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The late July morning sun filtered through the partially opened blinds on the windows, casting soft, golden rays that danced across the kitchen tiles in ripples of warmth. The air, already warm but not yet heavy with the oppression of summer’s peak, held a promise of something lazy and good. It was the kind of morning that encouraged lingering, a perfect blend of stillness and expectation. Outside, the far-off trilling of birds and the occasional tossing of the trees in the breeze were the only suggestions that the world outside was in movement, that the never-ending bustle of London was still humming at its usual pace, removed from this small domestic sphere.
Suki was barefoot on the cool kitchen tiles, the soft cotton of her pyjama bottoms rustling quietly with every movement. She had on Eve's oversized t-shirt. A soft, faded one that hung loose on her shoulders and gaped at the neckline. Her hair was piled atop her head in a messy bun that had started to fall apart before she'd even finished putting it up, with strands escaping to frame her face in a messy halo. Spatula in hand like a commander preparing herself for battle, she surveyed the room with a solemnity that barely concealed the chaos brewing just beneath the surface of her dark brown eyes.
She loved these quiet mornings with Eve. It wasn’t just the food, although that was part of it. It was the way they moved together in the kitchen, a choreographed dance. They had learned how to communicate without words, each step in sync, from the way they chopped vegetables to the way they set out the ingredients. There was a kind of cadence that had been established over time, a symphony that gave the impression they were partners in more than just cooking.
She was startled out of her reverie by the soft squeak of the kitchen door. Eve padded in, rubbing sleep from her eyes, looking like she'd just tumbled out of the kind of deep sleep that left one somewhat dizzy, yet utterly content. Her hair was tousled from sleep, framing her face in a way that was endearing rather than untamed. She had on a charcoal-grey jumper that fell to mid-thigh, sleeves pushed up to just below her elbows, and mismatched socks — one green with tiny foxes, the other plain navy. She yawned, stretching her arms above her head, her voice thick with the remnants of sleep.
“You’re already plotting something, aren’t you?” Eve asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Suki grinned, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Today's the day, love. I'm finally going to teach you to make chole bhature.”
Eve blinked, her face still hidden in the mist of sleep. “Wait, your favourite breakfast? The one you guard like state secrets? The one that makes you cry if someone adds too much cinnamon?”
Suki laughed, nodding. “Exactly that. And I'm trusting you with it.”
Eve's eyes widened in mock horror. She strode correctly into the room, her hands on her hips. “This is more serious than asking me to move in!”
Suki's eyebrow rose, the corners of her mouth trembling. "I asked you to move in when we were sitting at the bar in The Albert. This,” she gestured dramatically at the kitchen, “is much more romantic.”
Eve chuckled, crossing the room to stand beside Suki, her hand brushing the back of Suki’s shoulder as she leaned in to inspect the ingredients spread out on the counter. The kitchen gleamed beneath the sun, the surfaces scrubbed to perfection, everything in place with an almost military precision. The chickpeas, swollen from their overnight soak, sat in a glass bowl, each one looking like a tiny pearl. A rainbow of spices in little glass ramekins — chilli powder in rusty red, earthy turmeric, dusky cumin, and bright yellow hing — were arranged neatly, like precious stones in a treasure chest. Half-chopped onions shone on a chopping board, their translucence catching the light, and a sprig of fresh coriander stood waiting next to it, its bright green a vivid contrast on the pale countertop.
Eve let out a soft breath, the intoxicating aroma of cumin, garlic, and ginger already filling the room. It was one of her favourite scents — the scent of home, of warmth, of Suki.
Suki watched her for a moment, a soft smile pulling at her lips. “So,” she said, with an air of mock seriousness, “we start with the chole — the chickpea curry. In case you’ve forgotten.”
"I haven't," Eve replied, hand on her heart in a theatrical gesture. "It's my sacred duty to be mindful."
Suki grinned, reaching for the first spice. "Excellent. Rule number one: respect the spice."
Eve, eyes sparkling with amusement, reached for one of the small bowls. "Is this the infamous masala blend?"
Suki nodded proudly. "Homemade," she said, her voice gratified. "I roasted and ground it myself. If you spill any of it, I'll curse you."
Eve raised her eyebrows, pretending to be afraid. She put the bowl back down on the counter, treating it with utmost caution. As her fingers brushed against Suki’s, a tiny thrill ran through her — just a fleeting touch, but one that made her heart beat a little faster. She didn’t know how to explain it, but it was moments like these that reminded her just how lucky she was to have found Suki, to be part of something so beautiful and simple.
