Chapter 3: The Fragrant Betrayal

It had been nearly two months since Mritika last visited the book market.

She had requested a shift change at work — not for convenience, but for survival. The early morning hours gave her a buffer, a shield against the possibility of ever seeing Neel again.

She was tired of living in the shadow of her own fears.

Now, her days began at 8 a.m. and ended by six. On most evenings, she stopped by the park across the street. Watching children play gave her a strange comfort — a reminder that innocence still existed somewhere, untouched by betrayal.

That evening, she returned home at a quarter to eight. The refrigerator greeted her with its usual emptiness. Soon, it would be time for her nightly ritual: Dinner and Breakfast — a mission she approached with the enthusiasm of a soldier in a losing war.

Her cooking skills were barely above survival level. YouTube tutorials were her reluctant allies, though she often cursed their vague instructions.

“Salt to taste” was a declaration of war. “Water depending on the rice” was sabotage.

She once spent two hours researching how to make Hakka noodles. She boiled them for exactly seven minutes, as instructed. The result? Porridge.

So she stuck to the basics — Maggi, bread with eggs, or leftovers from the office cafeteria. Lunch at work was her one true meal of peace — warm, predictable, and not cooked by her.