Reyansh Carter
Iwake up before Aisha, and I won’t lie, I missed the sight of seeing her face first thing in the morning.
Her face glows under the morning sunlight seeping through the windows; her hair is a tousled mess, which is why she prefers keeping it in a braid before sleeping, but somehow she forgot last night. I trace her face lightly, careful enough to not wake her up.
I know she was wide awake last night. But knowing that she would try to listen, try to fool me into thinking that she was in fact asleep, I kept going.
I kept pouring my heart out to her no matter how vulnerable I felt and no matter how difficult it was for me.
God knows if I had done that before, our relationship would not have reached this point.
I know she was holding back her tears. I am so attuned to every single tic of hers. I know her more than she gives me credit for.
Last night was tough, but today will be better. I will make sure of it. If it were up to me, I would chain her to myself. But she would probably bite me and hit me and do what else. Not that I would mind. She would urge me to go back to work, and I can’t say no to my wife.
I am not an idiot.
“Good morning, baby,” I say, kissing her cheek. “Get ready to be swept off your feet.”
I don’t waste time getting to my feet; there’s a lot to be done, and I don’t want to take any chances.
Maa was right. If I want to win her love and trust back, I need to bring the old Reyansh back.
I didn’t realize how much I had changed until it was pointed out to me.
While I was reserved with everyone, I was always sweet to my girl.
She never had to ask. She was an exception in my blank world. The light in the darkness.
With time, I forgot that I was meant to be sweet to her, not because she was my wife, but because all she deserved was that.
Now, it’s time to bring all of that back.
* * *
After quickly finishing my business, I leapt out of the room to set up everything for her. As promised, both of our mom’s left the house for a little bit of time so that when they came back, Aisha would know that it was all me who did it. Not them.
Aisha is a desi girl at heart, but with me, she has had to make quite the sacrifices.
And that includes sacrificing her favorite foods because she knew I couldn’t handle all of that.
Indian cuisine is amazing, superb at best, and she makes it wonderfully.
But my stomach can’t handle all of that, and what I couldn’t enjoy, Aisha let go of.
I never stopped her from doing what she liked, but she didn’t like making two different kinds of food in a single household, so I never stopped her.
Now, it’s time to bring that back. I don’t want her to ever let go of anything or anyone she loved—including myself.
So, I asked Maa for the recipe for Aloo Parathe, and it seems not too tricky to crack.
I just have to keep a healthy balance of spices.
So, I got to work quickly. I let the potatoes cool down after boiling before keeping the pan with water on the stove for her chai.
While I don’t get why one would contaminate tea with milk and all the other condiments, I am no one to question her taste and offend her. After all, I am her taste too.
Once the potatoes cooled down, I began peeling them, slowly mashing them into crumbles. It looked messy, but anything made out of love turns out good, right?
I had written down the portions of spices I needed to add because my bland taste buds—as everyone calls them—had no clue what amount of salt and red chili powder went into the mash.
Following her instructions, I gave the mixture a good mix after adding a handful of red chili and black pepper to appease Aisha’s taste buds.
By now, she must have woken up, so I had to be quick.
How mothers manage all of this is beyond me. How women manage all of this is beyond my imagination.
I always held immense respect for women, having grown up under the influence of a kind and eloquent woman, but every day I learned a new thing or fact about females, and it grew that respect enormously.
After pouring in the milk in the chai pot, I took a handful of the potato mixture and put it in the middle of a bit of dough before enclosing it carefully so as to not tear it and used the rolling pin to flatten it into a paratha.
My shape didn’t resemble the circular shape that Aisha always makes, but it didn’t look bad either, so I let it be.
I placed the paratha on a plate, just in time for the chai to come to a boil. I let it settle down before pouring it into two teacups. I wanted to engage her in breakfast and keep her close as long as I could before she ran into the confines of her work.
“What are you doing?” Aisha comes up to me, her voice louder than even she intended it to be, and I almost drop the tray.
“Jesus, woman,” I say, my heart almost lurching out. “You scared the shit out of me.”
She proceeds to roll her eyes before looking around the empty room.
“Where are our moms?” she asks
“Out. Went to explore the neighborhood,” I tell her before sitting down on the chair, expectantly.
“Then who cooked all of this?” she asks, taking a seat
She keeps a safe distance from me. Or at least tries to. The joke’s on her; she can’t keep me away for long.
“I did,” I say, taking a sip of the chai, and she passes me a surprised look. “What?”
“You cooked Aloo Parathe and chai? For me? Plus you are drinking it too?”
I shake my head with a shy smile. When she says it like that, it does seem unbelievable.
“Of course, baby,” I tell her, and her nose wrinkles with the endearment, but her cheeks give away her heart with how pink they turn naturally. With makeup, Aisha looks gorgeous. But without it, she looks ethereal. Like a goddess from the heavens sent solely to damage me and my heart.
Good thing I will let her damage me any way she wants to.
“I don’t believe it,” she says, but I see a hint of a smile coming on her face. Being mean is her love language; I know it.
“Try it and see,” I say, placing one paratha on my plate too. I don’t like food this oily, but it can’t hurt to try it once.
I hold my breath as she tears apart one morsel and bites into it. Her face remains neutral, but her eyes shine, and that is a good sign. I haven’t seen that spark in her eyes for so long, and the fact that it only took cooking her favorite meal once is insane.
Women are such sweet, simple creatures. It’s us men who complicate them.
“Is it good?” I ask.
She looks at me for a second, and I have never been this nervous for anything. But when it comes to pleasing her, I lose my mind. I want it to be perfect for her.
“It is really, really good,” she says with a smile, one that stretches across her face, the one that brings out her dimples. “Thank you for making it for me.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Aisha,” I say, a pained smile on my face. “You know I love to cook for you. In fact, I love to do anything for you.”
Her eyes flutter, and I know she is having a hard time digesting all this.
“Mom and Maa suggested that we have a movie night tonight,” I tell her. That is a lie. I suggested we do that. But if I tell her that, I know she will find a way to decline it. But she won’t break their heart.
“What movie?” she asks, sipping her chai quietly.
“Jab We Met,” I tell her. It is her favorite movie. We have watched it multiple times. She always used to tell me that she wished to meet her soulmate that way—the way Geet met Aditya. It pissed me off, but she kissed me better.
Plus we made out after that, so I have no complaints.
“Okay,” she says, getting up and finishing the last bite. “I will be there on time. It’s you who is late or misses important events.”
I know she probably didn’t mean the words to cut through like a knife, but they do, and I am reminded again of my shitty behavior.
How can I even forget? That’s how it all started.
“I am sorry—” she says, her eyes guilty. “I didn’t want—”
“I know.” I take her hand in mine, feeling its softness melt me from the inside. “I don’t mind. It was my fault.”
She nods, and I stand up to kiss her once, on the forehead. She momentarily closes her eyes before stepping away as if being near me will make her change her decision.
I hope it does.
“I won’t be late. I promise.”
She stares at me for a beat before mumbling a soft okay.
I just hope I don’t disappoint her this time.