Things weren’t the same when Juni returned. I wasn’t the same either. There was growing rift between us, and the intimacy had gone. To avoid confrontation, we didn’t talk about it, and we tried to find reasons not to spend time with each other. I’d go to see my parents most nights when he was at work, returning to find the apartment empty.
Because I still loved Juni, I didn’t want to give up just yet, though. And so I returned to the one way I knew how to express my love, hoping that my food might win back his affection. I began making all his favourite dishes: nihari (lamb shank stew), mutton biryani, aloo gosht and carrot halva. Our tiny kitchen was bursting at the seams with spices, extravagant Pakistani dishes and constant cooking.
