"hey!isse chakh ke bataao", she said with a look of eagerness that befits an amateur cook.
"cake?"
"haan baba. jaldi"
He makes a face.
"it's sweet"
"it's sweet? it's a cake!"
"well you didn't make it my way"
"which is?"
"It doesn't matter. You didn't make it my way. So I don't like it"
"I thought you like cakes, does the way matter?"
"Yes it does because I like cakes only when they're made my way in the way I see fit and only when I want it."
"Oh", she said with a dejected look, hurt creeping in but not in her voice.
"Accha toh fir bataao kaisa tumhe pasand hai?"
"Woh mere mood par depend karta hai"
"Humein tumhara mood kaise pata chalega?"
"We'll see about that", he said pushing the plate of chocolate fudge cake aside and leaving the kitchen.
She stood silently and took off her apron.
Cooking isn't for introverts.
