Chapter 4 - Chapter 4: Curry Chaos and Hidden Truths

Emily Harper stood in her tiny kitchen, staring at a bag of turmeric like it was a bomb about to detonate. Her Seattle apartment smelled like ambition gone wrong—burnt garlic, too much cumin, and desperation. The counter was a war zone: spilled rice, a half-chopped onion, and a laptop open to a YouTube tutorial titled "Easy Chicken Curry for Beginners." Easy, my foot, she thought. She'd invited Arjun over for their third date, determined to impress him with a homemade Indian meal. Now, she was regretting every life choice that led to this moment.Her phone buzzed on the counter, and her heart sank. Another text from the unknown number—her father: Emily, I'm staying at the motel by Pike Place. Just one talk, please. She shoved the phone in her pocket, her hands trembling. Why was he doing this now, when she was finally taking a chance on something—someone—new? The memory of the Diwali festival two nights ago, where she'd spotted a man who might've been him, lingered like a bad dream. And then there was Vik, Arjun's shady friend, hinting she was hiding something. If only he knew how right he was.The doorbell chimed, snapping her out of her spiral. She wiped her hands on her apron—already stained with what she hoped wasn't permanent turmeric—and opened the door. Arjun stood there, raindrops clinging to his hair, holding a small box wrapped in gold paper. His maroon kurta peeked out from under a jacket, and his smile was pure Bollywood hero—warm, disarming, and way too charming for her frazzled state."Smells… interesting," he said, stepping inside. His eyes scanned her apartment—sketches pinned to the walls, a coffee mug collection, and the chaos of her kitchen. "Is this your secret plan to poison me?""Ha, ha," Emily said, shutting the door. "I'm making chicken curry. Or trying to. You said you love Indian food, so…" She gestured to the mess, her cheeks burning. "Surprise?"Arjun's grin widened, and he set the box on the counter. "Bold move, Emily Harper. Most people start with toast. What's the recipe?"She pointed to the laptop, where a cheerful chef was explaining garam masala. "YouTube's my guru. But I might've overdone the spices. And the garlic. And maybe set a dish towel on fire earlier."He laughed, the sound easing her nerves. "You're braver than most. Let's see the damage." He rolled up his sleeves, revealing forearms that Emily definitely didn't notice. Nope, not at all. He peered into the pot, where a questionable orange sludge bubbled. "Hmm. Looks like… modern art?""Rude!" she said, swatting him with a spoon. "It's supposed to be curry. I even bought all the spices—cumin, coriander, something called hing that smells like regret."Arjun snorted, picking up the hing jar. "Asafoetida. Strong stuff. My mom uses it in dal, but you only need a pinch. Did you measure?""Measure?" Emily blinked. "I just… felt the vibe.""Oh, Emily." He shook his head, mock-dramatic, like a Bollywood hero lamenting a lost love. "You're channeling Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge chaos, but without the happy ending. Come on, let's fix this."He took charge, his movements confident as he adjusted the heat and added a splash of water to the pot. "Curry's like a good story—balance is everything. Too much spice, and it's a tragedy. Too little, and it's boring." He handed her a spoon. "Stir. I'll chop more onions."They worked side by side, their elbows brushing in the cramped kitchen. Emily stirred while Arjun explained his mom's recipe, his voice warm with memories of Mumbai's bustling markets and street vendors selling spicy chaat. "My brother used to sneak extra chili into Ma's curry," he said, his smile tinged with sadness. "Got us both grounded."Emily hesitated, wanting to ask about his brother but sensing the weight. Instead, she said, "My mom's more of a meatloaf queen. She'd faint seeing me wrestle turmeric." She didn't mention her father, but the unopened letter in her drawer felt like a third presence in the room.Arjun glanced at her, his eyes soft. "You're doing great, you know. Most people wouldn't try this for a guy they just met."Her heart did that annoying Bollywood twirl again. "Well, you're not just any guy. You brought me a diya. And you didn't run screaming at the festival when I butchered that dance."He chuckled, tossing diced onions into the pot. "You weren't that bad. Okay, maybe a little flamingo energy." He hummed a few bars of "Tujhe Dekha To," the DDLJ song from the festival, and nudged her. "Dance with me while this simmers?""In my kitchen?" She laughed but let him pull her into a playful spin, her socks sliding on the linoleum. He guided her through a simple Bollywood step, his hands steady on hers, and for a moment, the burnt garlic and her father's texts faded. It was just them, laughing like idiots, her heart racing as he dipped her dramatically."You're a natural," he teased, pulling her upright. Their faces were close, his breath warm with chai and cardamom. She almost leaned in—almost—when the pot hissed, spitting curry like an angry volcano."Save the romance!" Emily yelped, diving for the stove. Arjun grabbed a lid, and they dissolved into giggles, fanning away the steam. The curry, miraculously, looked edible after their tweaks.As they sat to eat, Arjun opened the gold box, revealing homemade ladoos. "My cousin Maya sent these from Mumbai. Said they're for 'winning over your American bride.'"Emily blushed, scooping curry onto rice. "Bride, huh? Slow down, Bollywood. This is date three." But the word felt less scary than it should've, and the curry—spicy, imperfect, but hers—tasted like a victory.The meal was a mix of laughter and stories. Arjun described his favorite Bollywood plot twist from Sholay—a bandit-turned-hero—while Emily admitted to loving cheesy rom-coms like Sleepless in Seattle. But the mood shifted when her phone buzzed again, face-down on the table. She ignored it, but Arjun noticed."Spam again?" he asked, his tone light but curious, echoing their first date.She forced a smile. "Yeah, telemarketers love me." But her pulse spiked. She couldn't keep dodging this. "Arjun, there's… stuff I haven't told you. About my family."He set down his plate, his eyes steady. "You don't have to tell me everything, Emily. But I'm here when you're ready. My family's not perfect either—Ma's already planning to inspect you like a Diwali sweet."She laughed, but it was shaky. "Okay, deal. But if I tell you, you're teaching me how to make proper chai. No YouTube.""Done," he said, his smile softening the knot in her chest. But before she could confess about her father, her phone buzzed again—this time a call. The screen flashed: Unknown Number. Her stomach dropped."Don't answer it," Arjun said, half-joking, but his eyes flicked to the phone with a hint of unease. "Unless it's your mom.""It's not," she muttered, silencing it. But the damage was done—her nerves were raw, and Arjun's expression held a question he didn't ask. Had Vik's warning about her "secrets" gotten to him?As they cleared the plates, a knock at the door startled them. Emily froze, her mind racing to the man at the festival, her father's texts. "Who's that?" she whispered, more to herself than Arjun.He frowned, stepping toward the door. "Delivery, maybe?" But his voice held a trace of doubt, mirroring her own.She peeked through the peephole, her heart hammering. A man stood outside, his face half-hidden by a hood, holding an envelope. It wasn't a delivery uniform—it was personal. And the shape of his jaw, the way he stood, felt hauntingly familiar."Emily?" Arjun's voice was soft, but urgent. "Who is it?"She turned, her face pale. "I don't know. But I think my past just showed up at my door."