Episode 18

“You remind me of someone,” Samrat says one morning, making Mishti stop in her tracks from where she had been going to fetch the breakfast for the man, some crumpets for a change.

“It's the eyes, I think. They remind me of someone I knew.” He continues, an intent look present in his eyes as he stares at her as if trying to pinpoint the exact spot of resemblance, his index finger hovering in the air a little unsurely.

Mishti hesitantly turns towards him and wants to smack herself right after the words that escape her mouth.

"Is it your wife?"

A silence follows the question as several expressions pass through Samrat's face, half of which Mishti isn't able to decipher. Though the faraway look that suddenly takes over his face tells her that it isn't the most intelligent thing she could have said or the happiest memory that she could have unlocked.

Samrat quirks his lips into a bitter smirk when he looks up at her.

“My wife, huh? You've heard it too.”

It’s a statement, not a question, yet when Mishti tries to deny the truth, a bitter chuckle escapes the man's lips as he shakes his own head, his chuckle turning less and less bitter every passing second.

“No, you don't remind me of wife. No one does. One should have some good memories to be reminded of someone but with her….” He sighs, shaking his head. “So, no, Preeti –”

“Mishti.” The girl in question quips unhelpfully.

This time when the man's lips twitch, it is not to manifest into a bitter smirk or something equally frivolous but something genuine.

“Hmm?”

Mishti swallows. “Nothing, not many people call me by that name – Preeti – so it always feels a bit weird coming from you. But – But I understand it's my workplace and all that.” She sighs, forcing a smile on her face.

It’s then when it happens. Mishti notes the exact moment a softness overpowers any remnants of displeasure on the man's face, his eyes lighting up as his lips bloom into a smile for the whole world to see, face morphing itself into something equally gentle as he says –

“No, Mishti….”

The girl's breath positively hitches in her throat.

“You don’t remind me of her. Though it’s indeed someone from my past that you remind me of. A girl.”

Samrat doesn’t give Mishti a chance to wipe off the smile from her lips at the mention of some random woman from his past when he continues. “I sometimes don’t understand if it was all just a dream, or it really happened, but I see this girl in a scarf sometimes when I close my eyes. I was at my lowest when she came and said those words. It was a fateful encounter. She…. saved me.” He says, a huff of breath escaping his mouth with a wet undertone to it.

Samrat looks her in the eyes as he continues. “You remind me of her.”

Mishti exhales a stuttering breath hearing those words, belatedly realising that the eyes he is talking about is hers, the girl that he remembers is no one else but her. It makes warmth bloom in her chest and nervousness bubble up in her stomach.

She clears her throat, averting her gaze. “I – I've prepared the crumpets you asked for. Should I – should I bring them?”

To her surprise, the smile doesn't waver from the man's face as he nods. “Would love some, Mishti.”

The redness that flushes through Mishti’s cheek stays there for the rest of the day, the smile refusing to go away.

*

She spoke too soon.

It does.

As soon as her brother calls her, tells her about Samrat’s mother’s arrival, the smile vanishes from her face, getting replaced by a panicked look that her brother helplessly tries to soothe from the other side of the line.

It doesn’t work but she pretends it does for the sake of his brother all the while wondering how she can hide herself from his mother.

Just then she sees Samrat heading to his workplace, his phone and his bag carried by his valet, as usual, his hands busy fixing up his cuffs.

“Sir!” she rushes behind the man who is just about to step out of the door having already fixed his jacket. “Sir, wait!”

Wait Samrat does, turning back to confront Mishti’s rushed steps just in time to not let her crash into him.

“Yes… Mishti?”

Vivek’s brows raise to his hairline as he hears his boss using a different name for the girl never having heard it before while the girl in question just stills for a second at the realization that dawns upon her.

Would her heart skip a beat every time Samrat will call her by her name?

It’s ok even if it would, it is nothing that she minds.

