He could almost hear her think before she admitted sheepishly, “I kept it there.”
“I liked where it was kept before.”
Did he sound petulant? Yes. Did he care? No.
“But I couldn’t reach it,” she explained in a rush, her head bobbing with an almost equal fervour. “See, Nanamma was missing you one night and telling me all about how the two of you often share warm haldi doodh at night. And then, we started doing the same, making masala milk in the evenings together— which she's so good at — and we needed to crush some of the spices. It just made sense to store it in a spot where we wouldn’t need a ladder to get to it every time. You’re so tall, it probably didn’t occur to you that it isn’t easy access for people like Nanamma. Or me.”
She put one hand on her crown, measuring herself against him for emphasis. The edge of her palm hit his collarbone with a soft thump, just above the rounded neckline of his T-shirt.
Rian stared where her hand lay and then at her, their height difference somehow more pronounced by the fact that she was in her socks—a fuzzy atrocity with avocado prints—without the benefit of any heels or shoes.
“You’re taking over my kitchen and you’re blaming my height for it?” he asked, stepping back a little. God, when did he start sounding so uptight?
“Haven’t you heard? Guests are like gods in our country. We get to take over the places we visit,” she joked, her smile dimming when the stern lines on his face did not relax. She tapped one foot awkwardly in place, lips turned inwards. She chanced a single glance up at him, sighing when he still looked like he was holding back on giving hera piece of his mind. “Are you really that bothered about me moving a few things around?”
“Not the point,” he said, heading to the counter to keep himself busy. “You can’t move stuff without asking the owner of the house.”
“You weren’t here,” she reasoned, handing him the spice box he’d been wanting without him having asked for it. This only irritated him further. “And you weren’t even supposed to be here for a while longer.”
“Seriously?” he griped, swiping the box from her hands with no effort to mask his displeasure anymore. “You’re complaining that I came back too soon to my own house?”
Aditi’s mouth dropped open. “That’s not what I meant. You’re twisting my words.”
“Stop saying twisted things then,” Rian shot back, turning his back to her. He pinched a few kernels of red peppercorn and began to pound it into a fine powder.
Rian could feel Aditi’s gaze boring a hole into him, but he didn’t acknowledge her. He heard her step away and assumed she would leave him alone. Instead, she walked around the island until she was standing across from him.
“All I meant to say,” she continued, evidently hell-bent on debating this further, “was that I would have put everything back in its proper spot eventually.”
“Maybe,” he shrugged, still not looking at her. “But it was still inappropriate behaviour.”
“Was it really?” Aditi’s eyes narrowed, feeling quite like that barb was meant for a past transgression and not the one being presently discussed. “Or are you just trying to find a reason to dislike me and continue being mean?”
The unexpectedly frank question had the pestle slipping from his hand just as he hit the base of the mortar. He stopped, pushing it away and slapped his palms on the stone counter, facing her once more.
“Excuse me?” he bit out, feeling an uncomfortable heat climbing up the back of his neck. He had never been accused of being unfriendly, and though he had been exactly that, he had not expected to be confronted over it.
“You are nice to everyone. Except me.”
Aditi didn’t look away, meeting his gaze head on, daring him to contradict her.
“I haven’t saidanythingto you.”
“Exactly!” she snapped. “And when you do, it’s in that clipped tone with a face that looks like you’ve smelt something bad.”
“What?” he spat again, his own voice rising a few decibels.
“See? Exactly like this!” she said, pointing at him and making a scrunched face to presumably recreate his expression. It was not pretty.
“Okay. Listen,” she barrelled on without giving him a chance to interrupt, gathering her hair and furiously wrapping it in a bun on top of her head. “I understand that I said something the night we met and you didn’t like it. Maybe I misunderstood your relationship with those people, who I can’t even remember anymore! I was coming off the end of an extra-long work shift, doing a health check because there were no other doctors available during the storm. I was exhausted, barely thinking straight, and I said something. You corrected me, quite rudely, might I add. Can’t we just let it be?”
“You made a conjecture about my life after knowing me for barely two minutes andIwas being rude?” Rian huffed, shaking his head in reproach before picking up his pestle again.
“I apologised then, and I’ll do it again if that makes it better. I am sorry.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to be okay with it,” he muttered.
“No. It doesn’t,” she replied, her shoulders lowering in defeat. “But, haven’t you ever made a mistake?”