"Maa! Why are you waking me up so early?"
Gauri groaned, rubbing her eyes and glancing at the wall clock. 8:00 a.m.

"Help me with the cooking!"

Kishori’s voice floated in from the kitchen.

Gauri buried her face back into her pillow.

"Maa, it's Sunday! You're waking me up just to help you cook?"

"Yes, Gauri!"

"Maa..." Gauri muttered, irritated. I already cook every day at Hriday’s house, and now here too?

"Get up, baccha… quickly!"

Kishori called again, banging a pot.

Sighing, Gauri got out of bed. The small home they lived in—a single bedroom, a compact kitchen, and a tiny living space—felt warmer with her mother’s cheerful presence. Still grumbling, she folded her hands in prayer before starting her day.

Meanwhile, across the city...

Ding-dong.

The doorbell rang sharply through Hriday’s apartment, dragging him out of sleep.

Half-asleep, hair tousled and shirt creased, Hriday trudged to the door with visible annoyance.

Why is someone ringing the bell on my only peaceful day?

He opened the door—only to find Gauri standing there, holding a tiffin box.

His eyes widened slightly. “What are you doing here?”

Gauri looked up at him, trying not to laugh at his half-dreamy face.
"Were you sleeping, sir?"

Hriday ruffled his messy hair.

"I was. Last night was hectic… some extra work came up."

"I came to give you food,"

Gauri said, raising the tiffin.

Hriday blinked.

“But today’s your leave.”

Gauri smiled politely.

"It is. But I remembered you don’t like outside food, and you don’t have anyone to cook today. So… I thought I’d bring you something homemade."

Hriday paused. That small gesture touched him in a way he wasn’t used to.
“Thank you.”

Gauri waved it off.
“Please don’t thank me, sir. It’s my job.”

She turned to leave, but Hriday’s voice stopped her.

“Wait.”

She turned back. "Yes, sir?"

Hriday took a deep breath, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Sorry... for my behavior yesterday."

For a moment, Gauri was stunned. Then a wide, almost smug smile spread across her face.

“Finally, this rich brat understands,” she thought to herself.

"So, did you forgive me?" Hriday asked, a little amused by her expression.

"Yes," she said softly, her smile still present.

She forgives easily. But she never forgets how someone treated her.

As she walked away, Hriday stood in the doorway, holding the tiffin, watching her disappear down the stairs.

A rare warmth flickered inside him—a feeling he couldn’t quite define yet.