Chapter 3: Masala Noodles and Streams

Honestly, I didn’t have much faith in Kabir’s cooking—until I saw the fragrant masala noodles on the table.

He’d managed to get the balance just right—plenty of green chillies, onions fried till golden, with a squeeze of lime on top. The kitchen was warm from the gas stove, and the aroma of frying onions mixed with the faint smell of Dettol from the just-mopped floor. The steam rising from the bowl made my stomach rumble. I glanced at the kitchen, surprised to see him wiping his hands with a Gamcha.

"You actually know how to cook."

I sat down, feeling awkward and a little embarrassed, but also surprised.

The table was small and a bit cluttered, with old sauce bottles and a plastic cover, but he’d cleared a spot for me. The noodles smelled so good I almost forgot my awkwardness.

He let out a short laugh. "Eat. I’m going to rank up."

He sounded gruff, but I could see the corners of his mouth turn up just a little. He picked up his phone, tapping away with a practised hand, and strode upstairs.

I ate the noodles he made, watching as he strode upstairs.

I slurped them too fast, yelping as my tongue burned, but I couldn’t stop grinning—home food always tasted better when someone made it for you. I kept glancing up the staircase, wondering if he’d come back down, but all I heard was the distant thump of his chair rolling across the floor above.

This past semester, I could only watch him on his stream.

Other female fans shamelessly called him ‘husband.’

But I would blush just typing those two words.

I think I’m hopeless.

Sometimes I would practice typing 'Kabir, marry me!' in the chat, then quickly delete it, afraid he might somehow know it was me. I’m sure if anyone from college saw, I’d never hear the end of it.

He was streaming upstairs, while I sat downstairs eating noodles and secretly watching his stream.

I set my phone next to my bowl, volume on low so he wouldn’t hear. The room was quiet except for the whir of the fan and the faint sound of his voice drifting down the stairs.

He’d just gone live again, and fans in the chat were asking what he’d been up to.

He wasn’t as cold and aloof as usual. Instead, he raised his eyebrows and smiled: "Had to feed my buddy’s silly cat."

Cat? Did he mean me? My cheeks went redder than a Gulab Jamun. Surely he wasn’t calling me that on stream?

He deliberately lowered his voice, so I couldn’t hear it from downstairs.

The chat was full of curiosity, asking how cute the little cat was, saying he seemed to be in a good mood after feeding it.

He looked down and started a game, smiling with a hint of mischief. "It is pretty cute."

His voice came from my phone, making my heart race.

What cat?

It’s just me here.

My cheeks burned, and I quickly finished my noodles, unable to wipe the silly smile off my face. Did he mean me? Was I the silly cat?