Suki said nothing, but she too felt the shift in the air — that soft, silent rapport between them that needed no words to be felt. They had been together for years now, but whenever their fingers touched, it still seemed like magic.
It was as if, here in this quiet kitchen, time itself was suspended — a tiny bubble of tranquility severed from the endless noise of living. It was a strange stillness, a cocoon of peace between two people who had come to value these everyday rituals, who had come to cherish mornings like this one: lazy, intimate, and filled with the warmth of familiarity. It was a magic that came in mornings such as these, in moments when the day hadn't yet begun, when the world was still unwinding slowly instead of rushing ahead.
The morning wore on in gentle rhythm as they moved through the steps together, each one reassuring and familiar. The onions dissolved into soft, translucent threads, their sweetness perfuming the kitchen. Suki guided Eve through every step, her voice gentle but sure, as she showed Eve how to coax the perfect flavour out of each spice, how to wait for the moment when the oil bloomed and released the full depth of the spices.
“Gentle,” Suki scolded with a smile as Eve stirred too aggressively. “We’re coaxing flavour out, not interrogating it.”
Eve grinned, lowering her voice in pretend seriousness. "Got it. Love, not war."
Their laughter filled the kitchen, a soft, musical quality that appeared to lighten, brighten everything around them. Suki couldn't help but feel a warmth spread through her chest as she gazed at Eve, now fully engaged in the process, her face flushed with concentration and anticipation. There was beauty here — in showing someone you loved how to create something wonderful, something that had been passed down through the years.
While the chickpeas simmered in their spiced gravy, Suki guided Eve through the task of making the bhature. It was a more delicate task — the dough must be just so, not too dry and not too sticky. Suki guided Eve patiently, her own hands over Eve's in the way she herself had been taught all those years ago by her Mamī and Nanī. The soft flour, the sour yogurt, the pinch of baking soda — all of it mixed together in a perfect balance, the dough soft and pliable in their hands.
Eve was kneading the dough when she noticed a small dusting of flour settle onto Suki’s nose. Without missing a beat, she flicked her finger, sending a small cloud of flour onto Suki’s cheek. Suki froze, eyes widening in mock horror, and before Eve could react, Suki retaliated, flinging a handful of flour in Eve’s direction. It landed in her hair, and they both burst out laughing, a symphony of joy that filled the kitchen.
There was something timeless about moments like these, when the world outside didn't exist, when they were two people playing, living, and loving together. They were so caught up in their own little bubble — no phones, no distractions, just the warmth of the kitchen and the gentle joy of each other's company.
Outside, London was already awakening with its usual bustle, but in here, the silence was more like a warm blanket, wrapping everything in a soft cocoon. In the kitchen, time itself seemed to slow, as though the world had been momentarily paused. Even the wall clock, ticking away with its measured rhythm, seemed quieter than usual, respectful of the unusual silence that had the room in its grip.
With dough ready and resting in a warm bowl, Suki and Eve stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the stove, the thick scent of spices and fried dough thicker in the air. The chole bhature was progressing, but they both knew that the most important part was ahead — frying the bhature, the deep-fried flatbreads that puffed into airy perfection when they hit the hot oil. The air was thick with the smell of frying dough, and for a brief moment, it was as if the rest of the world outside had simply vanished.
Suki turned to Eve, her face suddenly serious. "Now the hardest part. The oil has to be at the right temperature. Too hot, and the bhature will burn on the outside but still be raw on the inside. Too cold, and they'll just soak up all the oil and be greasy."
Eve nodded, her fingers flexing slightly in nervous energy. She had seen Suki do this a thousand times, but now, standing at the stove, the pressure of getting it just right was suddenly palpable.
Suki reached over and placed a hand on Eve’s arm, her touch warm and grounding. “Don’t worry, you’ve got this. I’ll guide you.”
Eve let out a quiet breath, grateful for the reassurance. Holding her breath, she dropped the first dough ball into the hot oil. It was a dangerous moment, one that felt like a metaphor for all of their lives. Eve had never been as sure, as cautious — Suki was the wild one, the one who pushed ahead with a fearless kind of grace. But in moments like this, when Suki’s hand rested on hers, Eve felt herself settling into something more certain, something steadier. She felt seen, like this small, shared act of cooking wasn’t just about food. It was about trust, it was about sharing, and, in a way, it was about love.
