(Note-I think I forgot to mention Aradhya and Mihika are flatmates,it's just that both of them were busy in their hectic schedule so they had little-to-no time to interact with eachother after they returned from hospital).
9:00 Am- Rant cafe and fries therapy
It's been a month since Aradhya joined as a postgraduate and finally like finally she had a day off (and khushi ki baat ye h ki Mihika ka bhi off day h🥹) so she decided that they are going out for breakfast. (They =Aradhya and Mihika, and yes she decided, Mihika refused but then does she has any other option, no that would be illegal according to bestfriend's manual written by who, Aradhya off course😎)
That's the reason they are sitting in a cozy cafe with punjabi music in the background (so not matching the aesthetics and vibe but hey cafe is cute so itna compromise chalega). Mihika slouches into the booth, hair in a bun,wearing an oversized t-shirt, and infront of her was sitting Aradhya, who 's wearing a cute little dress, hair done into a ponytail and with her signature pink nude lipstick (kyuki bohot dino k baad dress up karne ka mauka mila h, so she's not leaving that chance, aur kya pata kisi cute se ladke ko use dekh kr pyaar ho jaaye)
"I want fries, a therapist, and five hours of uninterrupted sobbing time," Aradhya announced, throwing herself into the booth like the wounded soldier she was.
Mihika looked up from her iced latte with zero sympathy.
"You got fries, that's therapy, be grateful for them," she replied dryly. (Kyuki kya bharosa hospital me emergency aa jaaye and they need to rush back. Emergency for first-year PGs would be—unke seniors ko laga ki there's some super urgent documentation jo unhe turant chahiye. And who does all the documentation work? First years, of course. And half of the time wo super urgent file seniors ko chaar din tak nahi chahiye hoti. She punctuated her rant with an unimpressed face). "Sobbing? Reserved for 3 a.m. in your bathroom, remember?"
She slid the cheesy fries closer across the table like she was handing over life support.
Aradhya sighed, grabbing one fry and dramatically dunking it into ketchup. "I swear, if Dr. Sharma calls one more patient 'a simple case' while I'm actively trying not to cry into my mask, I will throw stethoscope at his bald head."
Mihika just nodded, the motion heavy with the weariness of someone who had heard this rant at least thirty times. Which, in fact, she had.
"At least he didn't refer to everything as 'basic medicine,'" Mihika muttered.
Aradhya gave her a clueless look, eyebrow arched. "Context?"
"So there was this girl with appendicitis pain," Mihika explained, voice laced with irritation, "and according to Dr. Rao, her excruciating pain was 'mostly mental.'"
(Dr Rao- Mihika's PG department consultant).
Aradhya snorted, passing Mihika a loaded cheese fry "These old people, I'm telling you, they have gone mental because of zero social life. Let's eat before we die because of emotional combustion, and also—breakfast ke baad ka kya plan h?"
"Ghar chalte h, then we will decide," Mihika answered, rolling her eyes. "Abhi se aese pressure mat daal."
12:01 Pm- Couch Potatoes.
They came back and were hanging out (read lying down on sofa like a dead body, breathing in slow motion) in living room of their flat, the lights were dim, a single fan rotating above like it's trying but also deeply tired—relatable.
Netflix is open but untouched. They've been staring at Tv for the last 45 minutes.
"What do you want to watch?" Mihika asks, remote in hand.
Aradhya leaned back in her chair, "Something where people are more dysfunctional than us," she declared, as if it were the most reasonable request in the world.
So they end up watching a reality dating show where people cry in swimming pools and confess love after three hours of meeting each other.
"Bro. They've had more relationship progress in this episode than I've had in my entire one month residency," Aradhya mumbles, chewing on caramel popcorn.
"At least you're not crying in a swimsuit," Mihika says. "You're crying in pyjamas-Like an adult, and honestly I can relate to them. Except instead of roses, I get patient files. And instead of rejection, I get yelled at for being 2 seconds late to rounds, minor differences bs, baki almost same-to-same h".
Aradhya- "So......same drama,less chlorine?"
Mihika: "Exactly". also it's lunch time, let me check tiffin me kya aaya h. (They use home delivered tiffin services because cook karne ki na un dono me skill h and na he unke pass time).
Mihika went into kitchen and opened the tiffin box resting on the counter. She stared at the sad, soggy bhindi ki sabzi like it had betrayed her. Again.
"Nope," she declared, eyes narrowing at the bland rectangle of chapati. "I physically, emotionally, and spiritually cannot eat this tiffin food anymore."
Aradhya peeked over from the living room, raising an eyebrow. "You said that yesterday too."
