Winter arrived quietly in Cambridge.
The mornings became colder.
The skies became greyer.
The walk between buildings became longer.
And somehow, without Alankrita noticing when it happened, the university had adopted her.
Especially the canteen staff.
Mrs. Kapoor was the first.
A middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and a softer heart than she admitted.
The second was Mrs. Higgins.
Then came Mr. Daniel.
Mr. Lewis.
Mr. Ahmed.
Three cooks and two ladies who somehow made feeding one tiny Indian journalism student their personal mission.
One afternoon Alankrita arrived carrying a tray filled with ordinary cafeteria food.
Mrs. Kapoor looked horrified.
"Absolutely not."
Alankrita blinked.
"Excuse me?"
"This is rabbit food."
Mrs. Higgins nodded seriously.
"You are eating for two."
Before Alankrita could protest, her tray disappeared.
Five minutes later a new tray appeared.
Vegetable pulao.
Dal.
Paneer curry.
Fresh vegetables.
Curd.
Fruit.
Warm milk.
Nutrition.
Comfort.
Home.
Mrs. Kapoor simply placed the tray before her.
"Finish it."
Then she walked away.
No speeches.
No drama.
No opportunity for refusal.
From that day onward, her meals mysteriously improved.
Some days there was khichdi.
Some days vegetable stew.
Some days sambar rice.
Sometimes dishes she had not eaten since leaving India.
Whenever she tried thanking them, they dismissed it immediately.
Mrs. Kapoor always gave the same answer.
"Baby Pumpkin needs proper food."
Apparently that settled the matter.