Chapter 5 Traitors
DIVYA
I wake up to the sound of metal hitting metal.
At first it slips quietly into my dreams, some distant clatter that my sleepy mind tries to ignore, but then it comes again—sharper this time. A spoon knocking against a bowl. The steady scrape of something being chopped. A cupboard opening, then closing with a dull thud.
My eyes flutter open slowly.
The morning light is pale and soft, leaking through the thin curtains beside the bed and stretching across the floor in quiet streaks. For a moment I lie still, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out where exactly I am in that strange foggy place between sleep and waking.
Then I remember.
Aditya.
The realization settles into my mind slowly, like a stone sinking to the bottom of still water.
We got married yesterday.
A quiet court marriage with a bored clerk, two witnesses, and a handful of signatures that somehow changed the entire direction of my life.
There were no rituals, no celebration, no time to process what it meant.
Just papers, responsibility, and a strange calm acceptance between two people who barely knew each other.
And sometime after that, he carried his bags into this house, climbed the narrow stairs behind me, and lay down on the other side of my bed like a stranger who somehow already belonged there.
Another sound drifts up from the kitchen.
A low voice.
Then a smaller one.
Neel.
I groan softly and rub both hands over my face before sitting up.
The blanket slips down my shoulder and the cool morning air brushes lightly against my skin. For a moment I just sit there, letting the quiet sounds of the house reach me—voices murmuring downstairs, the occasional clink of utensils, the faint sizzle of something cooking.
Neel’s voice rises suddenly.
“Careful! You’re cutting it too big!”
My eyebrows knit together.
What on earth are they doing?
I swing my legs off the bed and stand, tying my hair into a loose knot as I shuffle toward the door. The wooden floor creaks faintly under my feet as I step into the hallway.
The smell reaches me before I even reach the kitchen. Something warm.
Savory.
Comforting.
Food.
My stomach immediately wakes up.
I walk quietly down the hallway and stop just outside the kitchen doorway.
And then I see them.
Neel is standing on one of the stools near the counter, his small hands gripping the edge as he leans forward with intense concentration.
Beside him, Aditya stands at the counter, chopping vegetables with steady, practiced movements like he’s been doing it for years.
The morning light streams through the kitchen window, falling across the counter and painting both of them in soft gold.
Neel watches every movement like a tiny supervisor.
“You have to cut them smaller,” he says very seriously.
Aditya glances sideways at him without stopping his work. “Are you the chef now?”
“I am quality control,” Neel replies firmly.
Aditya lets out a quiet laugh under his breath. “You’re seven.”
“And you are in my kitchen,” Neel says with equal seriousness.
I press my lips together, trying very hard not to laugh.
Aditya lifts one eyebrow. “Your kitchen?”
“Yes.” Neel gestures proudly around the room. “This house belongs to my sister. Which means technically it belongs to me too.”
Aditya pauses his chopping long enough to nod thoughtfully. “That’s a strong argument.”
“Thank you.” Neel leans closer again, inspecting the vegetables like he’s evaluating a priceless artifact.
“You are much better at this than didi,” he announces.
My jaw drops. “Excuse me?” I step into the doorway with my arms crossed. Neel gasps and spins around so fast he nearly loses his balance on the stool.
“Didi!”
He stares at me like I’ve materialized out of thin air. Aditya glances over his shoulder at me and immediately starts laughing. Neel recovers quickly. He gives me a huge grin that is so shamelessly charming it almost works.
“You know, didi,” he says sweetly, “I was joking.”
“Oh really?” I narrow my eyes at him, though it’s getting harder not to smile.
“Yes.” He leans closer to me and stage-whispers—loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear.
“I have to make sure he cooks good food so we both get to eat it.”
Aditya bursts out laughing. I fold my arms and glare at my little traitor. “So this is how it is now?”
Neel shrugs dramatically. “I believe in honesty.”
“Honesty?”
“Yes.”
“You just insulted me in my own house.”
“Constructive criticism,” he corrects. I stare at him.
Aditya is still chuckling beside the counter. “Neel,” I say slowly, “you are testing the limits of my patience this morning.”
