MEERA POV
What have I done to deserve this in my life...
First, I've placed a bet with my father on this event to prove my competence in this business.
Second, I'm nervous about how this is going to end up with all this mess.
Third, I'm stuck with a chatterbox who doesn't shut his mouth unless it's to steal the sweets. He steals the sweets more than he does any actual work. I'll deal with him later.
Finally, all the work is nearly done, and the rest can be handled in the morning. I told everyone to pack up for the day after their done with the present task and return early tomorrow, then left along with Chaaya and that monkey to arrange the sweets.
KRISH POV
The past six months have been fascinating ever since Aftaab decided to create Vasuki—a weapon that awakens only to the one who feeds it their blood, recognizing its master through DNA. That thing... it's got an attitude, majestic and untamed, just like its name.
After burying myself in my world of wires and equations, I finally stepped out—for Aftaab's engagement, no less.
Best-friend privileges come with inside stories, of course but who in their right mind would miss a mansion overflowing with food? Variety, abundance, and most importantly—free.
The moment I entered, the place screamed extravagance. Looked like the bride-to-be had gone all out. I couldn't help but wonder—how will she turn out in the future?
Then I wandered toward the kitchen wing, and that's when it hit me. A wave of heavenly aroma—rich, sweet, irresistible. For a second, I thought I'd reached the gates of heaven. My eyes feasted before my mouth could.
This was heaven.
Pure, fragrant, golden heaven.
Just one, I thought. One tiny taste wouldn't hurt anyone.
I leaned forward, fingers already reaching—
SMACK.
Pain exploded at the back of my head.
"What the hell—? Who dares—"
I spun around, ready to start a war.
And then I saw her.
For a second, my brain completely forgot why I was angry.
A goddess stood before me.
Brown eyes like melted chocolate. Long, silky hair tied hastily into a bun. A delicate sheen of sweat traced her forehead, glinting at her collarbone.
"Hey... are you done with that?"
"Earth to you! We're working here, not worshipping the sweets.
Are you done with your wandering for the day? We have mountains of work, but look at sir here, just strolling like this is his private buffet."
For the first time in my life, something other than my experiments and food held me captive.
She was saying something—I barely registered the words until the last bit landed: I'm on ladoo-making duty.
Me? Ladoo duty?
What on earth just happened? Whatever it was... I knew one thing for sure. For now, I'd follow my goddess.
She marched ahead, expecting me to follow. And like a well-trained puppy, I did.
The kitchen smelled like roasted ghee and cardamom, trays lined with half-finished sweets. She rolled the mixture into perfect golden spheres with such speed and precision, it looked almost like magic.
"Do it like this," she said, dropping one into the plate with a soft thud.
I mimicked her... and produced something that looked less like a ladoo and more like a planet suffering from earthquakes. She looked at it, then at me, and exhaled through her nose like she was counting to ten in her head.
"Again."
Five attempts later, my ladoos looked like distant cousins of potatoes.
Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn't give up. She remade the batch herself with efficient, almost military discipline. Then she shoved a tray into my hands.
"Store it. At least you can do that."
And so I, Krish — scientist, dreamer, connoisseur of food — walked out into the grand hall carrying a tray of sweets like a nervous waiter at his first job.
When I glanced up, Aftaab was staring at me. His face froze somewhere between disbelief and horror. My mouth opened, but no words came.
...Right then, my goddess walked out of the kitchen, and I swear my heart did a backflip.
"What the hell are you even doing?" Aftaab's voice cut through the hall.
Before I could open my mouth, my goddess spoke for me.
"Sorry—he's new here. A little mishap," she said quickly, trying to drag me away before I could make it worse.
But no, of course not. That useless friend of mine had to open his mouth at the worst possible time.
"This isn't some worker. He's my friend, Krish."
"I didn't know my friend Krish could work in the kitchen too," Aftaab said, his voice carrying that perfect mix of mockery and amusement.
The words tumbled out of Aftaab, casual but heavy, and they stopped Meera in her tracks.
Her eyes widened, betraying the jolt inside her. For a heartbeat, she stood frozen, caught between shock and disbelief.
But the very next moment, she slipped back into her polished mask—poised, professional, untouchable. Her spine straightened, her expression smoothed, and she carried herself as though nothing had pierced through.
And just like that, she slipped away from me.
Why didn't I like that side of her — the one that shut me out so easily?
I tried to throw her a signal, a grin, something to ease the moment, but she caught it and only distanced herself further. Within minutes, she was giving instructions to the staff, wrapping things up with brisk efficiency. The workers began to file out just as she'd ordered earlier.
Then, with her friend by her side, she walked out too — leaving me standing there with a tray in my hands and one burning question in my head.
Why, of all times, did my useless friend have to be so noisy?