I looked at his back and wished he would face me once more, so I could throw more accusations at his face. Boyfriend of my enemy. Witness to my humiliation. Things were building up inside me and I knew I needed to defuse it or I’d say all sorts of things that I would regret later.

‘Haven’t you beaten that butter enough?’ he asked quietly, still turned away from me.

‘Yeah, I . . .’

He turned around and I realized too late what he was doing.

He broke an egg over my head.

I gasped in shock.

Egg dripped down the side of my face wetly, into my ears and I was scared to open my mouth in case I swallowed raw egg. Eggshells stuck to my cheek and slid down to my neck.

I didn’t even think as I looked around for the nearest thing I could find—the flour he’d just sieved. I picked up the bowl and lobbed it at his head. He sputtered as the flour covered him.

We stared at each other in tense silence for what seemed like agonising minutes.

Then I began to smile. At the absurdity of the situation, the sticky yolk that was now running into my top and trickling down my body and Raghu looking like a complete goof.

He started laughing then and, try as much as I would, I couldn’t control myself. I laughed as I hadn’t in the longest time.

‘I have to take a shower now, you fool,’ I muttered when I managed to stop laughing.

‘Take your time,’ he said, coughing out the flour that had got into his lungs.

It was a wonder Ma and Aunty V hadn’t heard the commotion!

I went to my room quickly and looked at myself in the mirror. Egg shells in my hair, yolk on my face and neck. Ugh. But even as I peeled my clothes away carefully, I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.

13

When I emerged from my shower, I could still smell egg. I wanted to call Nisha quickly and tell her about the situation at home. But Ma wanted cookies and I had left the kitchen a mess. I didn’t want Ma to stress over it.

I walked briskly towards the kitchen and stopped short.

The kitchen was clean—there was no sign of the mess we’d just made. Raghu was just pulling out the cookie sheet from the oven. What? He’d finished baking already?

He had dusted most of the flour off his face but there were some streaks in his hair that he’d missed.

‘Idiot. Who asked you to bake them right away? Ma wanted . . .’

‘With peanut butter inside and Nutella on top. I asked her,’ he said, placing the cookie tray on the counter.