"However," I said, raising a finger. "I have a proposal. If you're willing to hear it."

  She looked at me, hope flickering in her eyes. "A proposal?"

  "Look," I said, gesturing behind me. "I live in this big house. Four bedrooms. Three of them are currently occupied by dust bunnies and my collection of unread books. It's quiet. It's safe. And it's right next to your plot."

  I took a step closer.

  "I propose a trade," I said. "We're going to be long term neighbors anyway, right? So, why don't you rent a room here?"

  Wanda's eyes widened. "Aryan, I couldn't impose… "

  "Hear the terms first," I interrupted with a grin. "I don't want cash. I can print money… I mean, I have enough savings," I corrected quickly. "What I need... is company. Specifically, kitchen company."

  I held up the Tupperware.

  "You have excellent slicing skills. And you tolerate my monologues. If you agree to be my official taste tester and occasional sous chef... the room is yours. Rent free."

  Wanda stared at me. She seemed to be processing the information and weighing the logic.

  "You want me to... cook for rent?" she asked.

  "Cook with me," I corrected. "And eat. I hate eating alone. It's bad for digestion. So, we both get what we want. You get a roof over your head that isn't on fire and I get a dining companion who understands the importance of lemons."

  I extended my hand.

  "What do you say, neighbor? Risk it with the eccentric doctor?"

  Wanda looked at my hand. Then she looked at my face. She saw the genuine offer there. She saw the safety.

  "It seems..." she started, a slow smile spreading across her face. "It seems like a very uneven trade. You are getting the short end of the deal."

  "I'll be the judge of that," I said. "Do we have a deal?"

  She reached out and took my hand. Her grip was firm.

  "Deal," she whispered.

  "Fantastic!" I clapped my hands, not letting go of hers for a second longer than appropriate. "Now, to celebrate our new roommate status... let's have a healthy breakfast. Poha. You sit, I cook."

  "No," Wanda said, stepping over the threshold, her demeanor shifting from 'damsel in distress' to 'woman on a mission'. "The deal was that I help. I am paying my rent immediately."

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  I laughed, closing the door behind her. "Tough negotiator. I like it. Alright, into the kitchen. The onions await."

  [Perspective: Wanda Maximoff]

  She was inside.

  She stood in the hallway, clutching her coat, breathing in the scent of the house. It smelled of coffee and cedar. It felt solid.

  It worked, the voice in her head whispered. You are here.

  She felt a momentary pang of guilt for poor Frank and the motel owner, but she pushed it down. She would anonymously deposit a large sum of money into their accounts later. She could transmute lead to gold if she wanted to. Money was not an issue. Time was the issue.

  And she had just bought herself an indefinite amount of time.

  She followed Aryan into the kitchen. He was practically bouncing with energy.

  "Okay," he said, moving to the pantry. "Poha. Flattened rice. It's an Indian staple. It's yellow, it's fluffy and it's basically sunshine on a plate. Do you eat peanuts?"

  "I am not allergic," Wanda said, taking off her coat and draping it over a chair.

  "Good. Because Poha without peanuts is a crime."

  He started pulling ingredients out. Mustard seeds. Curry leaves. Turmeric. Green chilies.

  "Apron," he commanded, pointing to the counter where she had left the pink monstrosity the night before. He stopped mid-gesture as he realized nothing was there.

  Oh.

  Aryan noticed her hesitation. "I think you took the apron with you, right?"

  "Yes," Wanda said quickly. "It is in my car."

  "Ah, tragic," Aryan sighed. "Well, you can wear the spare. It's boring and blue. Try not to fall asleep looking at it."

  He tossed her a plain blue apron. She put it on. It didn't have the same magic as the daisy one, but it smelled like him.

  "Wash the Poha," he instructed, handing her a colander filled with flaky rice. "Gentle. Like you're washing a cloud. If you mash it, it turns to mush."

  Wanda moved to the sink. The water ran cool over her fingers. She washed the rice, watching the water turn milky.

  "Like this?" she asked.

  Aryan leaned over her shoulder. "Perfect. You're a natural. I suspect you have secret culinary training."

  "My brother..." she started, then stopped. The name usually choked her. But here, in this kitchen, it felt okay to say it. "Pietro used to eat everything. Quantity over quality. I learned to cook quickly so he would not starve."

  "Brothers are basically garbage disposals with legs," Aryan agreed, chopping onions with rhythmic precision. "I didn't have a brother, but I had... cousins. Same energy."

  Wanda turned off the tap. "You said you lost your family."

  "I did," Aryan said. He didn't stop chopping. "But memories are good company. Sometimes."

  He scraped the onions into a pan. They sizzled loudly.

  "Come here," he said. "Stir this. The onions need to sweat, not burn. It's a delicate balance."

  Wanda stepped up to the stove. She took the wooden spoon.

  Aryan moved to the side, chopping green chilies.

  They worked in silence for a moment. It was a comfortable silence. The kind that exists between people who don't need to fill every second with noise.

  Wanda watched his hands. He was focused.

  "You are happy," she observed quietly.

  Aryan looked up, surprised. "What?"

  "You seem... happy," she said, stirring the onions. "To have a roommate. Most people enjoy their privacy."

  Aryan put the knife down. He leaned against the counter, looking at her.

  "Privacy is overrated when you've had too much of it," he said. "I've been... alone. For a while. Since I came here. Having someone else in the house... hearing footsteps that aren't mine... it's nice. It makes the place feel less like a museum and more like a home."

  He smiled and it reached his eyes.

  "Plus," he added, "I really needed someone to help me eat all this food. I was gaining weight."

  Wanda laughed. "You are not gaining weight."

  "Internal weight," he claimed, tapping his chest. "Emotional calories. Very heavy."