The next morning.

Delle brought warm milk to Rebecca without adding sugar. “You look tired, ma’am? Is everything alright?”

“I was having these weird dreams,” Rebecca said.

“Oh, talking about weirdness,” Delle said. “I asked Mr. Benyamin to bake a cake for Roshan’s birthday, but he said he didn’t know how to make a cake. I asked him again, and he said he doesn’t know how to cook.”

“Huh? He really said that?”

“Yeah, I swear on myself, ma’am,” Delle said. “He felt insulted that I asked him to cook