Kamala moved deftly around the kitchen, her hands moving gracefully as she chopped vegetables and stirred sauces. The air was filled with the aroma of garlic and spices, and she seemed entirely in her element, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth. Meanwhile, you stood beside her, chatting away with enthusiasm, attempting to "help," though really, you were more a source of distraction than assistance. You picked up a spoon, tapped it against the counter for emphasis, and launched into another story, earning a gentle, amused shake of the head from Kamala.

“Are you actually planning on helping, or just standing there keeping me entertained?” she teased, glancing at you.