The evening was slow at Khan General Store. The last customer had just left, and the street outside hummed with the faint rhythm of motorcycles, vendors, and restless life.
Ashburn sat behind the counter, sorting invoices with a tired look that only half hid his satisfaction. Business had been steady again, almost stable — for now.
Across from him, Kainat flipped through a small notebook filled with scribbles, arrows, and half-baked ideas. Her brows furrowed, then softened, then furrowed again.
He glanced up. "You've been staring at that page for ten minutes. Either it owes you money or you're about to start a revolution."
She smiled faintly. "Maybe both."
"That's concerning."
She shut the notebook and leaned forward, eyes gleaming with the kind of quiet determination he'd learned to recognize. "Ashburn, have you ever thought about how much food we waste every day? All these shops, bakeries, restaurants — half their leftovers end up in bins while people down the street sleep hungry."
He gave a small shrug. "It's an old problem. Everyone talks about it. Few do anything."
"That's exactly why I want to do something," she said quickly. "Not a big campaign — just something small. Maybe… a community kitchen. One meal a day for anyone who needs it. Volunteers, donations, whatever we can manage."
Ashburn looked at her for a moment, then back at the ledger. "That's ambitious."
"Ambitious isn't a bad thing."
"No," he admitted. "But it's expensive. And chaotic. You'd need a safe place, steady supplies, hygiene checks, storage—"
"I know," she interrupted softly. "That's why I'm asking you."
He blinked. "Me?"
She smiled. "You're the practical one. The one who knows how to keep things running without catching fire."
He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Flattery won't get you a kitchen."
"Then what will?"
There was a pause — long enough for the hum of the ceiling fan to fill it. Finally, he said, "Show me a plan. Not just passion."
Her eyes brightened. "So you'll help?"
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't not say it either."
He smirked. "Fine. I'll look at your plan. If it's not suicidal."
That made her laugh — the kind of light, genuine laugh that always seemed to cut through his fatigue.
---
By next morning, she was at the store again — earlier than usual — carrying that same notebook, this time with pages filled.
"Coffee," she announced, setting a cup on his counter, "and a presentation you can't ignore."
Ashburn eyed the cup suspiciously. "If it's as bitter as your ideas, I'm leaving."
"Try it," she said sweetly.
He did. It wasn't bad. "Alright," he admitted. "Proceed."
Kainat opened her notebook like a general unveiling a battle plan. "Okay. We start small. One meal a day, maybe lunch. We can use that empty lot beside the park — the one no one's using since the old kiosk shut down. I've already talked to the local union guy. He said we can clean it and use it if we handle maintenance ourselves."
Ashburn nodded slowly. "Go on."
"Funding — I'll use my savings for the first two weeks. After that, we'll take voluntary contributions, not mandatory ones. That keeps it clean and transparent. And food — I've talked to two bakery owners who said they can donate unsold bread daily."
"Impressive," he said genuinely. "You actually did your homework."
"Of course," she said proudly. "What did you think, I'd just show up with a spoon and a prayer?"
"Honestly? That was my first assumption."
She laughed again. "See, that's why I need you — to keep the kitchen from becoming an accidental explosion site."
Ashburn leaned back, thoughtful. "You'll need logistics — utensils, gas setup, waste disposal, volunteers. I can arrange some suppliers for cheaper rates. Maybe even lend you a delivery hand or two for setup."
Her smile widened. "That means yes."
"It means I don't like watching good ideas die in planning stages," he corrected.
"Still a yes," she said, grinning.
He rolled his eyes. "You're impossible."
---
A week later, the park area had transformed.
The old lot beside it — once littered with wrappers and broken benches — now buzzed with color and noise. Volunteers painted wooden tables, kids ran around holding cups of water, and a banner fluttered over the entrance:
"COMMUNITY KITCHEN — A SMALL MEAL, A BIG HEART."
Kainat stood in the center of it all, giving out directions with a mix of warmth and authority.
"Check the rice again! Not too soft. And where's Sami with the onions?"
Sami appeared, wiping his forehead. "Don't worry, the onions are surrendering peacefully."
Ashburn, standing nearby with a clipboard, smirked. "For once, do something without announcing it."
"Hey, supervision needs appreciation," Sami shot back.
Kainat chuckled, shaking her head. "You two will scare the volunteers away."
The first batch of biryani cooked under the sun, filling the air with spice and warmth. People started gathering — rickshaw drivers, schoolkids, even a few elderly women from the nearby colony.
When Kainat handed the first plate to an old man, his eyes shimmered. "Bless you, child. It's been two days since I tasted rice."
She smiled softly. "Then today, eat for both days."
Ashburn watched from the side, arms crossed, expression unreadable. But deep down, something in him eased. Maybe it was pride. Or maybe it was the quiet realization that good things didn't always need grandeur — just persistence.
---
By afternoon, the place was a whirlwind of laughter, chatter, and spilled gravy.
Kainat was everywhere at once — serving, managing, comforting. Sami ran between tables, occasionally tripping. Ashburn handled the background — water supply, cleanup rotation, expense tracking.
For the first time in weeks, everything felt light.
Until a familiar voice called from behind.
"Miss Kainat."
It was old Malik, the shopkeeper from two blocks down. His tone carried unease. "You should know… people are talking."
She frowned. "Talking about what?"
"That this whole thing — it's not charity. That you're doing it for fame. Some are saying a political group's backing you."
Kainat froze for a second, then smiled faintly. "Of course they are."
Sami blinked. "Wait, what? Who'd even think that?"
Malik sighed. "Jealousy travels faster than kindness, child. Just… be careful."
Ashburn stepped forward, calm as ever. "Thanks, Malik Sahib. We'll handle it."
The man nodded and left.
Kainat exhaled slowly, staring at the banner swaying in the wind. "One day in and people already doubt it."
"That's how you know it matters," Ashburn said quietly. "No one bothers slandering something meaningless."
She looked up at him — his calm eyes, his steady tone — and managed a small smile. "You always have a quote ready, don't you?"
He smirked. "Only for those who deserve them."
Their eyes met for a quiet second before Sami's panicked voice broke the moment:
"Uh, Kainat! The rice — it's boiling over again!"
Kainat rushed off with a laugh, shouting, "Not again, Sami!"
Ashburn watched her go — still smiling faintly — before turning toward the street.
Across the road, parked half in shadow, a black car idled. A man inside rolled down the window, observing the scene with interest.
"So this is the girl everyone's talking about," he murmured. "Let's see how long her kindness lasts."
The car pulled away, leaving only the fading sound of its engine — and the promise of trouble ahead.