What a lovely day, perfect in every way!

That was what I thought when I opened the balcony of my house to let in the early morning cool breeze.

But instead, what greeted me was a grey mass of smog that entered directly into my lungs.

What the hell was happening? I immediately ran towards the devil's house and knocked on it. He opened it wearing just shorts and no shirt. He'd covered his nose and mouth with a cloth. It was clear that he'd been coughing spuriously. I went inside his house, which was entirely covered with the grey smog all over.

"What the hell are you doing? Making Powerpuff Girls?" I asked him.

"The kitchen...kit.." He said, pointing towards the kitchen, his voice muffled from the cloth.

I ran towards the kitchen and found the black remains of a charred vessel on the stove. The stove's flame was till burning.

"The knob doesn't work. The flame keeps burning." He said. I immediately turned off the gas valve.

I took a pair of tongs which was lying nearby and carefully removed the charred vessel; the remnants of a once glorious cooker; and threw it into the sink.

"Thanks. I had no idea what to do. Thanks for saving me." He said.

"I actually had no intention of saving you at all. I just didn't want to get bronchitis." I said.

Within five days of moving here, he had set the stove on fire. I had, eventually predicted it, but not within such a short while, to be honest.

I was only a little bit not surprised.

"So, truce, then?" He said, and casually extended his hands to shake with mine.

"Truce? What are you talking about?" I asked him, though I knew perfectly well what he was talking about. He was referring to our mutual 'door slamming sessions' that had been occurring since the troll incident (refer chapter 2 on how to make fool of a naive person-me). We'd purposely slam our front doors very loudly just to annoy the hell out of each other. Even though our neighbours threatened to cut off our water supply if we did it one more time, we'd continued to do it. I suppose he too had discovered the unparalleled joy of slamming the door to our heart's content without a care in the world.

"Truce, as in no more door slamming. No more ding dong ditching, and no more loud television watching at night." He said.

"You were the one who rung the bell several times yesterday? I thought it was one of the kids. How childish!" I exclaimed.

"No more childish than placing an array of cactus right on my doorstep." He said. I'd done that so he'd step on them and never rise again. But damn he'd been careful enough.

"Fine, fine. Truce, then." I said, and shook my hands with the neighbour from hell.

"Yay!" He exclaimed, in a fake voice.

"So what are you planning? When people like you call a truce, you have something evil planned." I said.

He was silent for a few minutes, probably thinking of a novel way to convey the probably ridiculous idea in his head. I regretted asking it in the first place.

"Will you be my cooker?" He asked me.

"What?!"

"I meant, will you cook for me? I don't understand why a person who cooks is called a cook. I mean, a person who talks is called a talker, a person who walks is called a walker. So why isn't a person who cooks called a cooker? " He said, deep in thought like a scientist working out some paradox.

"Well, you do have an inquisitive mind there." I said, looking at him right in the face. "But it goes in the lines of- one who is stupid is called a stupid. One who is an idiot, is called an idiot."

He stood thinking for a few moments, and inspected me up and down. "Oh, I see. Just like one who is ugly is called ugly."

This little...! I should just accept his offer to be his cook just to poison him.

"Why me? Is it because I am an easy target to free load off? And also, didn't you say that my cooking was barbaric?" I asked him.

"Yes, it is. But I am not someone who makes a fuss about the taste, as long as it is healthy to eat. You just saw how horrible I am at cooking, yourself." He said.

I thought about it, and to be honest it was a very good deal. I could do with a little extra money. Besides, it was just one extra person, how hard could it be?

"Fine, I accept it. But its fifteen thousand rupees for a month." I said.

"That much? Your cooking is not really worth it." He said.

"Take it, or leave it. Besides you were the one who asked me."

"Fine." He accepted. And we shook hands once again.

So we decided that he'd deposit the money on my account before hand, since I didn't want to be made a fool of, once again, thank you very much. And he, for his turn, decided we should write a contract.

I PROMISE TO GIVE THE BEARER OF THIS CONTRACT FOOD EVERY DAY.

Samskruthi                                                    

I wrote this on a piece of paper and handed it to him. Instead of being grateful, he spoke unnecessary things.

"Did you copy the text format from the rupee currency note? You have neither talent nor originality. No wonder you lost your job." He said. But he signed the rudimentary contract anyway. Probably because he couldn't think of anything better.

"You must be deluding yourself if you think modelling is a job." I said.

"You are just jealous since you seem like someone who can't pose for a photograph to save her life." He said.

"Why would I ever be in such a stupid situation in the first place?" I said.

Feeling our energy drained from the stupid banter, we proceeded to our comfy places (our homes) with a small grin on both of our faces -me, because I would now be richer by fifteen thousand rupees, and him, because he could now eat several times a day without worrying about catching on fire.

Standing in the hallway, I called my mom.

"Have you got a job yet? I am thinking of putting up your profile." She said, casually.

"Actually I have, I have found a part time job while I look for a real job." I said. Suddenly, I felt a light tapping on my shoulder. Turning around, I found it was the devil, also named Rudhra.

"Where?" My mom asked me on the phone.

"I get to cook for this really old, crazy grandpa. Since it's for one extra person, it's not a problem." I said, lying through my teeth.

"I see, tell me everything when we meet." She said. When my mom said 'tell me everything', it literally meant telling her everything, right until the nanoparticle of the said situation was thoroughly inspected, dissected, people were judged, and new meanings were found in even meaningless conversations like 'hmm' or 'k'.

"Sure...mom." I said blankly. I didn't know what to say to her. She'd definitely go into drama mode if she found out that the old man was actually a good looking model who lived next door.

"Please give me my false teeth, my dear." Rudhra said from behind me, in false old man voice, going along with my lie.

"Gotta go mom, crazy grandpa calling." I said, and immediately shut the call.

"Just wanted to let you know that I am very particular about my body fat percentage. So you've got to throw in a salad or something, every once in a while." He said.

"Sure, no problem." I said, trying to hide my devil grin.

He seemed like someone easily trickable, judging by how easily he'd acquiesced to my demand of fifteen thousand rupees.

Because I was going to trick him to eating every unhealthy food there ever was, and ever going to be. So he could say goodbye to his stupid model body.

A/N: How do you guys do?

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