Sunday. Again.
Saharsh woke up and smiled instantly.
The lavender sheets. The incense. The poetry books. The same strange sky outside the window, soft red like a pastel dream.
"It happened again, anime logic is always right. Let's goo." (he grinned)
He shot out of bed — far less panicked this time — and beelined to the desk.
And there it was.
Not the first note. Not his.
A new one — her reply, which she must've written after returning to her own world last week.
"Hey, your cooking was delicious but please don't use my kitchen next time we swap as you think we will on Sundays, and live like a human please in your house."
He laughed out loud. Again.
"She figured it out too." (he said to himself)
He grabbed the pen and scribbled right below her message:
"So we both agree. Sunday is swap day. I promise I didn't touch your kitchen this time. Mostly. Maybe.
P.S. Name's Saharsh — but you already know that if you read my note last week.
What should I call you, Mystery Sass Master?"
He paused and added a doodle of a paratha giving a thumbs-up.
Meanwhile... in Saharsh's room on Earth-One, Rakshita blinked awake.
She took a deep breath and didn't panic. This time, it felt almost familiar.
She sat up, stretched, and went straight to the desk.
And there it was — his reply to the note she'd left last Sunday.
"Same here. Name's Saharsh. What's yours if you read this...
Sorry for the mess in your kitchen but I left some parathas..."
Her smile stretched wider than she expected.
"Okay, otherworldly chef. I'll give you that." (she muttered, amused)
She grabbed a sticky pad and wrote back, careful to match his sarcasm:
"Name's Rakshita. Not R. Not Rakku. Rakshita.
You get one nickname voucher. Use it wisely."
She slapped the sticky next to his note.
For the rest of the day, both explored their borrowed worlds with less anxiety this time — and more intention.
But surprises were waiting for them.
Rakshita bought rasgullas from a street vendor that accepted glowing QR tokens. She saw a floating ad for something called "Cloud School" and even managed to take a picture using Saharsh's phone, which was locked — but the camera could still be accessed.
Saharsh wandered into a street lined with typewriter repair shops and met a crow that squawked broken Hindi. He marveled at hovering cars and visited futuristic car showrooms just to peek inside.
But before night returned and they prepared for the swap to end — a twist.
In Saharsh's Room:
Rakshita stormed in dramatically.
"Mr. Otherworldly Chef, your world is too delicious!" (she shouted gleefully)
She dropped a pile of wrappers on the table and emptied Saharsh's wallet, clearly having spent it all on street food.
"This was compensation for your dirty kitchen, so don't even start." (she justified to the air)
But then she froze.
A boy sat on the edge of the bed — heavy-built, confused, staring at her.
"Saharsh?" (she asked hesitantly)
"I'm Deepak. Who are you? What are you doing in my friend's house? How do you have his keys?" (he fired rapidly)
Rakshita stammered.
"Me? I'm... I'm Rakshita. His... girlfriend." (she added quickly, whispering under her breath) "Girl... space... friend yeah that works." She said to herself.
Deepak frowned, skeptical.
"He never mentioned you. This is really strange—"
Before he could finish, Rakshita pushed him out the door.
"I need to sleep. Come tomorrow if you must." (she blurted)
Deepak stumbled back, awkwardly muttering "Sorry Bhabhi ji..." as she slammed the door shut.
She leaned against it and sighed.
"Somehow survived that. What if it got too late and I missed the swap?"
She made her way to the desk and grabbed another sticky note to jot down the madness.
Meanwhile, in Rakshita's Room:
Saharsh barged in like a storm.
"I love this techy world, Miss Mystery Sass!" (he shouted)
And just as he twirled dramatically — a sharp slap landed on his cheek.
"Ow—what the—?!"
A curly-haired girl stood before him, arms crossed, eyes blazing.
"Who are you?" (she demanded)
"Who am I?! Who are you?" (he shot back)
"I'm Anaya. best friend of the person whose room you just broke into."
Saharsh fumbled.
"I'm... a chef. she hired me." (he lied badly)
"At this hour?" (she narrowed her eyes)
"Also in charge of... house care, see I have her keys they are not fake." (he mumbled)
Anaya stared at him suspiciously.
"Fine. But I'll keep an eye on you. Don't try anything shady."
She left, slamming the door behind her.
Saharsh exhaled.
"What a welcome." (he muttered)
He then did what he did best: cook. He made butter paneer masala and naan — left some for Rakshita — and, yes, left the kitchen a mess again.
Then he headed to the table to write his note.
Saharsh (in Rakshita's room):
"Next Sunday: one question each. Let's get to know the mystery behind this madness.
P.S. Your spice rack is organized like a Rubik's Cube. Respect.
Also... your best friend slapped me. Hard. (Describes full scenario).
Could you spare some money here? I want to try the gadgets!
And sorry again for the kitchen — I really can't help myself."
Rakshita (in Saharsh's room):
"I need your phone's password next time. I'm leaving mine here — it's 230703.
I cleaned your room again.
Sorry for emptying your wallet, but it was deliciously worth it.
Also, I met your friend Deepak. He's sweet (Describes incident).
Oh, and I've hidden one of your screwdrivers. Find it. It's a challenge.
Please keep money in your wallet every Sunday — consider it kitchen compensation."
And as night closed in on two slightly-off Earths,
they drifted to sleep wondering the same thing:
What would they ask?
And would the answers bring them closer... or make things even stranger?