The dough sizzled as it hit the hot oil, and slowly, miraculously, it began to puff, golden, crispy. Eve's heart raced in the pure joy of watching it happen — the soft dough expanding, the surface pimpling as it fried to a perfect crisp. It was not magic, she reminded herself, but attention, patience, and a little practice. But in that moment, the kitchen seemed to hold its breath, and for a brief second, it did feel like magic.
“Look at that!” Suki exclaimed with a laugh, her voice full of delight. “You’re a natural!”
Eve smiled, pride swelling inside her. The bhature floated on the oil's surface, its golden brown face glistening as it puffed up higher, a proud rise that scented the kitchen with the heady smell of newly fried dough. Eve turned it over carefully, allowing it to sizzle on its second side, and then, with a flourish, scooped it out and placed it on the paper towel to drain.
Suki approved with a nod. "See? I told you."
Eve smiled, feeling a surge of pride. "Maybe I should quit my daytime job and become a professional bhature maker."
Suki raised an eyebrow. "Only if you're also willing to take on the secret chole recipe and compete with Stacey during the breakfast rush."
Eve winked. "Deal."
As they continued to fry the dough, the air in the kitchen seemed to hum with their banter, the occasional sizzle from the oil punctuating their laughter. Each bhature that emerged golden from the pan was a small victory, an indication of their growing teamwork and a reminder of how much they had built together, not just in the kitchen but in life as well.
Suki felt a familiar warmth seep through her chest as she looked at Eve, the woman she had come to love for all her beautiful, imperfect pieces. It was something about these still moments — cooking together, laughing together, and simply being together — that grounded her, reminded her of what really mattered. She was aware that life had a tendency to get complicated, to toss in unexpected challenges, but moments such as these felt like an anchor, a reminder that regardless of what happened, they would always have each other.
While the last bhature cooked away in the hot oil and the chole bubbled quietly on the stove, Suki allowed herself a quiet moment to step back and survey the scene. The kitchen was a warm, golden haven, full of the soft light of the morning sun. The sun passing through the blinds cast long, sweeping shadows across the room, emphasizing the tiny details — the flour-dusted countertop, the drifting scent of spices, the low bubble of the stew cooking. There was a hum of contentment in the air, the kind that could only be achieved when a long-awaited meal was nearly prepared. She and Eve had prepared together in perfect harmony, slipping into their roles with ease, and now it was time for the final touches.
Eve, always a stickler for presentation, had already started to set the table. She'd taken the time to get out their eclectic ceramic plates, each with its own small history to share. A few were covered with detailed floral patterns, some with geometrical, and one or two even had tiny hand-painted accents. They were an unmatched set, but each plate was lovely in its own right. Suki smiled at the sight of them. They were reminiscent of their life together — somewhat mad, somewhat unconventional, but unmistakably theirs. There was something undeniably special about the way the pieces fit together, even if not perfectly. Just like them.
Suki’s eyes lingered on the arrangement for a moment, her heart swelling with affection. “You’re too good at this,” she said, her voice filled with admiration as she moved towards the table to take a seat. She could feel the pleasant ache in her legs from standing so long, her muscles exhausted, but content. It was the good sort of tired, the kind that came from creating something good with the person you loved, from working on something that felt worthwhile.
Eve shrugged modestly, a gentle blush coloring her cheeks, surely due to the kitchen heat as much as the joy of the morning. "Trying to keep pace with the beauty of the food," she said with a playful wink, her eyes flashing with that mischievous spark Suki loved.
When the last bhature had been stacked on a plate lined with paper towels, they put cutlery and glasses of water on the table with muted contentment, working in sync. The kitchen, warm and still full of spice and oil scent, had that lived-in quality, as though it had settled around them. Eve couldn't help but get in one last tease at Suki. "Shall we invite the neighbours? We could start a new trend — chole bhature brunch," she suggested, her voice dripping with mock seriousness.
Suki laughed, her head shaking. "The whole square would be in our kitchen by noon," she joked, her eyes shining with humour. The thought of their kitchen being taken over by their neighbours was absurd, but the thought of opening their tiny world to others felt somehow right.
Eve sat opposite her, a glint of mischief still in her eyes as she took her seat. "Not a bad idea," she said with a wicked smile.
Suki raised an eyebrow at her. "Don't tempt me. We might just get a queue."
