CHAPTER 8
The kitchen of the Sharma household had become a battleground, and Aradhaya was at its center, valiantly—though somewhat ineptly—trying to make pakoras. The oil in the pan was spluttering aggressively, batter was strewn across the counter, and the air was thick with the scent of something burning.
“Ma, I’ve got this under control,” Aradhaya insisted, though the sight before her suggested otherwise.
Jyoti, her mother, stood nearby with a fire extinguisher at the ready, her face a picture of barely contained laughter. “Beta, you said that five minutes ago when the first batch came out like little rocks. Are you sure we won’t need this?” She shook the fire extinguisher for emphasis.
Vikram, her father, hovered in the doorway, holding Anaya tightly as if she needed protection from the chaos in the kitchen. “Maybe I should call the fire department now, just in case,” he quipped, earning a giggle from Anaya, who seemed to be enjoying the show.
Aradhaya, not one to back down from a challenge, stubbornly continued her mission. “Cooking is an art, and art takes time,” she said, trying to sound wise but mostly just sounding desperate. The next pakora she attempted to flip disintegrated into the oil with a sad splash.
Jyoti couldn’t hold back any longer and burst out laughing. “Art, huh? Well, this is one abstract masterpiece, that’s for sure!”
“More like modern art. You know, the kind no one really understands,” Vikram added, grinning.
Aradhaya frowned at the mess in front of her. “I don’t see you two helping!” she shot back, though there was no real heat in her words.
“We’re providing moral support,” Jyoti said, trying to keep a straight face. “And making sure the house doesn’t burn down.”
Aradhaya sighed, finally admitting defeat as she poked at a particularly stubborn pakora that refused to brown. “Maybe pakoras aren’t my thing.”
“Don’t worry, beta,” Jyoti teased, giving her a playful nudge. “I’m sure your future husband won’t mind a little extra crunch. Or chew.”
Aradhaya groaned. “Ma, please! Can we not talk about marriage right now? I’m more concerned about surviving this disaster.”
“Or at least surviving your cooking,” Vikram added with a wink.
Aradhaya took a deep breath, deciding to taste her creation. She popped a pakora into her mouth and immediately regretted it. “Oh, God! My taste buds are dying! Is this… salt?”
Jyoti took a cautious nibble and then spat it out in a napkin, laughing even harder. “Beta, I think you’ve managed to make the saltiest pakoras in history. Are you sure you didn’t mistake the salt for sugar?”
Vikram couldn’t resist a taste, only to grimace and reach for a glass of water. “This is… unique, Aradhaya. Maybe we should market it as a new health snack for people who need more salt in their lives.”
Anaya, sensing the general mood of hilarity, clapped her tiny hands and babbled happily. Aradhaya threw up her hands in defeat, grabbing a glass of water herself. “Okay, okay. I admit it. Cooking is harder than it looks.”
Jyoti smiled, patting her daughter on the back. “Don’t worry, beta. We all have our strengths. Just maybe leave the pakoras to me for now, huh?”
Aradhaya grinned sheepishly. “Fine, Ma. But I’ll learn eventually. I’ll just… start with something simpler.”
Vikram chuckled, holding Anaya a little closer. “Like boiling water? Just don’t salt it this time.”
---
**Meanwhile, at Oberoi Industries…**
Vihaan Oberoi’s office was a stark contrast to the chaotic but light-hearted scene at the Sharma household. The atmosphere was tense, the air thick with the stress of recent events. The leather chairs and polished surfaces that usually spoke of power and control now felt stifling.
Vihaan sat at his desk, his sharp eyes focused on the junior analyst standing before him. The poor young man looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else, his hands trembling slightly as he handed over the latest reports.
“These numbers…” Vihaan’s voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of menace. “They don’t add up. I don’t pay you to bring me mistakes.”
The analyst swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “S-sir, I—I double-checked them. There might be an error in the data transfer. I’ll correct it right away.”
Vihaan leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving the analyst. “There might be an error?” he repeated, each word precise and cutting. “Do you understand what happens when there’s an error in this company? We lose money. We lose trust. And if you cause that, you lose your job. Do you want that?”
The analyst shook his head vehemently. “No, sir. I’ll fix it. I’ll have the corrected report on your desk by the end of the day.”
Vihaan didn’t blink. “You have until noon.”
The analyst nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to leave the office. As the door clicked shut, Vihaan turned back to his computer, his face set in stone. The last thing he needed was another headache. The leaks were getting worse, and he had no patience for incompetence.
Sunil, his driver, knocked softly before entering the room. “Sir, I’ve just spoken with the IT department. They’re working on tracking the source of the data breach, but it’s going to take time.”
Vihaan nodded curtly, not looking up. “Tell them they have 24 hours to find something. If they can’t, they’re useless to me.”
Sunil hesitated, then added, “And sir… about the incident this morning. Should we take any further action?”
Vihaan’s jaw tightened slightly. He hated distractions, and that morning’s encounter with the scooter woman was exactly that. A distraction. “Forget it,” he said coldly. “It’s not worth our time.”
Sunil nodded, knowing better than to press further. He left the room quietly, leaving Vihaan alone with his thoughts. The wheels in his mind were already turning, plotting the next move, the next step to regain control.
There was no room for error in Vihaan Oberoi’s world. Not in his company, and certainly not in his life. As he stared at the screen in front of him, he made a silent vow: whatever was happening, whoever was responsible for the leaks, he would find them. And when he did, they would regret ever crossing him.
---
Back in the Sharma household, the kitchen had been cleaned up, but the echoes of laughter still filled the air. Aradhaya was back on the couch, sipping a glass of water, while her parents exchanged amused glances.
“Next time, we’ll just make sure to supervise a little more closely,” Jyoti teased, settling down beside her daughter.
Aradhaya rolled her eyes, though she was smiling. “Yeah, yeah. Just wait. One day, I’ll surprise you.”
Vikram chuckled as Anaya reached out towards Aradhaya, clearly fascinated by the day’s events. “As long as you don’t surprise us with another batch of salty pakoras, I’m all for it.”
The room erupted in laughter again, and even Aradhaya couldn’t help but join in. Despite the chaos, the failed pakoras, and the teasing, there was nowhere else she’d rather be
YOU ARE READING
TANGLED TRADITIONS
Romance**Title: "Tangled Traditions"** In the heart of Mumbai, where tradition and modernity intertwine, Aradhaya Sharma and Vihaan Singh Oberoi stand as polar opposites, each defined by their distinct personalities Aradhaya, with her larger-than-life pers...