He grins unapologetically. “You love me.” Unfortunately, that part is true.
I sigh and step into the kitchen. “Come on,” I say, pointing toward the hallway. “Go get ready. Your auto will be here in thirty minutes.”
Neel hops off the stool. Before leaving, he turns back toward Aditya with a very serious expression. “You’re doing very well,” he says approvingly.
Aditya presses a hand dramatically against his chest. “That means a lot.”
Then Neel runs off toward the bathroom. The moment he disappears down the hallway, the kitchen settles into a softer rhythm. Aditya resumes chopping. I lean against the counter across from him, still half asleep.
And that’s when I really look at him.
He’s wearing a simple grey t-shirt and loose pajama pants. His hair is still slightly messy from sleep, falling over his forehead in a way that looks frustratingly good.
His sleeves are pushed up slightly, exposing his forearms as he works.
Strong. Lean. Veins shifting under his skin every time he moves the knife.
My throat suddenly feels dry. My brain chooses that exact moment to betray me.
He looks… unfairly handsome. Not in a dramatic movie-star way.
Just quietly attractive in a way that feels natural.
Effortless. Like someone who doesn’t even realize the effect he has.
I clear my throat. Aditya glances up. Our eyes meet. The corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “Good morning.”
“Morning.”
He tilts his head. “You look offended.”
“Your alliance with Neel is deeply concerning.” He laughs softly.
“That boy has very strong opinions.”
“Yes,” I mutter. “Mostly against me.”
“Well,” Aditya says thoughtfully as he slides the vegetables into the pan, “to be fair… he did seem very invested in protecting you yesterday.”
My expression softens a little. “He’s been like that since…”
I stop.
Aditya notices. But he doesn’t push. Instead he gestures toward the stove. “Breakfast will be ready soon.”
“You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to.”
I glance at the counter. “You woke up early just to cook?”
He shrugs lightly. “I was awake anyway.”
“You could have slept more.”
“And miss the chance to impress your terrifying little brother?”
I laugh. “He is terrifying.”
“I believe it.”
Our eyes meet again for a brief second. Something quiet passes between us. Something warm. Neel returns a few minutes later with wet hair and his school shirt half buttoned.
“Something smells amazing.”
“Sit,” Aditya tells him.
Neel obeys immediately. That alone shocks me. When breakfast is ready, the three of us sit around the small table. Neel eats enthusiastically.
“This is excellent,” he declares with authority.
Aditya dips his head slightly. “High praise.”
I shake my head. “I can’t believe you’ve replaced me this quickly.”
Neel points his spoon at me. “You had seven years.”
Traitor.
After breakfast Neel grabs his bag just as the auto horn sounds outside. “Bye didi, love you!”
“Bye,” I call after him. “Love you too.” The door closes. The house falls quiet.
Aditya starts gathering the plates. “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” he says gently. “But I’m already here.”
I watch him for a moment before turning toward the hallway. “Is it okay if I bathe first? I have to open the shop.”
He nods. “I’ll finish cleaning up.”
When I come back outside later, dressed and ready for the day, I find him sitting on the sofa with a book open in his hands.
He looks up when he hears me. His eyes move over me for a second. “You look beautiful,” he says simply. The words land so unexpectedly that warmth rushes up my neck.
“Thank you,” I murmur. He smiles before closing the book. “I’ll get ready.”
“I’m heading downstairs,” I say quickly as he walks past me. I pad down the stairs and lift the shutter of Khusboo Attar House.
The familiar scent greets me immediately—soft oils, glass bottles, the faint lingering sweetness of yesterday’s blends. This place has always been my refuge. My responsibility. My world.
I open the windows and begin arranging the bottles. But today something feels slightly different. Upstairs, I hear faint movement.
Aditya.
Still there. Living here. A quiet warmth spreads slowly through my chest. And the thought slips into my mind before I can stop it.
It’s strange.
How comfortable it already feels to have him around. Almost like—we’ve known each other much longer than we actually have.
Almost like—he was always meant to end up here.