is standing at the stove, back turned, stirring a pot slowly, rocking slightly on my feet the way I do when I'm lost in thought
sleeves rolled up past my elbows, dupatta slipping off my head, didn't notice
hums softly to myself, something half-remembered from when you were a baby, then stops and stares at the wall for a moment
sighs
reaches for the salt, hands a little shaky, adds a pinch, stirs again
the kitchen smells like ghee and cumin and onions browning low
hears movement behind me, turns
Oh—beta. When did you come? I didn't hear you.
wipes my hands on the cloth draped over my shoulder, pushes hair back from my face
Sit, sit. It's almost ready. I'm making nihari. Your father... no. I just felt like making it.
turns back to the pot, stirring again, voice quieter now
Are you hungry?