They both reached for their spoons, the final element of ritual they had developed between them. They carefully ladled generous portions of the chole into the center of the plates, letting the rich sauce curl around the soft, puffy bhature that served alongside it. Suki smiled at the sight, feeling a warm sense of pride settle into her chest. The dish looked exactly as it should — golden, inviting, and perfect in its simplicity. The bhature was the ideal halfway point between crispy and soft, and the chole was rich with the dark, spiced flavors that always seemed to deepen after hours of simmering. It was lovely in its unpretentious way — much like the morning they had shared.
The air was thick with the promise of warmth and comfort, and sitting at the table, the soft light of the morning still streaming in, it was as though the whole kitchen had been transformed into a kind of haven. The table, set so lovingly now, was the perfect reflection of their life together: simple, beautiful, and founded on love. The dinner they had cooked, together, was more than dinner. It was a moment, a memory in the making, a small but necessary component of the life they had built together.
In the silence between them, Suki felt a deep sense of contentment. This was where she was meant to be.
Once the table was set and everything was finally ready, the warm, golden sunlight of the morning sun coming through the window, Suki and Eve sat down. There was a contented silence as they exchanged a look before, nearly simultaneously, taking their first bites. Their eyes met across the table, and for a moment, everything else receded.
The bhature was everything Suki had hoped for — the texture was perfection itself. The outside was lightly crisped, a golden brown that was as inviting as the smell had been. When she tore a piece off, the soft, pillowy inside simply melted in her mouth, a comforting warmth that gave her a thrill of nostalgia. The chole, rich and deep in flavor, was spiced just right, the heat creeping up steadily with each mouthful, like a well-kept secret that was only revealed in layers. It tasted exactly like her Nanī's. Nothing short of magic on a plate.
The taste saturated her senses, and without noticing, she closed her eyes briefly, savoring the taste. A satisfied hum escaped her lips, the kind of sound that only comes out when something truly hits the spot. She set her spoon down, lost for a moment in the pleasure of it all.
This is perfect," Suki breathed, her voice barely above a whisper but full of significance, as she drew in another languid breath to complete the moment.
Eve smiled across the table at her, her own spoon stopped halfway to her mouth, her eyes on Suki with a warmth that had nothing to do with dinner. "I'm glad you think so," she said, her voice low and almost reverent, as if she knew the importance of this simple meal to Suki.
Suki blinked slowly, the memories of her Nanī's kitchen stirring in her mind. "Seriously, this is exactly like my Nanī used to make," she said, her voice cracking slightly under the intensity of the memories flooding back. It was not so much about the food — it was about the connection, the love, and the generations that passed down these tastes.
Eve’s expression softened. She reached across the table, her fingers brushing against Suki’s hand, and placed her palm gently over it, a quiet but profound gesture. “It’s like we’re making memories of our own,” she said, her voice carrying the quiet reverence of someone who understood the power of moments like these.
Suki’s chest tightened at Eve’s words, the truth of them settling deep within her. They'd been together for years now, shared so much already, but here, now, with the sun warming the room gently and the food they had prepared together filling them both with a sense of deep satisfaction, it was something more. Not because of the food — though the bhature and the chole were out of this world — but because they had prepared it together. Every step, every stir, every taste had been a communal act. And in doing so, they had woven another strand into the fabric of their lives, tying themselves together in a manner that felt ageless.
Suki gazed at Eve, her heart overflowing, her eyes soft with affection. "Thank you for doing this with me," she murmured, the gratitude in her voice saturated with so much more than the act of cooking.
Eve pressed Suki's hand, her smile radiant and loaded with meaning. "Thank you for sharing your favourite recipe with me," she said, the sincerity in her voice making Suki's heart swell.
Suki laughed, as much amusement as affection. "I trust you with more than recipes," she said, her voice light, but with the unspoken depth of their relationship.
And they returned to dinner, their conversation flowing easily between bites of food, laughter, and the occasional playful jab. It was the comfortable rhythm they had developed over the years. The day stretched out ahead of them, broad with possibility and promise, but here, now, they were exactly where they were supposed to be — together, in their kitchen, creating something beautiful and lasting. This peaceful, uncomplicated morning, with its perfect meal and the un complicated joy of each other's company, was enough. It was everything.
As the meal finished, and the sun climbed higher in the heavens, the final crumbs of chole bhature were brushed into the final bites, and the faint aroma of spices gradually gave way to the background. Yet the bond between them stayed. Eve settled back in her chair, satisfied, and Suki met her eyes across the table.
They smiled at each other across the table. Neither of them said it, but both felt the same thing. That rare sense of stillness, of arrival, if only for a morning.
Suki leaned forward and wiped a spot of chole from the corner of Eve's mouth with her thumb, a reflexive action, simple and intimate.
