Long hair love

Chapter 7 - Tea for Ritika

Ishan reached the airport early.

When Ritika came through the arrival gate, she recognized him at once.

Even so, she paused.

His hair fell across one eye and curved around his jaw. The longest ends almost reached his chin. With no stubble hiding the shape of his face, his cheeks looked softly rounded and his lower face appeared narrower than she remembered.

The blue T-shirt he wore fell more easily over his slightly smaller waist. He was still slightly chubby, but he stood straighter and carried himself with less heaviness.

Through video calls, each change had looked small.

Together, they were easier to see.

"What?" Ishan asked.

"Your hair has become long."

He moved it behind his ear. "It is still growing."

"That sounds like a warning."

Ritika hugged him before he could reply.

At home, she expected to find at least one hidden disaster.

The flat was not perfect. A wet towel hung badly over a chair, and the game controller rested beside the television. But the sink was empty, the dining table was clear, and vegetables filled one shelf of the refrigerator.

The home had continued without waiting for her.

Ritika noticed that the spice box had moved to the other side of the kitchen. Her hand went towards it.

Then she stopped.

"Sit," Ishan said. "I will make tea."

Ritika placed her bag beside the chair. "You will make it?"

"I have been making tea for ten weeks."

"Yes, but I am home now."

"Exactly. Today I am making it for you."

He returned with two cups and a plate of egg bhurji with toast.

Ritika tasted it.

"This is very good."

"Not actually good?"

"Genuinely good."

"Egg bhurji remains my greatest achievement."

"You made vegetable pulao also."

"That is my second greatest achievement."

They ate together, and the flat felt occupied again.

Ishan's hair slipped forward whenever he lowered his head. He tucked it behind his ears twice. The third time, he held it back with one hand while lifting his cup with the other.

"You need to do something about that," Ritika said.

His hand stopped.

"I don't want to cut it."

"I did not say you must cut it."

"You were thinking it."

"I was thinking that it keeps entering your food."

Ishan pushed both sides behind his ears again.

"I am growing it."

"How long?"

He hesitated only briefly.

"At least to my shoulders."

Ritika looked at him. The answer was more definite than the worried wish he had expressed before starting the tablets.

"All right," she said.

"All right?"

"It is your hair."

The tension left his shoulders.

"You will still need a way to keep it away from your face," she added.

"I will manage."

"You said that while holding it with one hand."

Ishan released the hair. It fell towards his cheek again.

He smiled despite himself.

This was not the first time Ishan had said he wanted longer hair. Earlier, the wish had been tied to his fear of losing it.

Now the length was real. It entered his eyes, touched his food, and demanded attention.

He was choosing it despite the inconvenience.

Ritika did not need to understand every reason behind that choice. She only needed to accept that it belonged to him.

That afternoon, she slept for several hours.

When she woke, Ishan had reheated the vegetable pulao and filled two glasses of water. He had not become perfect at managing the home. The badly hung towel was still on the chair.

But the flat no longer waited for Ritika before anything happened.

During lunch, Ishan's phone lit up with a message from Naina.

**Did the pulao pass the sister test?**

Priya followed with:

**We need an honest review.**

Ritika saw Ishan smile.

"Naina and Priya?"

"They helped when I started cooking properly."

"You asked your colleagues for cooking advice?"

"They are friends also."

Ritika nodded.

Ishan's life in Mumbai now contained people and routines that did not depend entirely on her. That relieved her more than a clean kitchen could.

On her second evening home, Ritika began preparing dinner from her usual side of the counter.

Ishan opened the cupboard and reached for the spice box.

"Where is it?" he asked.

"Where it used to be."

"I moved it because I cook from this side."

"It was in the old place for years."

"And I used it from the new place for ten weeks."

They looked at each other across the counter.

Before the assignment, Ritika would have decided where it belonged. Ishan would have complained and then left the kitchen.

This time, he remained.

"Put it in the middle," he suggested.

Ritika considered the space between them.

"Fine."

The small compromise gave both of them room to work.

They prepared dinner together. Ritika chopped the vegetables while Ishan watched the cooker. When they finished, he washed the pan and she dried the plates.

"I like this version of you," Ritika said.

Ishan looked suspicious. "The dishwashing version?"

"The version who lives in his own life."

He turned back to the sink.

"That sounds too serious."

"Then don't make it serious."

"I am trying," he said.

The words were quiet, but Ritika heard them.

Later that night, Ishan closed his bedroom door and completed his yoga routine in private.

Every time he bent forward, the hair around his face slipped free from behind his ears. He stopped twice to push it back.

The third time, he finished the movement with the loose strands brushing his cheeks.

He had chosen the length.

Now he needed to learn how to live with it.