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Husband dearest entered the kitchen at 9.
As if he knew Zaran wouldn't arrive on time.
I spent the whole time he cooked sitting on the couch where the TV was in direct vision but so was the kitchen. He wasted 15 paper towels the whole time he cooked.
The house smelled like paneer and fried rice by the time he was done.
A part of me was curious to see what was cooking in the kadhai but I didn't want him to know that I was waiting for dinner, changing the channel for the fifth time so he thought I was watching the TV, I turned my gaze back at him.
He has not looked at me once. Not a single glance. I am mad at him. Not the other way around.
Was I feeling bad for him? Only a little bit.
I would've reacted like that too if I found him cosying up with Mishthi on my couch...maybe.
I sympathized with him, to some extent yet his words were still hurting, I thought we knew each other better than that, I thought that we thought of each other better than that.
I was hoping that this wouldn't end in two months but I can't see a foreseeable future for us but why the hell am I still hoping?
I turned my gaze towards him one last time, he was cutting the salad, he threw the lettuce in a bowl, not bothering to cut the cherry tomatoes, he added them in too.
He picked up a cucumber and washed it, he didn't peel it, he just went straight ahead with cutting it. He looked up as if he sensed my eyes on him, then, in a flash, his hand slipped, and I heard the soft thud of the knife as it hit the cutting board followed by a sharp intake of breath.
I sat up, my heart skipping a beat. I saw him staring down at his hand where a thin line of blood was beginning to pool around the cut on his finger.
He didn't say anything, just stood there, frozen, watching the blood seep out as if it took him a second to register what had happened.
I was frozen in place, caught between the overwhelming urge to march over and shove his hand under the faucet, or just stay put on the sofa.
Why the fuck is he watching blood drip down his finger and not doing anything?
I couldn't stop myself anymore as I got off the sofa, throwing the cushion in my lap aside before marching over to him and grabbing his hand as I pulled him near the sink and turned the faucet on.
"What is wrong with you?" I asked, pressing on the wound since the blood didn't seem like it was going to stop.
"It wasn't...painful," he replied.
"And?" I scoffed, "I'm tired of seeing blood in this house for two consecutive nights! Painful nahi tha."
Picking up one of the paper towels he had wasted wiping his hands just once, I pressed it on the cut, wiping the blood that was still seeping out of the cut, I would've pretended to faint if I had gotten a cut so deep.
