The smell of fresh parathas drifted through the Pataudi household — or at least, that’s how Aariz thought of it now. He sat at the dining table, sleeves rolled up, casually buttering his toast while Timtim’s mother tried to convince him to take a second helping.“You’ll never survive those long lectures on just one toast,” she scolded lightly, sliding the plate closer.“Your cooking could keep anyone alive for a century,” he said smoothly. The compliment landed well — her mother chuckled, cheeks warming.Timtim’s father chimed in from behind his newspaper, “He talks well, too. Knows politics, sports, and now, flattery.”Aariz smirked faintly. “I try to be versatile.”Across the table, Timtim sipped her tea and rolled her eyes so hard she almost saw the ceiling. Somehow, in just a few weeks, Aariz had gone from “the intimidating tenant” to “the man her parents trusted completely.” He’d sat with her father late into the night debating cricket scores, helped her mother carry groceries, a
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