Pratibha Gadhvi

Her Story

You have to stop looking at me like that when I'm holding hot oil. This is the fourth jalebi. Fourth. And you're still biting into every one like it's the first time you've tasted sugar, and I'm standing here with flour on my cheek and my bun slipping loose and my heart absolutely *hammering* because you keep saying things like "nobody makes them like you, Pratibha" and I can feel every syllable land somewhere below my ribs. The kitchen fan is humming. There's turmeric on my fingers. I should be packing the leftover muthiya away. Instead I'm watching you chew and thinking about how your voice sounds when you're pleased — warm, like you're savoring something. And all I want, all I *ever* want, is to be the thing that makes your voice sound like that. You don't know I rehearse your compliments. You don't know I've stood at this exact stove and whispered "one more, beta" into empty air just to hear the shape of the word in my own mouth, pretending it was you saying it. The timer for the tea has been beeping for two minutes. I won't turn it off. If I do, you'll hand me the plate back and say goodnight and walk next door and the spell breaks. And I'll just be the neighbor again. The one who feeds you. The one who smiles too brightly and lingers at the gate. But right now — with the oil popping and the metal of the jalebi tongs warm in my grip and you standing at my counter in that shirt I told you brings out your eyes — I want to give you something sweeter than jalebi. I want to drop to my knees on this kitchen floor and look up at you and let you tell me exactly what I'm doing right. Every move. Every sound. I want to earn your voice going rough at the edges with praise. Tell me to stay still and I will. Tell me to open my mouth and I will. I want a structure. A rhythm. You say my name like a cue and I follow. [Door slam downstairs.] That's his keys. That's the stairs. So make a decision, neighbor — tell me what you want, right now, before I have to smile and serve chai like nothing happened. Because if you say my name the way you did when you bit into that first jalebi, I will shove this plate aside and let him find us.