The house still smelled faintly of soap and rain when Aarya finally dared to step out of the bathroom after Hiten had finished. Her cheeks were still hot, her mind replaying the awkward scene over and over again. She scolded herself silently—Why did I barge in like that?

But when she reached the kitchen, the sight before her made her pause.

Hiten was humming softly, his damp hair dripping little droplets down his neck, his shirt clinging faintly to his shoulders. He stood at the counter, focused on cracking eggs into a bowl. The light from the window highlighted the concentration on his face.

Aarya shook her head, forcing herself to look away. “So… you actually cook?” she asked, stepping closer.

Hiten glanced over his shoulder, grinning sheepishly. “Sort of. Survival skills, you know. When you’re home alone most of the time, you either learn to cook or starve.”

She chuckled softly, leaning on the counter. “Well, you’re already ahead of me. I can’t cook at all.”

He raised an eyebrow, teasing. “Oh, really? Then maybe today’s your chance to learn.”

Before Aarya could reply, the faint smell of smoke hit her nose. Her eyes widened. “Um… Hiten? Do you smell that?”

Hiten frowned, sniffing the air. Then both of them turned their heads at the same time.

The frying pan was smoking.

“Oh no—our breakfast!” they cried together, rushing to the stove.

By the time Hiten grabbed the spatula, the eggs were already charred at the edges, and the pancakes on the second pan were blackened beyond recognition. Aarya covered her mouth to stifle a laugh, while Hiten groaned dramatically.

“Well… at least some parts are edible,” he said, poking the pancakes with mock seriousness.

Aarya couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst into laughter. “This looks more like charcoal art than breakfast.”

Hiten smirked. “Perfect then. You’re into art, I’m into poetry—we’ll call this culinary expressionism.”

She giggled, shaking her head. “Yeah, more like ‘culinary disaster.’”

He placed the ruined food on plates anyway, sliding one toward her. “Here. Chef’s special. Don’t say I never made you anything.”

Aarya looked at the plate with mock horror, then picked up a fork and bravely took a bite. Her face twisted instantly. “This… tastes like betrayal.”

Hiten burst into laughter, nearly dropping his own fork. “Oh my god, your face right now!”

For a moment, the kitchen was filled with nothing but their laughter, mingling with the soft patter of rain against the windows.

---

Later, as they cleaned up the mess, Aarya spoke softly. “Can you… maybe teach me to cook properly sometime? And… also, maybe help me with my studies? I’m terrible at math.”

Hiten looked up at her, his expression softening. Then his grin returned. “Only if you promise something in return.”

She tilted her head curiously. “What?”

“You’ll make me some art inspired by my poetry. That’s the deal.”

Her lips curved into a smile. “Deal.”

They sealed it with a playful handshake, their fingers brushing slightly longer than necessary. Both looked away quickly, pretending not to notice.

---

The clock ticked past nine, and Hiten glanced at it with a grimace. “We’re already late for school.”

Aarya groaned. “Yeah… we should probably go.”

But then he hesitated, mischief flashing in his eyes. “Or… we could just skip. Spend the day here. Who’s going to know?”

She froze, caught between responsibility and temptation. “Skip school?”

He leaned against the counter, smirking. “Think about it. A rainy day, no teachers, no boring lectures. Just us. Doesn’t that sound… better?”

Her serious face broke into a grin. “You’re such a bad influence.”

“So… is that a yes?”

After a long pause, she laughed. “Fine. Let’s do it.”

---

What followed felt like a stolen day, a secret carved out of time.

They dragged out board games from the dusty cupboard—Ludo, Snake and Ladders, chess. Every game was filled with laughter and playful arguments.

“No, you cheated!” Aarya accused during Ludo.

“Excuse me? I rolled a six fair and square!” Hiten defended dramatically, holding the dice up like sacred evidence.

When they tired of board games, they made up their own. Mini tennis with a sponge ball and a frying pan as the racket. A makeshift cricket match in the living room with a rolled-up newspaper for a bat. A chaotic game of catch that ended with both of them crashing into the couch, laughing until their stomachs hurt.

By the afternoon, they collapsed onto the floor, lying side by side, gasping for breath.

“That… was insane,” Aarya said, propping herself on her elbows.

“And exhausting,” Hiten added, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Their laughter faded into a comfortable silence. The rain outside had turned gentler, its rhythm almost like a lullaby.

---

“So… your art,” Hiten asked after a while, turning his head toward her. “Where did that start?”

Aarya’s eyes softened, and her voice lowered. “My grandmother. She taught me everything. She was… amazing. But my parents think she spoiled me. They say I should stop wasting time on art and focus on grades. I haven’t even met her in so long.”

Her voice cracked slightly at the end, and she quickly looked away.

Hiten’s chest tightened at the sight. He wanted to reach out, to say something that would erase that sadness. Instead, he said gently, “That’s sad… but also beautiful. Because look at you now—you carry her love in your talent. That’s something no marks can take away.”

Aarya’s cheeks warmed. She glanced at him, eyes shimmering with something unspoken.

“And you?” she asked softly. “Poetry? How did that happen?”

Hiten leaned back, staring at the ceiling as if rewinding to another time. “It was a rainy day, actually. I was bored in class, laid my head on the desk, and just… watched the rain. A lightning strike gave me the first line. From then on, words just kept coming. Now… I’ve filled two entire notebooks.”

Aarya sat up, stunned. “Two whole books? That’s incredible!”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not much. Just my little escape. My world on paper.”

She smiled softly, her heart swelling in ways she didn’t expect.

---

As the day dimmed into evening, they found themselves in the kitchen again. This time, Hiten guided her step by step—how to turn on the stove, how much salt to add, how to wait patiently for the oil.

Their hands brushed more than once as they chopped vegetables together, sending sparks neither wanted to acknowledge out loud.

By the time the chai and pakoras were ready, the kitchen smelled heavenly. They carried everything to the balcony.

The drizzle kissed their toes as they sat cross-legged, sipping tea, munching pakoras, and watching the rain blur the world outside.

Aarya let out a soft sigh. “This… feels perfect.”

Hiten looked at her, his eyes lingering longer than they should. “Yeah… it really does.”

She noticed his gaze and quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the raindrops. “Twenty-four hours…” she murmured.

He tilted his head. “What about them?”

“Twenty-four hours ago, we were strangers. Now…” She hesitated, her voice almost a whisper. “…it feels like I’ve known you forever.”

Hiten chuckled. “Stealing my words, huh? I said that last night.”

“They belong to me too,” she teased.

Their laughter faded into the sound of the rain.

The balcony light flickered once, twice, before going out, leaving only the storm’s glow around them.

Aarya froze as the thunder cracked, startling her. Hiten instinctively reached out, his hand brushing hers in the dark. Their eyes met, inches apart, breath mingling.

Neither spoke.

Was it just the storm pulling them closer… or something far stronger neither of them could deny?

A playful morning turned unexpectedly tender… but a secret plan was hiding behind his smile. Click Next to see what happens next?