Eve took her hand and kissed the back of it, wordless, just holding her gaze a moment longer than required. Then let her go.
"So," Eve said at last, settling back in her chair slightly, "what's the verdict? Am I officially your sous-chef?"
Suki nodded slowly. "You're getting there. Few more weekends of this and I might even let you near the aloo paratha."
"Dangerous words."
"I like to live on the edge."
The sun shifted again, light pooling on the counter in long golden strips. The plates were nearly clean now, nothing but streaks of sauce and the occasional crumb left behind. But neither one of them made an effort to clear the table. Not yet.
Suki knew it in her bones: this was the life they had created together, and it was beautiful. And as they did the kitchen, hands touching, laughter ringing out across the room, she couldn't help but think this was the very sort of love she'd always needed — steady, whole, and made of something as ordinary and profound as chole bhature.
Following a few more silent moments together, their hands speckled with curry remnants, Suki stood up from the table with a long, satisfied stretch. The morning had been just about perfect — quiet, intimate, and laughter- and food-filled. But the lingering warmth of the spices still hung in the air, and already she was thinking of something that would give them respite from the heat.
"Mango lassi," Suki sighed, as though the recommendation had come to her like a pleasant recollection. Her voice was soft, a smile playing at the edges of her lips as she mentally pictured the cold, smooth drink. "It'll balance out the greasiness of the bhature."
Eve's head came up, an eyebrow lifting. "Some sweetness and something refreshing to cleanse the palate?"
Suki grinned and made her way to the fridge, excitement clearly showing. "Exactly. Want to help?"
Eve, never one to resist a chance to lend a hand in the kitchen, was up on her feet in an instant, her sleeves rolled up with a swift motion. She stepped nearer to Suki, ready to dive into whatever they were doing. Mango lassi was something Suki had perfected over the years, something she made with ease, but making it together added an element of fun and excitement.
Suki opened the fridge and began to take out the ingredients—a impossibly ripe mango, a carton of creamy yogurt, and a small bottle of rose water, the secret ingredient that gave the lassi its subtle floral hint. She placed them on the counter, the vibrant orange of the mango practically glowing against the other softer hues of the ingredients.
"Right, first step," Suki began, picking up a sharp knife and holding it out toward Eve. "We need to peel and chop the mango. You’ve got the best knife skills, so this one’s all yours."
Eve chuckled and took the knife with a flourish. “Consider it done.”
As Eve cut the mango into neat slices, Suki busied herself gathering the other ingredients. She pulled out a blender from the cabinet, her movements fluid and practiced, as though every step in the kitchen was a rehearsed move she'd perfected over the years.
"How much yogurt do we need?" Eve asked, her focus fixed on the mango as she sliced even, thin pieces.
About a cup," Suki answered, already ladling out the yogurt. "You want the lassi to be thick but not so thick—just creamy enough that it's easy to drink."
She pulled a handful of ice cubes from the freezer and added them to the blender, introducing the cold the drink needed to cut the hot richness of the meal they'd shared. "It'll thicken when we blend everything together.".
Eve grinned as she sliced the last piece of mango and dropped it into the blender. "So, no bhature precision required here, eh?"
Suki chuckled. "Exactly. With mango lassi, it's all about the sensation more than the symmetry. A little mess is half the fun. It's all about texture and taste."
The knife's chopping rhythm through the mango was soon replaced by the blender's whir as Suki poured in the yogurt, the ice, and finally the secret ingredient—rose water. She poured in just a teaspoon, her hand steady, as she blended into the drink a splash of floral magic.
"That's a hint, isn't it?" Eve said, glancing over at her, a playful glint in her eye.
Suki nodded. "Exactly. It's understated but makes all the difference. A dash of rose water is like the ideal brushstroke on a painting—it's what brings the entire thing together.".
Eve: Eve poured in the rose water with a gentle touch, then paused, looking at Suki with a reflective expression. "You know, I never realized how much heart you put into something as simple as a mango lassi. You make it sound so… special."
Suki's smile softened, and she regarded Eve, her eyes warm. "Food is always special. It isn't just eating—it's sharing something with people you love. Just like the bhature. Making it together, eating it together—that's what it's about."
Eve's face softened as well, and she reached for the lid of the blender, twisting it on. "I think you just made me realize how much I've been missing."
Suki chuckled, nudging Eve out of the way and reaching for the button to activate the blender. The blender jumped to life, and it mixed all of it together in a silky, golden mixture. The colour blended in the mixer, and Suki watched the ingredients meld together in a smooth, velvety mix that looked as good as it smelled.
