There was no buffet. No "options." Ammamma had made exactly what the season demanded — steamed idlis served on a banana leaf, with coconut chutney ground on a stone that was older than Arjun's mother.
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He lasted twelve minutes before the restlessness hit. There was no buffet
He felt something soften.
And he noticed something. When he ate with his fingers — really ate, feeling the temperature, the texture, mixing the chutney into the rice himself — the food tasted different. Not better exactly. More present . Like the difference between hearing a song and listening to it. feeling the temperature