Blended by Love | completed on Scrollstack (#2)

After a hearty dinner with the family, Advik and I find ourselves on a late-night ice cream date. How this man always knows I'm craving one without me even saying a word is beyond me. I guess years of being together does that—you become hyperaware of your partner's needs, wants, and quirks. And honestly? I'm not complaining, as long as it means I get to relish my own customized sundae bowl, stacked with seven different ice cream flavors that absolutely should not go together.

This bowl isn't for the faint of heart, but then again, neither am I. Chaos is a flavor, darling, and I like my dessert the way I like my life—unhinged, unexpected, and controversial.

I place my order and turn to wait—patiently (read: aggressively tapping my foot)—for His Royal Indecisiveness to finally pick a flavor. These Mehrotra siblings, I swear, take forever and a half to watch, taste, and contemplate their options, only to end up choosing the exact same flavor they always get. I mean, why put us poor peasants through the agony of waiting? Why make us roll our eyes so hard they nearly touch our brains if the grand decision is just going to be the usual?

"Advik, for the love of my sanity, just pick one. At this rate, global warming will reverse before you do."

He side-eyes me, looking as unimpressed as ever. "Excuse me for having standards, Mrs. Impatient. Some of us actually respect the art of decision-making and don't just throw the first seven flavors they see into a bowl and call it a sundae."

I dramatically gasp. "Wow. The audacity. My sundae is a masterpiece of chaos. You, on the other hand, have spent ten minutes debating between Classic Vanilla and French Vanilla. What's next? Staring at the ceiling for life's answers?"

He hums, completely unaffected by my sass. "See, this is why I take my time. Unlike some people, I believe in calculated decisions."

I snort. "Advik, it's ice cream, not a real estate investment."

Meanwhile, my chaotic sundae bowl sits proudly in front of me—an absolute abomination of flavors that no sane person would dare put together. But then again, sanity is overrated.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he settles on his usual. I gasp with mock surprise. "Oh my God. What a plot twist. A revelation. A true cinematic experience. The Great Advik Mehrotra chooses his default flavor. Once again. Somebody alert the media."

He smirks, all smug and unbothered. "Mock all you want, but at least my ice cream isn't having an identity crisis."

I shield my sundae dramatically. "Listen here, you basic-flavor enthusiast, my sundae is a work of art. A rebellion against monotony. A revolution."

He leans in, voice teasing. "And a guaranteed stomach ache."

I narrow my eyes. "Say that again and I'll force you to take a bite of it."

He smirks. "You wouldn't."

I grin. "Try me."

He shakes his head, grabbing his ice cream while I grin in victory. Another round in the eternal Falak vs. Advik war: won.