The next morning, Dayyan descended the stairs for breakfast, feeling the same tangle of emotions from the previous day. His white formal shirt was perfectly pressed, and his pants fit him just right—he had made an extra effort today. He wasn’t sure if it was for himself, for Fariya, or something else entirely, but he felt like looking his best might somehow clear his mind. or was it for her? Natasha? did he want to score brownie points just so that she talks to him? he couldn't pin point.
As he entered the kitchen, the aroma of freshly cooked parathas and chai filled the air. Fariya was busy, her back to him as she worked over the stove. When she turned to greet him, her eyes brightened with a smile.
“You are looking quite sharp today Dayyan,” she commented, a hint of admiration in her
