Book 7 of the Mangoverse
What's written in your fate, finds you on its own.
Collection of short stories.
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Connected to my book Hasratein but can be read on it's own.
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My mother picks up the phone on the third ring. "Hey my sweet girl. How are you?"
"I'm good mumma, now, jaldi se batao paranthe kaise bante hai?"
(Quickly tell me how to make parantha)
"What in the world makes you believe I know that?" She did seem like the wrong person to call for this. But it's my first day of marriage and I need to make a good impression. Shuffling sounds come from her end before another sweet motherly voice greets me. I smile. "Salam Firdaus mami."
"Kya baat hai, ek din mei hello se Salam pe aa gayi. Tumhare mama ko saalo se sikha rahi hoon, abhi tak nahi seekhe." I hear Advait mama's grumble before someone shushes him.
(Wow, just in one day you moved from hello to Salam. I've been trying to teach your uncle for years, he is yet to learn)
"Anyway. Mami, do you know how to make paranthas?"
"God no. But Tia, we didn't marry you to a nawab, so you're the one cooking. You barely know how to cook. Don't poison him. Or yourself." Why do these people hate me? I'm not that bad, I just never got the opportunity.
I cut the call and try to watch tutorials. Why is the filling coming out? And why can't I just make them round?! My hands hurt. I made ten and only two look presentable enough. This nawab sahab better count his lucky stars. I don't like anyone enough to give them better food than mine.
I clear the edges of the rest so they at least seem a little better and walk out with two plates. One for Khan chacha and one for Haider. That beautiful jerk.
My now husband made no effort to get to know me. He never reached out, never tried to take any initiative since the day this marriage was fixed. I won't say he never talked to me because my humor isn't that dark yet.
