Long hair love

Chapter 5 - Hostel Cooking Returns

For the first four days, Ishan treated Ritika's absence like a short holiday.

He ordered paneer on the first night, biryani on the second, and noodles on the third. The cook continued making chapatis in the evening, but most of them remained in the container.

During their nightly call, Ritika asked the same question.

"What did you cook?"

"Today I had mixed vegetables."

"Cooked by whom?"

"A trained professional."

"You ordered again."

"I am supporting local business."

By the fifth morning, his stomach objected to that support.

He spent an uncomfortable day between his bed and the sofa. His body made it clear that four days of rich outside food had been a poor decision.

When Ritika called, he kept the camera off.

"Why do you sound so tired?"

"My stomach is upset."

"What did you eat yesterday?"

He told her.

"Ishu."

"I already understand the lecture."

"Then make something plain."

"I don't have the energy."

"Ask the cook for one simple sabzi and eat it with chapati."

That evening, Ishan did exactly that.

The cook made a mild potato sabzi but refused when he asked whether she could prepare his complete meals every day.

"I have other houses after this one," she said. "I cannot stay longer."

"Okay."

He did not argue. The next day, he would have to manage for himself.

At lunchtime, Ishan opened the refrigerator.

There were eggs, half an onion, one tomato, a cauliflower, and two potatoes.

Egg bhurji was familiar. He made it without calling Ritika or watching a video. The onion became slightly darker than he wanted, but the food was ready in fifteen minutes.

Before eating, he sent a photograph to the small work chat he shared with Naina and Priya.

**Lunch made by me.**

Priya replied first.

**We can see the eggs. What happened to the vegetables?**

Naina added:

**They are still waiting for technical support.**

Ishan looked back at the refrigerator.

**What can I make with cauliflower and two potatoes?**

Priya answered:

**Aloo gobi.**

**For one person, not an entire wedding. Tell me the quantity.**

Priya started a group call and added Naina.

"Show us the vegetables," she said.

Ishan held up the cauliflower.

"Half of that," Naina told him.

"What will I do with the other half?"

"Keep it for another day."

"This is why cooking is difficult. Every answer creates tomorrow's problem."

"Tomorrow's problem is called lunch," Priya said.

They gave him a simple method. Ishan did not need every movement explained. He had cooked enough in his hostel days to understand the basics once somebody reminded him.

He cut the vegetables, heated the pan, and added the spices.

Then he became impatient.

The cauliflower still looked firm, so he poured in water.

"How much did you add?" Naina asked.

Ishan looked at the glass in his hand.

"Some."

"That is not a measurement."

"It is a very common measurement."

The vegetables softened quickly. Too quickly.

His aloo gobi became a thick, uneven mixture that looked nothing like the dry sabzi he had imagined.

Priya leaned closer to her screen.

"It will still taste fine."

"That is what people say when food looks unfortunate."

He tasted it.

It was soft, but edible.

Ishan expected the call to end once the cooking problem was solved. Instead, Naina remained while he ate. Priya described the first dal she had made after leaving home, and Naina admitted that she had once put sugar into tea twice because she forgot the first spoon.

Their friendship had always contained trust. Ishan had helped them with difficult technical problems without making them feel foolish. Now they were returning that patience over burnt onions and watery cauliflower.

The conversation felt different from an office call.

There was no issue to close and no person waiting for an update.

Two days later, Ishan tried aloo gobi again.

This time he used less water and waited.

The cauliflower remained separate, the potatoes held their shape, and the masala coated both instead of collecting at the bottom of the pan.

He sent another photograph to the group.

Naina replied:

**Second test passed.**

Priya added:

**Now make dal without creating an incident.**

Ishan smiled and saved the message.

During the following two weeks, he made rice, dal, bhurji, and aloo gobi. He still ordered food sometimes, but it was no longer his first answer to every meal.

Cooking changed the way he used the kitchen. A dirty pan could not remain on the stove if he needed it again. The counter had to be clear before he could cut vegetables.

He began cleaning because the next task depended on it.

Ritika noticed during their video calls.

"Your kitchen is visible," she said one evening.

"It was always visible."

"Not beneath the plates."

Ishan turned the phone back towards himself.

"I made dal today."

"How was it?"

"It stayed inside the bowl. I consider that success."

Ritika smiled. "You look better."

"My cooking has improved that much?"

"I mean you."

Ishan studied his face in the small picture at the corner of the screen.

His clean-shaven cheeks looked smoother and softly rounded. The longest strands beside his face now reached close to his jaw when they were wet. The fine new hair at his temples was still short, but the empty line there no longer looked as sharp.

"Maybe it is the hair tablets," he said.

"Or eating something that did not arrive in a plastic box."

His body was still slightly chubby. The softness around his stomach had not disappeared. Even so, his waist looked a little less heavy than it had a few weeks earlier.

He had not been exercising. He assumed the change came from eating simpler food.

"Maybe," he said.

Neither of them gave it more importance than that.

At the end of the call, Ritika asked, "Do you still need help with the groceries?"

"No. I made a list."

"You made a list?"

"Do not sound so shocked."

"I am adjusting."

After they disconnected, Ishan placed the phone beside the sink and finished washing the pan.

Nobody was there to remind him.

The clean counter still gave him a small sense of satisfaction.

That night, he noticed an ache across his shoulders and back. His legs also felt stiff after sitting for work and then standing in the kitchen.

He called Ritika, but she did not answer. A message appeared a minute later.

**Long day. Can I call tomorrow?**

Ishan typed:

**Yes. Nothing urgent. Sleep.**

He considered leaving the stiffness for morning.

Instead, he opened his phone and searched for a short beginner stretching routine.

The first video lasted twelve minutes.

Ishan placed the phone against a jar and pressed play.