Bani watched her mother's reaction closely, a small smile forming on her lips. "So… it's good?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
"Good?" Her mother chuckled, taking another bite. "It's delicious! If you sell pastries like this in your shop, customers will come back again and again."
With a satisfied smile, Bani carefully placed the biscuits and pastries inside a small box, ensuring they were neatly arranged. The golden-brown pastries, with their delicate layers, emitted a rich, buttery aroma, while the biscuits had a crisp texture that hinted at just the right balance of sweetness. Satisfied with her work, she closed the lid and stepped out, her heart brimming with anticipation.
The sun hung low in the sky as she made her way to her father's hotel. The familiar clang of utensils and the rhythmic chatter of customers greeted her the moment she stepped inside. Without hesitation, she placed the box beside the cash counter and seamlessly blended into her usual role—helping her father count the money and collecting payments from the customers.
For a while, the hotel remained bustling, the rush of orders keeping everyone on their toes. But as the peak hour passed and the crowd thinned, Bani finally found a moment to breathe. It was the perfect time. She reached for the box, her fingers tingling with excitement, and turned to her father and brother.
"Here," she said, handing them the pastries and biscuits. "Try these."
Her father raised an eyebrow but accepted the offering, while her brother took a bite without hesitation. The moment the flavors hit their tongues, their expressions changed—eyes widening in surprise, lips curving into an appreciative smile. The pastries were soft, flaky, and rich, melting effortlessly in their mouths. The biscuits had a satisfying crunch, their subtle sweetness complementing the lingering buttery aftertaste.
"This is really good!" her brother exclaimed between bites. "Where did you buy these?"
"Yeah," her father agreed, nodding as he took another bite. "These taste better than the ones we usually get."
Bani's lips curled into a secretive smile. She wiped her hands on her apron and leaned slightly over the counter.
"I made them myself," she admitted, her voice carrying a hint of pride. "I'll tell you more about it when we get home tonight."
Her father and brother exchanged glances, clearly intrigued. But before they could ask further, a new customer walked in, and the moment was lost to work.
Still, as Bani continued assisting at the counter, she couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement.
The roar of two bikes filled the evening air as Bani and Aman pulled into their home's driveway. Their father arrived moments later, parking his own vehicle with a sigh. Aman, ever the chatterbox, hadn't stopped talking throughout the ride.
"How did you even learn to bake?!" Aman nagged, his curiosity unrelenting. "Don't tell me you suddenly became a pastry chef overnight! And why didn't you make anything for me first, huh?"
Bani rolled her eyes but said nothing, letting him rant as they walked inside. She had learned that arguing with Aman was futile—he thrived on drama.