Chapter 12 Waiting Noodles
DIVYA
The almost-kiss refuses to leave my head.
It’s ridiculous, really. Days have passed since that evening on the terrace, yet the memory keeps circling back when I least expect it.
The sky had been deepening into that soft indigo, the kind that makes everything feel quieter than usual.
His hand had been warm in mine, our fingers fitting together in a way that felt strangely natural.
Then we had turned toward each other, slowly, like neither of us wanted to scare the moment away.
And then Neel had burst through the door like a hurricane.
I thought that after that night things would become awkward between us. I expected to start avoiding him without even meaning to—taking longer at the shop, disappearing into chores, pretending to be busy whenever he walked into the room.
Except… that never happened.
Which is the part I don’t know what to do with.
Because if anything, the opposite is happening. I still find myself gravitating toward wherever he is in the house. Still catching myself noticing when he laughs. Still watching his hands when he’s cooking like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
I don’t know what that means.
And apparently, neither does he.
Tonight the house feels unusually quiet.
Aditya texted earlier in the evening saying he would be late. Something about a launch tomorrow at the publishing house and the team needing extra time to fix things before the release.
You should sleep, he had written. Order something from outside.
I probably should have listened. But for some reason I didn’t. Instead, I cooked. Which might be the most reckless decision I’ve made all week. I glance at the clock on the wall again.
It’s past tweleve. The living room lamp casts a soft pool of light over the sofa where I’ve been sitting for the past half hour pretending to read. The book is open in my lap, but I haven’t turned the page in a long time. My eyes keep drifting back to the clock instead.
Waiting. That realization makes me shift uncomfortably.
Neel finally fell asleep two hours ago after an exhausting negotiation about bedtime. Apparently he had very strong opinions about whether ten-thirty or eleven was a more reasonable hour for someone his age.
Eventually I won. Barely.
Before going to sleep he had tasted the noodles I made and declared them a “solid seven out of ten.”
I still don’t know if that’s encouraging. He has grown up eating my cooking after all. His standards might simply be low.
The thought makes me sigh and glance toward the kitchen. The pot is still sitting on the stove, covered carefully so the noodles don’t dry out. I had told myself I was cooking just in case he came home hungry.
That’s what I told myself.
But the truth is a little harder to admit.
I wanted to cook for him. The sound of the front door opening makes me jump up from the sofa before I even realize I’ve moved.
The door shuts quietly a second later.
Aditya steps inside. He looks tired. Not dramatically exhausted, just the kind of tired that comes from a long day of thinking too much.
His sleeves are rolled halfway up his arms like always, and his hair looks slightly messier than it did this morning, as if he ran his hand through it too many times during the day.
When he notices me standing in the living room, his expression changes instantly.
His mouth opens slightly in surprise.
“Divya?” I walk toward him, smiling softly. “You’re awake?” he asks, stepping further inside and setting his bag down near the sofa.
His eyes move quickly across my face, scanning like he’s checking for something wrong.
“Is everything okay?” I nod.
“Everything’s fine.”
He studies me for another second before relaxing slightly. “You should be asleep,” he says.
“You texted saying you’d be late.”
“I was.”
His gaze drifts toward the clock and then back to me. “You didn’t have to wait up.”
I tilt my head slightly.
“Did you eat?”
He exhales slowly and rubs the back of his neck. “I had dinner at the office.” My shoulders sink a little. Of course he did. “But,” he adds a moment later, “I’m still hungry.”
I blink.
He glances toward the kitchen. “I was planning to make some maggi.”
I cross my arms and lean against the wall. “No you won’t.”
He stops mid-step and turns to look at me. “Why not?”
I smirk. “Because I have full plans on torturing you with my noodles.”
His eyes widen dramatically. “Don’t tell me you cooked, Divya.”
I laugh. “I did.”
Then I straighten slightly, unable to hide the pride in my voice. “And you know what? Neel gave it a seven out of ten.”
Aditya nods slowly, looking impressed. “That’s a very serious rating.”
“I know.”
“I can’t delay tasting this now.” He drops his bag onto the sofa and marches toward the kitchen like he’s on a mission.
I follow behind him, still smiling. The moment he steps into the kitchen he stops. The smell must reach him then. “It smells wonderful,” he says quietly.
My heart does something strange in my chest. I try not to show how much that sentence means to me.
He lifts the lid off the pot and peers inside before grabbing a bowl and serving himself. We move to the dining table without saying much.
I sit across from him. He twirls the fork through the noodles and lifts the first bite.
I watch him closely. Too closely.
He takes the bite. For a moment he says nothing.
Then he closes his eyes briefly and inhales. “This is definitely beyond seven, baby.”
The word lands in the air like something fragile. Both of us freeze. His eyes open immediately. Mine are still fixed on his face. “Um,” he says, swallowing quickly. “I—” He looks genuinely flustered now. “I didn’t mean—”
The word baby seems to linger between us. I let out a small laugh. “It’s okay.” But the truth is I’m not entirely sure it is. Because something in my chest warmed when he said it.
And I don’t know what to do with that.
He clears his throat and takes another bite of noodles, clearly trying to recover. “They’re really good,” he says carefully this time.
“Thank you.” I try to sound casual. Inside my heart is still doing strange things.
“So,” I say after a moment, needing to shift the conversation before we both combust from embarrassment, “what kept you so late?”
He sighs.
“There was an issue with the release tomorrow. Something wrong with the final print files.”
“That sounds stressful.”
“It was.”
He takes another bite and leans back slightly in his chair. “We had to stay until everything was fixed.”
I hum quietly, listening. Then he looks at me. “How was your day?”
I tell him about the shop, about a customer who couldn’t decide between two scents and ended up buying both, about Neel arguing passionately about sleep timings before giving up.
Nothing particularly exciting. But he listens like it matters. When he finishes eating, he pushes the bowl aside and stands.
I start to get up too, assuming he’s done. Instead he pauses beside my chair. His expression is softer now. Almost hesitant. He leans down slowly. For a moment his face hovers just above mine. Then he presses a gentle kiss against my forehead.
The contact is warm.
Light.
But it sends a rush of heat straight through my chest. My breath catches before I can stop it.
“Thank you, Divya,” he whispers softly.
The words brush against my skin along with the warmth of his breath. My fingers tighten slightly around the edge of the table.
He pulls back a second later.
But the warmth from that small kiss lingers long after he steps away.