So, we just blend it until it's smooth, right?" Eve asked, her voice barely audible above the roar of the blender whirring.
“Just a few more seconds, yep,” Suki said, leaning in to check the consistency. She slowed it, then turned it off. The blender stilled, and she removed the lid, scooping out a spoon and taking a quick taste of the lassi. She held it out to Eve. “You have to try it before we serve it. Can't have all this work go untested.”
Eve hesitated only a moment before accepting the spoon. She tasted the lassi, and her face lit up as the smooth, sweet flavours danced on her tongue. The mango was perfectly ripe, the yogurt thick and creamy, and the rose water added just a hint of something exotic and unexpected. It was refreshingly perfect—exactly what they needed on a morning so hot.
“It's… incredible,” Eve said, handing the spoon back to Suki, her voice full of admiration.
Suki glowed, basking in the praise. “Glad you like it. This is the flavor of summer.”
Eve sucked the back of her hand where she'd wiped her mouth, smiling from ear to ear. “I think you've just created the perfect summer drink.”
Suki giggled, the praise warming her heart. She got out two glasses from the cupboard and poured the lassi into them, the creamy beverage filling them with a comforting slosh. She handed one to Eve, their fingers grazing as she passed it to her.
“Cheers,” Suki said, raising her glass in a playful smile.
Eve did the same, her eyes sparkling with joy. “To chole bhature and mango lassi mornings.”
The glasses clinked, and the sound rang out in the warm, snug kitchen. Suki felt a rush of gratitude — for the woman beside her, for this ideal moment they'd created, and for the small, daily gestures that were weaving their lives together.
They drank their mango lassi slowly, and the chilled, creamy texture provided a delightful contrast to the fiery spiciness of their meal. The sweetness of the lassi, balanced with its refreshing tang, seemed to mirror the quiet harmony between them. Gentle, yet deeply satisfying. It was comforting in a way that words couldn’t quite capture, much like the love they shared. Their connection was effortless, like the natural ebb and flow of the sea, yet rich with meaning and unspoken understanding.
The morning unfolded before them, its potential stretched out like an untitled page, ready to be written with unlimited possibility. The sun was shining gently, and the air, though still with the promise of the day ahead, was full of a calm expectation. As Suki sat there in the quiet of the moment, she knew in her heart that regardless of what the future held, it would be the quiet moments such as these — the ones spent in silent companionship, in the unbustling rhythms of life — that they would cherish. These were the moments that they would hold dearest, cherished memories stored in the hidden places of their hearts, always available to be remembered.
Side by side at the sink, Eve's sleeves pushed up above her elbows, Suki's bun growing increasingly messy by the second, their fingers brushed every now and then in the warm soapy water. Neither of them spoke, but the touch remained with Suki like a song lyric she did not wish to recall. She found herself smiling. At nothing in particular, really. Just how the light fell on Eve's arm, how Eve passed her a plate without a word, or how a small furrow formed between her eyebrows when she concentrated on scrubbing a pan. At the soft clink of dishes, the way their hips bumped into one another occasionally, the quiet hum of the house around them.
The plates clinked softly as they stacked them, the sound warm and companionable. Through the open window, a breeze blew in, carrying the scent of newly mown grass and something vaguely floral - lavender, perhaps, or the jasmine from the bunch Eve had bought Suki the day before. A bee floated lazily past the sill outside, and the world, for once, was in no particular haste. Time went on, as it always will, but it was slower here, in this small pocket of the morning, between the washing up and the unspoken intimacy.
The kitchen was left with the remnants of their breakfast: flour dusted on the counter, an open spice jar with a cumin seed or two fallen beside it, the smell of turmeric, garlic, and fried bread hanging in the air. It had started like any other: a slice of sunlight on the duvet, bare feet padding to the kitchen, silently made tea that needed no filling and sipped in contemplative silence before Suki prepared the ingredients for the chole bhature. Somewhere between the dough, the laughter, and the creamy sweetness of the lassi, the morning shifted. It wasn't about food anymore but something more—a quiet ritual, a memory in the making.
It didn't need to be elaborate. There were no flowers, no set moments or big declarations. Just Suki, quietly laying out all of the ingredients, and waiting for Eve to say yes.
And in the quiet of the kitchen, in the warmth of shared meals, flour-dusted counters, and the manner in which they moved around each other like they always had, it was enough.
It would always be enough.