The showdown was about to reveal the true worth of his abilities.
This wasn't a conflict between two individuals; it was a quiet trial of worth where skill would speak louder than words. Aarav stood on one side, not loud or demanding but confident in what he brought to the table. He didn't need to prove his belief in his craft—he simply had to demonstrate it. On the other side, Vansh stood with doubt woven into his stance. His effort wasn't in question, but he struggled with the legitimacy of his skills—unsure whether skills without proof truly belonged in a setting like this.
Both of them held their own truths. Yet, in a place like this, truths meant little without results.
And the kitchen would be the ultimate judge.
Aunt chose not to interfere. For her, this wasn't just a conflict; it was an opportunity. A chance to see what couldn't be captured on paper—what no CV could ever convey.
In this place, flour, heat, and time would reveal everything that ink never could.
"Aarav," Vansh said, "shall we? I don't know what you can make, but I have some ideas in mind. I hope you can make at least some of them." Aarav was clearly taking the bait from Vansh. He gripped his hands tightly, yet maintained a smile, showing no reaction to Vansh's cruel words.
I mean, who wouldn't be affected? Someone's questioning your skills—how dare they!
But it's reasonable, isn't it? Anyway, back to the point.
"Hope this place gives me a sensible task to prove my skills. I really hope so," Aarav shot back with a sharp response.
Night settled quietly over the kitchen. It wasn't completely silent—nothing ever was in this space—but the sounds were softer. The hum of the refrigerator, the faint ticking of cooling metal; even the stillness seemed to make every movement feel intentional.
Aarav stepped in, rolling up his sleeves without saying a word. He had three orders to fill and one challenge ahead of him. He didn't need to ask who had set the task.
"Sensible task, right? Prepare a batch of cake for three. The orders are: a blueberry-lemon cake, a chocolate-vanilla cake, and a butter cake. The ingredients are laid out on the counter; you need to gather them."
Aarav closed his hands into fists for a moment, then slowly shut his eyes and took a long breath. As he exhaled, he relaxed his hands and opened his eyes in sync. Vansh observed him intently before the task began. He had dictated the orders from a piece of paper as his aunt watched, fully aware of Vansh's intentions but choosing not to interfere.
The aunt, the owner of the café, savoured her coffee while enjoying the scene. She glanced at her nephew, standing there, testing someone as if it were his own shop. It reminded her of a younger version of Vansh, stubbornly asking for a new type of ice cream after returning from school. The memory brought a smile to her face as she recalled those nonchalant yet childish moments from the past. As she finished her sip, her imagination lingered on the day she had indulged his younger self with that ice cream.
Across the room, leaning against the counter as if he had all the time in the world, Vansh watched. He didn't interfere. He didn't help. He just waited.
Aarav gathered the items he needed and began by taking the bowl and whisk. As he was about to place the whisk in the bowl, it slipped from his fingers and fell onto the counter with a loud clatter. Vansh observed the scene without a word, his attention fixed on Aarav's hands. Aarav didn't look up. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself and poured the flour into the bowl, followed by the baking soda. He reached for the baking powder but found nothing.
He scanned the ingredients on the counter once more—flour, sugar, butter, and lemons. His hand hovered mid-air, hesitating. There was no baking powder.
Just as Aarav was about to ask Vansh for it, Aunt called out, "Vansh, make an espresso for me!"
"On it," Vansh responded, fully aware of his aunt's request. He grabbed a cup from the side and placed it on the counter, while the espresso machine stood opposite the baking station. He moved to the other side and stood beside Aarav, remarking, "There will be many customers, working on their orders, and sometimes helping each other can be challenging. I'm busy, so be sensible, won't you?" His tone was harsh, revealing his irritation—how cruel of Vansh.
A brief silence followed. It wasn't panic; it was recognition. Aarav exhaled through his nose, almost amused. "So that's what you did…"
He didn't need to look up. After whisking the dry ingredients for a while, he set the bowl aside.
Next, he prepared the bowl for the wet mixture. He added butter—soft but not melted—and beat it with sugar until it turned pale and airy, almost cloud-like. This texture promised softness later on. He added the eggs one at a time, taking his time.
Then came the adjustment. He poured in extra lemon juice—more than the recipe typically called for. It wasn't reckless but deliberate. He needed enough acid to fully activate the baking soda and replace the missing baking powder. He followed this with a bit of yoghurt—thick and slightly tangy—a precaution to ensure moisture and acidity.
He paused for a moment, watching the mixture settle. Not bad.
While mixing, his thoughts were consumed by the realisation that baking powder was just chemistry. Acid and base would lift the batter. He already had the base—baking soda. All he needed was enough acid to compensate. His gaze shifted toward the counter.
Lemons. He nodded slowly and deliberately. "That'll work."
