Unwritten Chords

Chapter 26: Her soft side.

Adrian's POV

There we were, in the kitchen downstairs, the faint hum of the stove filling the silence after Ava had gone back to her room.

Anya moved around the kitchen like she belonged there, even though it was her first time.

And last...

She had already set a pot on the stove, and now she was pouring milk into it. Her movements were swift and precise, yet she kept pausing every few seconds, rummaging through cabinets in search of something.

I leaned against the opposite counter, arms crossed, watching her with mild amusement. She opened another cabinet, sighing as if the universe was working against her.

"I know you’re all ‘I-don’t-need-help’ and everything, but newsflash—you don’t live here. You can just ask," I said, my tone teasing but pointed.

She turned to face me, her expression un impressed. "Turmeric," she said flatly.

Turmeric? Seriously?

What is she making? Birryani?

I pushed off the counter and walked to the top shelf beside her. Opening it, I grabbed the jar of turmeric powder and handed it to her. "Here," I said, my voice laced with curiosity.

She took it without a word, brushing past me as she returned to the stove. I followed, leaning on the counter beside her as she sprinkled the turmeric into the milk with practiced ease.

"What’s that?" I asked, nodding towards the pot.

She glanced at me briefly before adding sugar. "Haldi doodh," she replied matter-of-factly. "It means golden—"

"I can understand that much," I interrupted, cutting her off before she could finish.

She shot me a look, half amused, half annoyed, and went back to stirring. For some reason, watching her work so effortlessly made me want to keep asking questions. But I kept quiet. For now.

"It helps with the cramps," she said casually, her focus still on the golden liquid swirling in the pot.

"Thanks," I replied, my voice softer, more genuine than I intended. I didn’t even know why.

She shrugged, not looking at me. "It’s for Ava, not for you."

"She’s my sister," I shot back.

"You’re welcome," she said, her tone clipped, clearly not in the mood to argue further.

Hah! Victory.

The golden milk shimmered under the soft kitchen light as she stood there, staring at it like it held all the answers to life.

"Don’t scare it," I teased, smirking at her.

She turned, giving me a look so sharp it could’ve cut glass, before rolling her eyes.

She smiled.

I chuckled, leaning closer to the counter. "How about this? I make us some coffee. A thank-you from me," I offered, surprising even myself with the suggestion.

She looked at me, her brows shooting up in disbelief. Honestly, I couldn’t blame her.

"Americans and coffee," she muttered under her breath. "I don’t get the obsession."

"Excuse me?" I asked, pretending to be offended.

She turned to me with a sly grin. "Kabhi chai pi hai?" she asked, her tone playful.

I blinked. "What the hell did you just say?"

She shook her head, amused—at me, obviously. "I said, I don’t want coffee," she clarified.