Author's POV

The faint warmth of sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, casting soft shadows across Advika's face. Her skin glowed beneath the golden sunrays and the dim light of the kitchen.

Her white off-shoulder oversized shirt and black shorts hung loosely over her hourglass figure, slightly stained with the spices she was using. A few loose strands from her messy bun framed her face.

It was ten in the morning.

She was cooking as if she were a contestant on MasterChef, headphones on, dancing with a spatula in one hand while holding a half-eaten apple in the other, completely lost in her own little world.

Vrischik, still half-asleep, walked in from the guest room—which had practically become his room—after hearing the noise coming from the kitchen.

He wore a loose black T-shirt that hung over his sculpted body, revealing his veiny forearms and broad shoulders, paired with dark brown sweatpants. Somehow, he still looked ridiculously handsome even in his half-asleep state.

He leaned against the kitchen doorway, blocking the entrance, his arms crossed over his chest.

His eyes travelled around the kitchen.

Half-chopped vegetables sat on the counter. A lower drawer was left open. The spice box was half-open.

And finally, his gaze stopped on Advika.

She was completely unaware of his presence, busy with her cooking.

He released a breath.

"So, MasterChef on duty?"

Advika didn't react. In fact, she couldn't hear him over the music blasting through her headphones.

Vrischik tilted his head and stayed there for a few moments, watching her dance around the kitchen, completely lost in her own world.

The corner of his lips twitched upward, forming a faint smile.

"Why does she have to look this pretty and cute in those shorts?" he whispered to himself.

He took another breath, trying to compose himself.

Advika took a twirl and suddenly spotted him standing in the doorway.

She froze for a moment before smiling at him.

"Morning, Dumpling!"

He released a breath, already well aware of her habit of giving him a new nickname every day.

"Morning, little chef."

She couldn't hear him.

"What?" she asked, tilting her head.

He moved slowly and deliberately.

First step.

Second.

And by the third, he was standing right in front of her.

He looked at her questioning expression and smiled before removing her headphones.

"Morning, little cracker!"

Her expression shifted from confusion to annoyance at his ridiculous remark.

She opened her mouth to reply—

But he was faster.

"Can you hear me now?" he asked with a smile, clearly trying to add fuel to her annoyance.

She knew exactly what he was doing, so instead of yelling at him, she simply smiled, determined to show him she didn't care.

He scooped her up and made her sit on the kitchen counter.

His eyes once again travelled around the messy kitchen before landing on her equally messy state.

He scoffed.

"So, did an earthquake happen while I was asleep?"

She looked anywhere but at him.

"Maybe."

They both knew it was a lie.

"Maybe?" he repeated, his smile turning into a full laugh.

"Fine. No earthquake. But it's not that messy, you know?"

He looked around the kitchen and laughed before taking the spatula from her hands.

"Focus on your apple, firecracker."

He turned to see what she was cooking before adding,

"So, what did you decide to burn this time?"

He paused.

"I mean, cook."

She raised an eyebrow at his sass.

"Cheesy red-sauce pasta."

A smile spread across her face like an overexcited child who had just announced her greatest achievement.

He took control of the half-cooked pasta and glanced at her.

"You could've woken me up instead of trying to become a chef."

"But you slept late last night. And I thought it would be better if I cooked something for us this morning."

Her voice was laced with care and concern.

"And now I have to clean this kitchen too?" he asked, looking around with a smile that was somewhere between teasing and disbelief.

"You're teasing me?" She looked away. "I just wanted to make it for you."

She paused.

"I mean, for us. And I'm also feeling hungry."

She quickly brushed off her previous confession.

He raised an eyebrow and gave her a sideways glance.

"For me?"

He asked it as if he were seriously considering her words.

"I said I'm hungry, and when I was cooking, I thought I could cook something for the poor boy too."

She dismissed his teasing with a sassy look.

"Poor boy? Seriously?"

He added the pasta to the red sauce.

"Miss Troublemaker, did you forget that this poor boy is the CFO of your brother's company?"

He tossed the pasta in the pan like a professional chef.

"Oh, please. Don't give me your corporate introduction. Just focus on my pasta. If it burns, it's not my fault."

She waved her hands in front of him as if telling him to stop.

He looked at her for a moment and smiled.

"Okay, princess. As you wish."

He added extra cheese, knowing she liked it that way.

"I can help you clean this mess," she said, looking around the kitchen as though cleaning it was entirely his responsibility and she was generously offering her assistance.

"Help me? My pleasure, princess. And thanks for thinking this much about this poor boy."

He tossed the pasta in the pan once again.

Then he turned off the stove, took two plates, and served a sufficient amount of pasta onto both.

"Your pasta is done, princess."

He handed one plate to her.

"Check it. Was I able to match your standards?"

She took a bite.

The rich red sauce melted in her mouth, the spices adding a tangy kick while the cheese balanced the flavours perfectly.

Her eyes closed as she savoured the taste.

"I'll give it..."

She deliberately dragged out the words, creating suspense.

He looked at her, suddenly curious—and slightly tense at the way she was drawing out her verdict.

"Give it... what?"

"Ten out of ten."

She finally broke the suspense.

He released a breath.

"I knew it. I'm always the best at cooking."

He declared it proudly before poking her nose with his forefinger.

"Sometimes."

She said it casually, even though she knew he almost always cooked better than her.

After some time, they both finished their pasta.

"Go and clean yourself. I'll clean the mess."

She opened her mouth to say something about helping him clean, but he stopped her.

"Go."

"Fine."

She turned and headed upstairs toward her room.