Seven Doors to Yesterday

“Sujal! Turn off the stove before you burn the whole colony down!” Sarah’s voice echoed through the small but vibrant Sharma household like a war cry. The morning sun had barely peeked through the cotton curtains, but inside the house, chaos was already in full swing.

The fire alarm screeched overhead, adding its own unwelcome percussion to the scene. Smoke curled up from the saucepan on the stove like it had a grudge against the ceiling. Sujal, shirtless, in his mismatched pajamas, stood frozen—spoon in one hand, his phone in the other.

“I was literally gone for thirty seconds!” he protested, eyes wide behind his thick glasses.

“Thirty seconds is all it takes for Maggi to turn into ash!” Sarah snapped, rushing in with a kitchen towel to swat the smoke like it was a mosquito. She opened the windows with practiced precision. “Why did you put the masala before the water, you idiot?!”

Sujal scratched his head, still holding the spoon. “It looked... fancy. Like dry roasting. MasterChef does it.”

Sarah groaned, the kind that carried the weight of years of sibling exasperation. “This is not MasterChef. This is Sujal ruining yet another morning.”