one | butterscotch french toast

                                        

                                              

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This wasn't supposed to happen. 
The delivery guy was supposed to quietly put down her parcel and leave. That was the silent order of things between the anxious girl behind the door and the usual delivery guy from Sweet Bakes. 
Except this time, the store had decided to send a different delivery guy. One who didn't have half his face shrouded in darkness because of a cap, because of which she could eye his handsome face crystal clear. One who didn't tap his feet impatiently, instead waiting for the girl to summon her non-existent courage and open the door. One who had an eager smile sparkling on his darn good looking countenance. 
No. 
Ishara didn't like it one bit. 
She would've had him wait for an eternity, right outside her door before he eventually gave up if not for...the parcel in his hand. She'd forgo even a brand new pen-tablet if it meant having to interact with the delivery personnel but her precious butterscotch french toast?
No way in hell was she giving up on that. It was her weekly order from Sweet Bakes and the one thing upon which her survival was hinged on. Ishara narrowed her eyes as the delivery guy leaned against the railing, as if willing to let her take her time. 
What was up with this guy...?
Why wouldn't he just give up, put the parcel down and leave? 
The silent duel between the closed door and the delivery guy had been going on for twenty minutes already. Enough time to make even the most patient of humans go crazy. Ishara cleared her throat, deciding to try a tactic.
"Please - ahem - leave the parcel at the door."
She, then, peeked through the hole on the door. The delivery guy stared at the door, still leaning on the railing, "Is this Ms. Ishara? You're the one who ordered french toast?"
"Butterscotch french toast." She corrected, hesitantly. "Yes."
"You want me to put the parcel down?"
"Yes." It was a faint whisper but he seemed to hear it all, perfectly clear. 
"Well, that's a bit disappointing. I was hoping to put a face to the name."
Ishara blinked, exasperated. Would he just put the damn box down and-
"I'd rather you get the parcel yourself. The floor is wet."
Was it? 
Well, it did rain a few minutes ago. Ishara had thought it would take longer for the delivery because of the downpour but somehow he had turned up earlier than what the app had predicted. 
Now, she had no choice but to open the door and reveal herself. The one thing she hadn't wanted to do. But the butterscotch french toast...
Ishara whined to herself silently, lamenting her discovery of the dish and her subsequent addiction to it. 
Was it truly necessary to eat the toast?
There was no doubt in her head. Yes, it was necessary. 
Did she have to open the door?
Yes, she had to.
Ishara let out a soft sigh and peeked through the hole, once again. He stood there, ever so patient. She opened the door, but only by a fraction and let her hand out.
"Well?"
He eyed the outstretched hand, in amusement.
"I'm afraid you might drop it if I just place it on one of your hands.
Another hand popped out, while somehow still covering the rest of the person. Akshay could no longer hold it in. He burst out laughing. Ishara held her hands out, suffering through the humiliation. Her cheeks burned, a dark shade of red splattered all over it. 
"Would you-would you just give it?"
"Of course, I'm sorry." Remnants of the laughter spluttered out before growing to a halt. The parcel was placed in her hands. Before Ishara could shut the door firmly, the delivery guy put his foot in between. Ishara's eyes widened in horror as her heart raced. 
"I just want to know one thing."
Ishara, "...?"
"Why butterscotch french toast, in particular? Why not just regular french toast? You made this special order to Sweet Bakes, four weeks ago and have been ordering the same ever since."
How did he know that? Perhaps, he was a worker in the restaurant and not the app's delivery guy?
"Can you just tell me that?" He prompted, more gently than earlier. 
"Because...it has the right amount of sweetness. Not too much nor too little."
The answer seemed to satisfy him. The foot was removed, quickly and the door shut by itself. Ishara stared at the closed door. Was that it...?
That's all?
She heard the sound of thoughtful footsteps grow fainter and fainter. She could no longer discern any sound, after a few minutes. The rumblings of a motorcycle revealed that he was already on his way back. 
Who was that guy?
Ishara made her way to her dimly lit room - the only room in her one-room apartment. She settled on her desk, the sweet aroma of the toast tempting her to dig in. She promised the parcel in her head that she would get to it soon. But first she needed to draw something. Someone. 
A handsome guy who had asked her why she had wanted to order the same toast every time for the past four weeks. 

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