When he combined the wet and dry ingredients, he didn't overwork the mixture. He folded just enough to bring everything together. Control—always control. He added the blueberries last, lightly coating them in flour so they slipped into the batter like quiet secrets.
As the batter settled into the pan, Aarav didn't rush. He tilted it slightly, allowing it to spread naturally before guiding it with the back of the spatula using slow, even strokes. He knocked out any air bubbles, making sure the edges were even. The surface smoothed into a quiet, glossy stillness, with blueberries hidden below, waiting to rise.
For a moment, he just looked at it—not to admire, but to confirm. He assessed the texture, thickness, and weight. It held. Good. He tapped the pan once against the counter, producing a soft, controlled sound to release any trapped air without disturbing the delicate structure he had created.
His fingers brushed lightly along the rim, clearing a thin smear of batter. Clean edges. Clean finish. He turned and slid the oven door open, letting the warmth spill out against his face.
No hesitation. The pan went in—center rack, exactly where it needed to be. He closed the door gently—not with a clang—and reached for the dial. He paused to calculate, adjusting for the missing baking powder. He set the timer, a soft click signifying that it was now out of his hands.
Aarav exhaled, not in relief, but in closure. This one was done—not perfect, but handled. He wiped his hands on the cloth beside him and turned back to the counter, where another bowl awaited him, filled with fresh ingredients that were already measured and complete.
This time—no gaps, no missing pieces. He picked up the flour again, his gaze sharper, his movements deliberate—not from doubt, but because he didn't want to improvise twice. Everything went in exactly as it should. No corrections. No substitutions. Just precision.
Because this one—he already knew—would come out perfect.
The oven gave a soft, steady hum as the blueberry lemon cake disappeared behind the glass, and Aarav closed the door gently. This time, he didn't turn away immediately.
Vansh was also finished with his task, preparing an espresso for their aunt. He had intended to make a drink for himself, but then he said, "No, Vansh, you are not going to have any. You have to eat dinner; no more coffee or any other drink before dinner—just espresso for me."
Obviously, Vansh was disappointed. He turned towards Aarav, who stood in front of the ingredients. Vansh went to his aunt's side and handed her the drink. Both of them were now watching. Their aunt slowly placed her hand on Vansh's shoulder, rubbing it gently. She took a sip of the espresso, but Vansh was focused entirely on Aarav's movements—his decisions, adjustments, and adaptations.
For a brief moment, his gaze lingered—not on the cake, but on the space beside the ingredients rack. Something was missing. Baking powder. Still absent. His eyes lowered slightly, and the realisation settled in—not as surprise anymore, but as confirmation. So, it wasn't a mistake. It was the condition.
"Alright," he murmured under his breath, barely audible. Not frustration, but acceptance. Flour went into the bowl, measured precisely. Baking soda followed—not by habit, but by decision. Then came salt and cocoa powder. He whisked them together slowly and evenly, the dark colour blending with quiet intention. Vansh's brow furrowed slightly. He knows…
Aarav didn't reach for baking powder. He didn't even look for it. Instead, his hand moved to the counter's edge—milk, yoghurt, vanilla. Butter and sugar were creamed together again, but there was a subtle difference now. Slower strokes. More deliberate incorporation. He was building air manually, compensating for the missing ingredient. Eggs went in, one by one, and then—he paused.
His fingers hovered for just a fraction of a second before he reached for the yoghurt—a little more than usual. Balanced. Measured. The batter came together thicker this time. He divided it without hesitation. Cocoa folded into one half, turning it deep and rich, while the other half remained pale. Both were poured into the pan in alternating layers—not rushed, not decorative, just controlled. A skewer was dragged through once… then stopped. Enough.
Beside it, another bowl was already in motion—the butter cake.
Vansh straightened slightly. "Is he still going?"
Flour. Baking soda again. No hesitation. No searching. Butter was creamed longer this time—until it held more air than before, the sugar dissolving more smoothly and finer. Aarav wasn't just adjusting ingredients anymore; he was adjusting technique. Eggs followed. Then milk. A slight increase in acidity again—subtle, calculated.
The batter settled more heavily than usual. But not wrong. Just… different. Both pans rested on the counter, ready.
And then—
Beep.
The oven. Aarav moved immediately, opening it without delay. The blueberry lemon cake had risen modestly, but evenly. Golden at the edges, soft at the centre. It held. That was enough.
He took it out and set it aside without expression or pause. In the same motion, both new pans went in—chocolate, vanilla and butter—placed with the same quiet precision. The door closed, and the timer was adjusted slightly longer this time. Click.
Vansh exhaled quietly. He had expected this to slow Aarav down, to break his rhythm. But Aarav had done the opposite. He adapted and carried it forward.
