Canvas of Love

Something Cooking

The sun seemed particularly cheerful today, scattering its golden rays across the earth like a generous sprinkle of confetti. 

Birds chirped harmoniously, their melodies weaving through the morning air, although, in reality, the sakhis—the mohalla aunties—were less melodious and more engrossed in their daily tea-party gossip marathon.

The world outside looked fresh, glowing with happiness akin to a playful puppy. 

But within the confines of a cozy bedroom, buried under a mountain of blankets, lay a tiny boy.

His messy hair peeked out rebelliously, sticking in every direction, a reflection of its owner's mischievous personality.

Ishan was cocooned in his fortress of blankets, resembling a snug baby burrito. 

His soft mumbling filtered through the folds of fabric as he clung to his dreams. 

"N-no... baby, Ishy baby... dadu tim tim..." He muttered, his words a jumble of nonsensical yet adorable fragments. Whatever his dream was, it was clearly as peculiar as he was.

The room, however, betrayed him. 

The curtains, those traitorous protectors of his slumber, had failed to shield him from the sunlight. The happy rays infiltrated the room, spilling warmth and brightness onto Ishan's face.

A muffled groan escaped him as he turned, first to one side, then the other. 

His body craved the warmth of the sun, but his mind stubbornly clung to the remnants of sleep. Like a restless little hamster trying to find the perfect spot, Ishan twisted and turned, huffing as his cocoon became increasingly uncomfortable.

Finally, with a dramatic sigh and a mumbled complaint directed at the sun and the curtains, Ishan sat up, his messy hair framing his grumpy little face. 

He rubbed his eyes with tiny fists, yawning widely like a grumpy kitten.

"Auooo... my head is hurting." He grumbled, holding his head as if the weight of the world—or perhaps just his dream—rested on it.

Still grumpy but determined, he muttered, "Leave the head. Let's go eat something." 

With that, Ishan puffed out his tiny chest, imitating a superhero's stance—more like a pint-sized Shaktiman—and climbed down from his bed with purpose.

After dragging himself to the sink, he lazily brushed his teeth, muttering complaints about the very existence of teeth. 

"Why do we even need these things?" He whined, still half-asleep. His half-hearted brushing done, he shuffled out of his room, heading toward the breakfast area.

The breakfast room, on the other hand, was buzzing with chaos. 

It was a symphony of mischief, laughter, and relentless teasing—a typical morning with seven tall, rowdy boys who thrived on each other's madness.

Abhishek leaned forward excitedly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. 

"Bro, what do you think they did last night?" He asked, clapping his hands like a child ready for a juicy story.

"Kar toh bahut kuch sakte hain." Hardik replied with a sheepish grin, quickly morphing into a smirk.

"From killing someone to... umm... making someone." Siraj chimed in, his smirk widening. 

His mischievous words sent Abhishek and Rahul into a blushing frenzy while Virat burst out laughing.

"I mean, just imagine how hot it must've been!" Virat added, dramatically clasping his hands together as though praying for divine gossip.