quick! Its her mistake. how? let me explain.

Finally, I reached Mumbai. I was staying in Kolkata. I visited a few art galleries felt nice, but I couldn't afford anything. I love sketching and art, but let's be real, all I've really accomplished is a lifetime of doodling in notebooks. At least walking through galleries lets me pretend I'm "achieving something."

I had just finished college, and honestly, I hadn't done much with my life. Checked my phone message from mom:

"Bring some potatoes on your way home."

"Okay, mom," I texted back, trying to hold in my frustration.

When I got home, mom's first question wasn't, "How was your trip?" or "How have you been these past four years?" Nope.

"Did you bring the potatoes?"

"Yes, I did," I answered, already annoyed.

"You like potatoes, right? I'm making potato halwa for you, it's your favorite."

Favorite? More like childhood trauma. Just as I was about to reply with my usual sarcasm, I heard a girl laughing behind me.

She had glasses on, a book in her hand, and for some unknown reason, just looking at her made me want to scream. Who the heck is this girl?

"What?" I asked, blinking at her like she'd just asked me to run a marathon in flip-flops.

"Potato halwa kon khay? (Who even eats potato halwa?)" she smirked, like she had just exposed my deepest, darkest secret.

I turned to my mom, eyes wide. "Mom, did you adopt another CHILD? I told Dad, no more kids! Kick out this BITCH!"

Mom shot me a look that could kill. "Shut up, idiot! You still can't speak properly. She's living in the room next to yours. It was empty, so I rented it out."

"Mom, I told you not to take tenants!" I whined.

"Fine, then you pay 10,000 rupees, and I won't keep one!" she fired back, clearly enjoying my misery.

"Mommmmm!" I half-screamed.

Being an only child? Great except when you have to deal with a mom like this all alone. Sometimes I think a sibling would've been a blessing, just so I wouldn't have to face her "solutions" by myself.

I grabbed my bag and stomped upstairs, shooting a glare at the girl on my way. Who the hell moves into the haunted room next to mine?

Four years ago, that room looked straight out of a horror movie. Now, thanks to my mom's "renovation skills," it was... slightly less haunted.

Once inside my room, I unpacked like I was in some kind of speed challenge, shoving clothes into the wardrobe and aligning my precious chess trophies like they were sacred artifacts. Chess is life. I even make tutorial videos to fund my unhealthy obsession with the game.

Living in an open-roof house in Mumbai has its perks—fresh air, sunshine, and occasionally not killing each other with my mom. If we hadn't had that epic fight four years ago, I might've never left Mumbai. But hey, mom and I just don't vibe. I thought she'd get me by now. Guess not.

Just then, the girl barged into my room like she owned the place, holding a bowl. "Aunty sent halwa."

"I don't want it. Bawali chhori! (Stupid girl.)" I said, I hated her. NO reason.

"Are you sure? Toh teri favorite hati na? (Wasn't it your favorite?)" she teased, clearly enjoying my frustration.

"What's it to you? I don't understand your language, you fool. Gujarati Kamal dhokla." I snapped.

She smirked and, out of nowhere, pulled out a cigarette.

"Here, calm your mind," she replied like she was offering me some magical elixir.

"I don't SMOKE," I shot back, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Yeah, right! Look at your lips, I can tell you smoke. People with lips like yours smoke," she replied, smriked.

I raised an eyebrow, letting out a dry laugh. "Oh, so you've been checking out my lips?"

She froze. The awkwardness was real.

"I—uh... No. I just... um..." She trailed off, all flustered and weird.

She wore a salwar suit with a dupatta that was trying to be a fashion statement but had clearly given up halfway. Her hair was a mess strands falling all over like they had their own personality. And her lipstick? Looked like she had eaten it instead of wearing it.

I took all this in within a second. It's a habit, I'm a people-watcher, an expert in judging every tiny detail. Don't judge me. It's a gift.

She left the room quickly, probably realizing I could out-analyze her at this point.

I stared at the halwa and mumbled, "Fine."

Took a bite.

...Damn. It was so good it felt like I had just eaten all of heaven in one spoonful. I couldn't help but smile a little.

And of course, that's when I spotted her at the door, grinning like she just won a game I didn't know we were playing.

She acted all sweet and shy around my mom, but nah, something about her screamed trouble.

Innocent? Yeah, right.

This girl needed a whole warning label. I don't really like those girls who act all innocent. She's just pretending. Fake people. Hate it.