So it wasn't about fixing one mistake…
Aarav had already turned back to the counter again. A new bowl. New ingredients. Something entirely different. Not part of the task. Not part of the challenge.
His movements were lighter now—not because it was easy, but because he had already solved the hardest part. Time passed in a quiet, measured rhythm—the soft sounds of mixing and the low hum of the oven filling the space between them.
And then—
Beep.
The oven opened once more. The chocolate vanilla cake had risen—not as high, but clean. The marbling held, the structure set. The butter cake stood firm, slightly denser but evenly baked, its surface golden with a soft crack running through the centre.
Aarav placed them side by side. Still. Complete. Kiri was yawning on the other side of the café, one of the sofas; her meal was done, but there was still more waiting for them.
Vansh stared because he understood now. There was no missing ingredient anymore. Aarav had already replaced it. Not with something from the shelf—but with control, adjustment, and a precision that didn't need perfection to begin with. And behind him, whatever he had started next was already quietly becoming something else entirely.
Vansh watched as three cakes were presented before him, with his aunt standing behind, admiring them. She took a fork, took a bite after Aarav sliced a piece, and placed it on a plate. She was thoroughly impressed by his skills; her taste buds enjoyed every bite. A slice of cake accompanied by a sip of espresso created a magnificent combination for her. Although she felt that three slices of bread and coffee would be more effective, she couldn't deny her delight in the cake.
"You did the right thing by joining here. I'm glad to have you. I want to thank your friend who recommended this place for you," she said, still admiring the cakes. But the real question was: would Vansh feel the same way?
Both Vansh and Aarav were aware of the moment. Aarav, despite being older and much more skilled than Vansh at that time, was merely waiting for approval from someone younger. Perhaps this was a first-time experience for him, and he was hoping for the best.
Vansh took a slice of cake and ate it, still processing everything around him. He reached for the cup in his aunt's hand and took a sip of coffee. As he did, his aunt exclaimed, "Hey! I told you not to drink before dinner!"
Despite her warning, he continued to sip. He turned to Aarav, and they faced each other. "It's great. I am astonished by your skills and…," Vansh stopped for a moment. "I am really sorry."
Aarav felt confused. "Why is he apologising out of nowhere?" he thought, puzzled.
"Am I not selected?" Aarav asked, his voice softer than he had anticipated.
Vansh looked at him for a moment before responding. "I was rude," he admitted. There was no hesitation in his tone, no attempt to soften the blow. "And I judged you without knowing anything about you." He briefly shifted his gaze toward his aunt. "I don't really handle the baking side; that's mostly her area."
He turned back to Aarav. "When you said you felt right doing this, I wasn't sure if I should keep you here." There was a small pause. "But after seeing this…" His eyes involuntarily flicked toward the cakes. "I'm glad you did."
Aarav didn't respond right away. It wasn't just the words—it was how effortlessly they came from Vansh. The same person who had doubted him earlier now stood there, not trying to justify himself, just speaking the truth.
"And those three cakes," Vansh continued, his tone reverting to its usual steadiness, "they weren't just for testing. My aunt had already taken an early order. So—" he glanced back at Aarav, "I hope you can do the same again tomorrow morning."
Aarav blinked once, processing the information. So that means…
"So I'm in?" he asked.
Vansh met his gaze, a serious expression on his face. "Yeah. Welcome to our café."
He extended his hand. Aarav glanced at it for a brief second before shaking it.
As they announced the victory of the showdown, a beep sounded from the oven, leaving Vansh and his aunt puzzled. Aarav looked towards the oven and approached it. He opened the oven door and took out three mugs.
He presented the mugs to them; each one filled with well-prepared chocolate. "I wasn't sure if I would be selected because of you. The test may have been difficult, but it was fair. If I hadn't been chosen, I would have just stayed here as my way of saying thanks for the opportunity. But now," he exhaled quietly, glancing at his hands, "this is my way of showing appreciation for being accepted. You can enjoy it after dinner."
Kiri approached Vansh, who was standing beside the cash counter. She jumped onto the counter and touched Vansh's shoulder as if to call him. Vansh turned to her and gently brushed her fur, smiling. Aarav watched this scene, feeling it was a sweet end to his day.
Aarav gathered his files and documents, piled them into his bag, and slung it over his shoulder. He walked to the door, pulled it open, and heard a small jingle. Aunt mentioned the cafe's closing time, and he nodded enthusiastically. Before leaving, he gestured his thanks by slowly bowing his head, and then the door closed slowly behind him.
Vansh was searching for something in the cabinet as he left. "Aunt, where is it?" he called. She pointed to the lower cabinet, and he searched until he found it, placing it into his bag. He picked up the bag and headed outside to look for Aarav. However, as soon as he opened the door, he realised Aarav had already left—there was no sign of him. Vansh heard a loud noise from a passing bike, but nothing else.
