Baby it's me

chapter 19

The food was made and it was almost time for lunch and we have one
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Rasam
According to tradition, he had to prepare a sweet dish for Shubman's family, symbolizing the sweetness he would bring into their lives. It was his first official task as a married man, and he couldn't afford to mess it up.

Ishan stood in the kitchen, his mind racing. Despite his confident exterior, the weight of the occasion made him anxious. He glanced at the recipe for kheer, a traditional Indian rice pudding that his mother had taught him to make. It was a dish he knew well, but today, it felt like an immense challenge

Just then, Shubman entered the kitchen. He noticed Ishan's tense expression and approached him cautiously. "Ish, kuch madad chahiye? Main hoon yahan," he offered, trying to break the ice.

Ishan shook his head, his tone formal and distant. "Nahi, aap bas aaram se baithiye. Main sab sambhal loonga."Shubman sighed, respecting Ishan's need for space but feeling a pang of regret for the distance between them.

Ishan took a deep breath and began his preparations. He rinsed the rice thoroughly, feeling the grains slip through his fingers, each one a tiny symbol of the responsibility he now bore. He then set a pot of milk to boil, the aroma bringing back memories of his mother's kitchen.

As the milk warmed, he added the rice, stirring gently. The rhythm of the process calmed his nerves slightly. He could hear the murmurs of their families in the other room, the sound both comforting and intimidating.

Shubman leaned against the kitchen counter,watching Ishan. "Yeh sab yaad kaise rehta hai?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Ishan, focused on his task, replied without looking up. "Maa ne sikhaya tha. Practice se sab yaad ho jata hai,yaad hai meine jab biryani banai thi ek baar,sunday tha-"

Ishan was almost gonna finish the sentence but the memories of the particular Sunday set in and he was numb.

It was a Sunday much like today, filled with sunlight and laughter, but it was also the last Sunday he had spent with Shubman before their lives took different paths. The memory was bittersweet, filled with the aroma of spices and the warmth of their shared laughter.Shubman noticed Ishan's sudden change in demeanor and approached him cautiously. "Ishu, sab theek hai na?"Ishan blinked, pushing the memories aside. "Haan, kuch nahi. Bas... kuch yaadein aa gayi."

Shubman placed a reassuring hand on Ishan's shoulder. "Tumhare aur mere saath ke pal hamesha yaad rahenge. Par aaj, hum sab yahaan hain. Aur yeh kheer banane se jo tumne unka rishta yaad kiya hai, woh khaas hai."I
shan nodded silently, grateful for Shubman's understanding. He took a deep breath, pushing aside the lingering emotions, and continued stirring the kheer.

Despite the emotional turbulence, Ishan focused on his task. He added sugar and a handful of cardamom pods to the simmering milk, allowing the familiar scent to envelop him. The rhythmic stirring helped him find solace in the familiarity of the kitchen, grounding him in the present moment.

As he tossed in a generous amount of chopped almonds and raisins, memories of his mother's guidance flooded back to him. She had taught him to cook with love and patience, instilling in him a sense of pride in his culinary skills. Today, as he prepared the kheer, he felt her presence in the kitchen, guiding his hand and encouraging him to do his best.

Shubman observed Ishan from a distance, sensing the mix of emotions that swirled within him. He wished he could ease Ishan's pain, but he knew that some wounds ran too deep to be healed with mere words. All he could do was offer his support and understanding, silently standing by Ishan's side

Once the kheer was ready, Ishan ladled it into a large, ornate bowl, his hands steady despite the turmoil in his heart. He garnished it with a sprinkle of saffron strands and a handful of crushed pistachios, each action a testament to the love and care he poured into his cooking.

As he carried the bowl to the dining table, he felt a sense of accomplishment wash over him. Despite the challenges he had faced, he had succeeded in honoring his mother's memory through his culinary creation. It was a small victory, but it filled him with a profound sense of pride and gratitude.

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