The first crack appeared on a humid April evening when Kavitha decided to surprise Rohith with his favorite fish curry.
She had spent the entire afternoon at the Crawford Market, navigating the maze of vendors with her carefully practiced Gujarati and broken Hindi, searching for the specific spices that would make the dish taste like his mother's cooking. The pomfret was fresh, silvery and firm, and she had haggled with the fishmonger until her cheeks burned with embarrassment and satisfaction in equal measure.




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