"You can give it to him tomorrow. No rush," Aunt declared. "Now come for dinner. I need to make something quick; it's already past 9:15. Something simple."
Vansh stood outside by the door, glancing to the right.
"You said you would be here for me! We would run this together; it was our dream! Why now? Why?!" A woman was shrieking in pain, clutching the jacket of a man in front of her. He was holding her hand as she clutched the jacket tightly, clearly distressed. "I don't want to do this anymore," the man declared. They both stood in the rain, in front of the cafe; he left on his bike, and she slowly sank to her knees, crying from the depths of her heart. The rain masked her tears, blending the pain of her sorrow with the falling rain.
"Vansh?" he heard once.
"Vansh?" twice.
"Vansh!" Aunt called for the third time, and he turned to look at her. "What were you nightdreaming about?" she teased him.
He slowly moved towards her, closing the door, but his eyes remained focused on that same spot in front of the cafe. "What do you mean by nightdreaming? It's called daydreaming, isn't it?" Vansh questioned.
"Yes, it is, but now it's night. Come on, let's go. We need to shut down everything."
"Yeah, sure."
They both went to close up the cafe, talking softly. "And a simple dinner? You make something simple every day."
With that, the night transitioned into a new phase, marking a new beginning for someone.
A bright screen filled the space, with curtains of black hanging vertically and spaced apart from each other. Vansh stood there, his eyes open as he gazed at the curtains without speaking.
As he moved closer, he noticed a silhouette of a girl behind one of the curtains. When he tried to approach her, she quickly moved away. Determined to find her, he spotted her behind another curtain. Vansh tried to chase her again, but she kept jumping from one curtain to the next.
Finally, he managed to grasp a curtain, but suddenly a black thread wrapped around his wrist. The ground began to fracture beneath him, and he fell into a vast hole. In that moment, he saw the girl in white against the black background, also with a black thread around her wrist.
He opened his eyes, his right hand stretched into the air. He was in his bed, staring at the ceiling, with the fan running at maximum speed. Birds were chirping outside as he woke up. He sat up, slowly opened half of the curtains, yawned, and then returned to his bed, wearing a blank expression and feeling completely immersed in thought.
To his right, he noticed a small bag on the table containing some equipment. He stood up and went downstairs. After brushing his teeth, he headed to the kitchen to make coffee for two and prepare breakfast. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a utensil filled with batter. He took a pan from the upper cabinet, placed it on the stove, heated it, and slowly spread some oil in the pan. As it heated, he mixed the batter well before pouring some into the pan, spreading it evenly into a circular shape.
He made several batches of dosa and gathered ingredients for chutney, a traditional morning dish. The sound of the blender served as an alarm for his aunt, who came into the living room, yawning and still in her pyjamas.
"Good morning!" she greeted as she sat down in a chair. Vansh greeted her back.
Kiri, the cat, entered, meowing. As soon as Vansh heard her, he went to her bowl, poured in some water, and added cat food for her.
Vansh placed a plate for Kiri on the table with three dosas, a side of chutney, and a cup of filter coffee. As she took a bite and sipped her coffee, she exclaimed, "Oh my, Vansh, really, the girl who marries you will be a lucky one. I wish I had someone like you!"
Vansh then brought his own breakfast to the table, placing an extra plate with two crispy dosas made with ghee.
"Today's Saturday," Vansh said to his aunt, emphasising this fact.
"I know, but today is Aarav's first day, so be there till 11, you know why?" his aunt instructed him. He tried to decline, saying he couldn't, but she insisted he had to. He understood why—the bag from yesterday was still on the living room table.
After breakfast, his aunt took the plates to wash them, while Vansh got ready in his uniform for the café, preparing to open by himself. It was strange; when it came to studying, he was the laziest, but at the café, he found the motivation. Was there a story behind this? Perhaps.
Soon after opening, Aarav, the new baker, arrived. He entered with his bag, wearing a white shirt and blue jeans.
Vansh was in the kitchen, and when he heard the jingle of the door, he stepped out to greet Aarav. Aarav had entered; Vansh had mopped the floor, which was wet. He warned Aarav to walk carefully, as it could be slippery.
The café board was still closed. They exchanged morning greetings, and Aarav took his bag off his shoulder. Vansh approached him, handed him the bag, and Aarav opened it to find his uniform—the baker's uniform.
Vansh showed Aarav to the changing room, and Aarav went inside to change. After some time, he emerged in his uniform.
As Aarav stepped out, he noticed something unexpected. Vansh was standing there, but he wasn't alone; a girl was hugging him, her arms wrapped around his neck, while his hands were around her waist. They were gazing into each other's eyes, both completely engrossed in the moment, with her mouth slightly open. The sunlight seemed to shine even brighter as they shared their gaze.