Always Is Not Forever (Breaking Myself - Part II)

58. The One Where I Question Him

"Where is he?" Kabir came rushing through the door. Alert, I caught him by his hand, stopping his actions to barge in his room.

"Let them be alone," I whispered.

"Alone?" I nodded.

Rahul needed Nisha, not us after the stunt he pulled up of not telling any of us where he was living, of not accepting any of our calls, and we too, busy in our own lives forgot to check on him. In all our worries for Kabir and Nisha, I forgot to check on him.

Taking his hand, I made him sit on the couch and narrated the whole scene, word by word as Nisha had told me, explained she would be staying with him for a night.

"He needs her," I tried to loosen the nerves of his face. "I think you're the only who told Nisha to listen to her heart."

Running his hand through his hair, he unbuttoned the coat, moved to his vest.

"She missed him. Radhika and Veer deaths are not on Rahul and Nisha, it was a situation." He paused. "I will be in my study." And I got my answer in it. He was going to help Rahul, and I didn't get the stubborn wish of him not talking to his brother. "You were going back."

"Yeah. Papa's alone. His health is not that good." Standing up, I brushed my jeans. "Wait. Let me get the dinner for you."

"For you as well," He shot from the back. "I know you haven't eaten yet. How many times do I need to tell to not wait for me?"

"Family that eats together stays together," I shouted back. "And I don't mind. We only have dinner together." Disappearing into the kitchen, I glanced at the bowls stored in the refrigerator, brought them out and heated.

Before I could put them on the dining table, he grabbed the plate from the upper cabinets, joined me next to the microwave. "Let's eat here." He poured the vegetables on the plate, grasped my hand and moved us to the kitchen slab, swirled the rotating chairs next to it and sat. "You cook, I eat."

"Who told you I'm cooking?" I arched my brows. "Am I your cook?"

"As much I know my wife, she will never give me cold roti." He played with the spoon. "Even after my constant bantering that I want a wife, not a cook, she won't listen."

I turned on the stove and his grin grew bigger, taking a right shot on his words. How well he knew me, how well he knew after completing my day in the NGO, I always run back to his house, rather than mine, hearing numerous complaints from dad.

"Your hair." He pointed his finger at my open hair. "Wait. Let me do it." Standing up from this chair, he trudged to my side, grabbed my hair from the back as I passed him the rubber band and he tied them in a high pony. His lips hovered at the base of my neck. "I can make."

"No," I replied quickly, shoving him back. "You will make me lose my appetite."

He chuckled. "Fine. You cook, I will make custard for us."

"That sounds good. Cho-"

"Don't even think," Warning, he moved his body to open the refrigerator. "I'm tired of it."

As I handled our dinner, he handled our desert and we talked about our day, acting as used to do in Bangalore, preparing our dinner without the help of maids, alone in our apartment with his constant teasing of brushing against me in the pretext of something else.

When the dinner was made, I nudged the plate to his side and he put the hot custard in the fridge to cool it down.

"We have our wedding next year," He said nonchalantly as it meant nothing, as if was another fact of the day, as if it wasn't the day we both had waited for.