He laughed. “Reena Manji, you might just be the most fascinating person I have ever met. You should enter this.”

She took another sip, then stood. Deflect and distract. “C’mon. I’ll show you where my bread knife is. Let’s see how your toast-making skills measure up.”

But when they were in Reena’s small kitchen, the box of samosas on the counter distracted him. “Are these the samosas you forgot to eat? Samosas might be better than bread.”

“Hold your tongue.” Nothing was better than bread. “I needed comfort food. Help yourself.”

He took a large bite out of a samosa. “Nylon bhajias are my favorite comfort food.”

Nylon bhajias was another name for the potato bhajias Reena had planned to make later. She laughed. “Me too. I literally bought potatoes and gram flour to make bhajias.”

His eyes rolled back in his head with pleasure. “You make them yourself? Like, homemade? Not from a shop?”

“Yeah, I’ll probably make them tomorrow.”

“Make them for me now.”

She raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

“Sorry. Can you please make me bhajias? I’ll help … actually, teach me how, and I’ll make you nylon bhajias every day for the rest of your life.” He solemnly put his hand on his chest. “Swear to god.”

“You’re drunk.”

He nodded happily. “And hungry.” He opened the fridge. “And I would kill someone for fresh bhajias right now. Where are the potatoes? Yay! You have cilantro!”

“You really want me to give you a cooking lesson at”—she checked the time on the microwave—“twelve thirty a.m.?”

“Yes! This will be fun.”

He pulled out random other things from her fridge. None of them were ingredients needed for bhajias.

Reena cringed. “Ketchup?”

“No ketchup?”

She put the ketchup back in the fridge and took out some tomatoes and onions. “Fine. But we’ll make a tomato chutney, too. And I’m only doing this because I’m drunk and want to eat bhajias.” She giggled. God bless gin.

“First, you need to peel and slice your potatoes,” she said, pulling one out from the bin in her pantry. He grinned and held up his phone in front of her.

“Are you recording me?” she asked.

He nodded. “Since you’re doing it anyway, you can enter that contest!”

“Nadim! I thought I told you I’m not doing that video! Besides … ” She frowned.

“Besides what?”

She should keep her mouth shut. “It’s not supposed to be one person. The video is supposed to be … pairs.”

He beamed. “I have a tripod! C’mon, grab everything you need.” He started filling his arms with the stuff on the counter: the potatoes, bag of gram flour, cilantro, tomatoes, and garlic/ ginger paste. Also, the box of samosas and the bottle of gin, of course.

Reena had no idea why she was going along with this, but his infectious enthusiasm was irresistible. She grabbed some onions and chilis, her cutting board and knife, a jug of oil and some spices, and followed him to his apartment.