"And I meant it yesterday. But now it's evolved. It's a deep existential crisis. This sabzi smells like my burnout," Mihika replied, pushing the box away with one finger like it might bite her.
"I thought we were too tired to go out again," Aradhya mumbled, already halfway into her dreamland.
"I'd rather cook than eat this again."
That got Aradhya's attention. She sat up slowly, groaning like an old creaking door. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
Mihika turned, a gleam in her eyes. "Yes. Pasta. Real. Cheesy. Therapy, but for that first we need to go to Dmart to get groceries. (obviously ab jb wo cook nhi karte toh unke flat pr groceries bhi nhi he hogi).
There was a beat of silence. Then they both looked at eachother and sprinted into their rooms to change, because obviously jitna homeless ban kar wo flat pr rehte h vse toh nhi ja sakte bahar.
30 minutes later- D-mart Diaries: Broke, Bold,and buying basil
A semi crowded D-mart, and two over-enthusiased PG doctor on a mission.
Aradhya stood at the entrance, holding the oversized shopping basket, eyes scanning the aisles like she was about to raid a palace.
Mihika trailed behind her, already rubbing her temples. "We're buying pasta ingredients. Not preparing for a war."
"I just need options. Also, snacks. And maybe a scented candle or two. Who knows kal konsa trauma hona h hamare saath. We should be prepared with therapy kit."
They turned into the pasta aisle, and Aradhya picked up a packet of penne and one of fusilli, looking at both of them turn by turn as if deciding answer for one crore question in kon banega crorepati.
Five minutes later, their basket had:
• 2 packets of pasta (both penne and fusilli because they still can't decide which one to pick, so they decided to buy both, Simple "girl math")
• 1 bottle of olive oil (the smallest, because budget)
• A suspiciously large packet of cheese (because taste k saath no compromise)
• Garlic
• Tomatoes
• A tiny basil plant which Aradhya insisted on getting because "it's cute"
"Are we seriously getting this plant?" Mihika asked, staring at the tiny, overpriced basil.
"Yes. We'll name him Gabriel," Aradhya replied without blinking. (Gabriel=hot chef in "Emily in Paris")
They moved on to the dairy section.
Mihika peeked into the basket. "Wait. Do we even have enough cheese?
Aradhya silently added a second packet of processed cheese.
In the billing line, Mihika groaned- "I feel like pasta cooking plan out of budget hone wala h"
Aradhya- koi na chill,We can afford giving ourselves a treat,we survived one whole month (that felt like a year) in residency.
As they finally walked out of D- Mart with two bags and a basil plant sticking out of Mihika's tote, Aradhya whispered,
"If this pasta doesn't taste like a warm hug and therapy, I'm quitting medicine."
Mihika with mock seriousness.- "If it tastes good, I'm marrying Gabriel the plant."
Aradhya smirked, unfazed- "Fair. He's the only male who's brought us peace recently."
Mihika shot her a look, quick to correct- "Us? Naah bro, only for you. I have a boyfriend."
And like that talking rubbish,two chaotic queens walked out of D-mart, pasta dreams and basil in hand—ready to conquer their kitchen and forget, at least for one day, about the endless rounds and tiffin tragedies.
Half an hour later: Cooking chaos and pasta peace
Kitchen looked like a war zone. There were chopped veggies on the counter, a trail of grated cheese on the floor, and Mihika was stirring the sauce with the intensity of school teacher staring at student who forgot to complete his homework.
"You know this is wildly overcompensating for the emotional void that is our professional life, right?" Aradhya said.
Mihika (tasting the sauce and adding more chilli flakes like she was seasoning her frustration)-"Duh. And it's working."
Ten minutes later, two steaming bowls of pasta sat between them on the coffee table. The room smelled like butter, garlic, and redemption.
Mihika took a bite and moaned like she'd seen heaven- "Oh my god. I made this. I can totally audition for masterchef ."
Aradhya twirled a forkful, eyes wide. "Okay, not to be dramatic, but this may be the happiest I've felt in weeks."
Mihika-"You are dramatic."
Aradhya-"And now I'm fed too."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, devouring their masterpiece,
Finally, Mihika leaned back with a satisfied sigh.
Aradhya licking sauce off pasta pan (tasty bana h toh waste thode hone denge)-"we cooked Michelin star worthy pasta (pasta acha bana h, pr ye jyaada ho raha h ab).
-1.7k words
-Ending this chapter here since bohot lengthy ho gaya.
-How was the chapter,if you liked it-like and comment on the chapter,it would mean a lot to me.
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