In the bustling city of Lucknow, there lived two best friends named Avyansh Malhotra and Hrida Raichand. One fateful day, something happened that changed their friendship forever.
Hate was a strong word, but the animosity between them was palpable.
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The moment I landed on his lap, my heart raced, a mixture of shock and embarrassment flooding through me.
I scrambled to get up, my cheeks hot, but Badi held my hand firmly, her smile playful.
"Sit down" she said, her laughter wrapping around me like a warm blanket.
As I regained my composure, I turned to look at Avyansh.
He sat there, frozen, an unreadable expression on his face.
A chuckle bubbled up from deep within me; it felt good to lighten the moment, to tease him a little.
"Dadi, what would you like to eat? I can make something for you.," I said, trying to divert the tension.
Badi Dadi, reached over and playfully pinched Avyansh's cheeks, a glint of mischief in her eyes.
"Make something that Avy likes," she declared, clearly enjoying this little scene.
A maid came in with a glass of water for him, and I couldn't resist the opportunity to push his buttons further.
"dadi, I make his favorite food every day. You tell me, what will you eat?" I teased, watching as Avyansh shifted uncomfortably.
Just then, he choked on the water, and a smirk played at the corners of my lips.
The sound of Badi Dadi patting his back made me laugh harder. I loved this—light-hearted banter, the joy of sharing moments like these.
With a playful grin still on my face, I excused myself and headed toward the kitchen, eager to take charge. I approached Mom, my heart brimming with excitement as I asked about Badi Dadi's favorite dishes.
"Let's make kaju korma and paneer lababdar, butter naan with jeera rice and raita," she said, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "And don't forget kheer for dessert!"
I could already envision the meal taking shape, the rich aroma of spices enveloping the kitchen. Cooking was my escape, a way to channel my emotions into something beautiful.
The thought of Badi Dadi enjoying the food filled me with warmth; I wanted to create something special, something that would spark joy in her heart.
As I chopped vegetables and stirred the simmering pots, I could hear laughter drifting in from the living room.
Suddenly, my phone rang, snapping me out of my culinary bliss. I reached for it, getting engrossed in a lively chat with Shrija.
The laughter and stories flowed easily, and I lost track of time, forgetting all about the oil heating on the stove for the paneer gravy.
A sharp, acrid scent broke through my bubble of conversation.
Panic surged through me as I remembered. I dashed into the kitchen, only to be met with a horrifying sight—the oil had overheated and was now engulfed in flames.
