MaNan: Breaking Free

46|Jitters

Nandini's POV-

The next morning, Manik comes to my home, bright and early, carrying all the ingredients for the pie. When the door snaps shut behind him, I instantly feel as though my living room has shrunk and the walls are closing in on me, trapping me in a small space with him. I stayed up almost all night, preparing myself to face him. Still, the nervousness I feel is staggering.

Manik probably notices my discomfort because he asks in a low, hesitant voice, "are you sure about this? I can leave if you want. You don't have to help me."

"It's fine." I clear my throat, giving him a tight smile. Total control, that's what this is about. "The kitchen's through here. If you need anything, just ask."

He stares at me for a long minute, probably trying to gauge my mood. He used to be so good at that before, but I can't let him do it now. I quickly rearrange my features so that I don't give anything away.

Eventually, he makes his way into the kitchen and I settle down in the living room, grabbing a book to distract myself.

Time seems to be passing at snail speed as I stare at the book in my hand, unable to take anything in. Even though there's a thick wall separating me from him, I am too tensed, incessantly tapping my foot on the floor. The silence in the room is occasionally punctured by thudding noises from the kitchen as he puts his things down.

After a couple of minutes, I hear the sound of running water in the sink. As if on cue, my mind starts reeling and I imagine his long, skillful fingers washing the ingredients. The clattering of pots and pans means he's already made himself comfortable in my kitchen.

Next, I hear the cracking of eggs on a bowl and immediately visualize his deep, brown eyes focused on the bowl, which is probably in front of him. With a groan, I toss the book aside and hold my head in my hands.

It's getting agonizing for me, the sounds coming from the kitchen; the delicious sizzling of oil in the pan, the loud pop of a bottle, his firm hands chopping things against my wooden chopping board, the crunching and cracking sounds followed by gentle glugging as he probably mixes the ingredients- every single sound seems to have been amplified by the silence around me and asserts Manik's dominating presence in my home, my space.

I hear the whipping sounds next and find it too easy to picture his strong, confident arms whisking the ingredients together. How those arms used to wrap around me and set my heart racing!

With a jolt, I stand up, my book landing on the floor. What the hell is wrong with me! What am I thinking? This was such a bad idea. Why couldn't I see it before? Looking up at the clock, I realize it's only been half an hour since Manik got here and I am already a restless ball of energy, a mess.

To add to my torment, Manik suddenly starts humming and his smooth, amazing voice fills the room, settling heavy in the air all around me and piercing me like tiny needles everywhere. Slow torture.

This is it. I can't take it anymore. He needs to go.

I storm into the kitchen, prepared to tell Manik to leave. But my words die in my throat as I take in the scene in front of me. My beautiful, spotless kitchen is not so spotless anymore. There are oil stains and splashes of cream and other stuff on the countertop, the sink probably has more flour than its container, there's a light sprinkle of salt and sugar on top of the oven and a spatula is lying on the edge of the slab, a white, gooey substance dripping from its end onto the floor, making a puddle. My pans and utensils lie scattered all around. Manik is standing in the middle of it all, without a care in the world, humming on top of his voice as he assembles the pie. He notices me standing in the doorway and gives me a bright smile.