“Tell me,” Samrat says, his gaze fixed on his watch but voice surprisingly gentle.

It makes Mishti feel relaxed and anxious at the same time. “I – I wanted to…. I wanted a break today. A day off.” She says it somehow, not breaking the eye contact to seem confident while Samrat’s morning straight face doesn’t let her know what’s going on in his mind.

But then he shrugs. “A day off? You can take it, why not.” He says with a nonchalance that takes Mishti by surprise.

“Really?” she finds herself asking and then when he nods, she grins.

And just as she thinks her problems are solved, the man’s face morphs into that of mischievousness or maybe it is just her imagination.

“However, you’ll have to make my spinach and mushroom quiche before you enjoy your day off.”

Turns out it is not just her imagination. Mishti gapes at Samrat’s words, his eyes gleaming.

“What? Don’t look at me like that. You must apply at least twenty-four hours before getting a leave, didn’t Vivek brief you down?”

“I did, sir,” Vivek pipes in unhelpfully and Samrat bites back an amused smile, only raising his eyebrows in acknowledgement before turning towards Mishti.

“He did. And since I am still granting you a leave, can’t I expect a decent dinner in return…. Mishti?” Samrat stresses on her name when he says it, genuine amusement swimming in his eyes.

Mishti accepts it, of course, she does, not because she doesn’t have any option even if that’s true, or because she can’t ever back away from a challenge, it being her innate nature, but because of how he says her name. She’ll probably accept as many undoable challenges as he'd want just to hear him say her name.

The thought scares her.

*

She completes it. Of course, she does, Mishti never leaves a challenge undone after all.

However, she does it just in the nick of time with the doorbell ringing.

Afraid that it’s the mother, Mishti hides herself in the storeroom, her room too far away to reach without getting witnessed.

As expected, the person who enters through the front door is a middle-aged woman, clad in a navy-coloured blazer and pants, hair tied into a tight bun, her gaze scrutinizing every bit of the house.

Behind her enters Samrat, his jacket folded over his arm, tie loosened with the first two buttons undone, and sleeves rolled up.

Yes, Mishti does have a gala time every day serving dinner to the man.

However, now is not the time to fawn over him. It is because of him that she is stuck here in this storeroom, after all, peeking into the outside world through the narrow creak in the door.

That man better relish the meal.

Though she is unable to miss the ways his brows keep furrowed as he follows his mother.

“So, son, how are you liking everything here? I hope you are not missing the States much?” Samrat’s mother, Vineeta asks him, taking a seat on the couch as her son does on the opposite chair.

“I don’t. It’s all good.” Samrat says in a clipped tone and either his mother doesn’t take notice of it or ignores if she does because she keeps on asking him further questions.

“How about that chef, though? You weren’t liking her much initially. I’m sorry, I would’ve sent someone better if it was in my power –”

“That’s not a problem,” Samrat says, voice lowering to a certain gentleness, his gaze flitting through the kitchen briefly before settling back on his mother. “Mishti is fine. I like her…. cooking. She is good.”

If him taking her name had done things to her earlier, him telling his mother that he likes her…. cooking, fills her with a joy that escapes her mouth in a small squeak, immediately bringing both individual’s attention to the storeroom door.

Oh no.

Thankfully, both the individuals get back to their one-sided conversation quickly, Mishti, however, is unable to move on from a fact that she has just realised.

Samrat addressed her as Mishti and as much as it is the reason behind her happiness, he called her that in front of his mother who had appointed Preeti Ahuja as his personal chef and not Mishti. And it is very unlikely that Samrat had told her about her…. secondary name.

And yet there is no hint of surprise on his mother’s face.

“But where is she? Let me meet her and taste some of her food.” Samrat’s mother demands, gaining Mishti’s attention to herself yet again.

The statement makes Samrat look around the house once again, probably in search of her, his gaze landing in the kitchen, around the house and then back at his mother.

“She’s on a leave. She has made the food though, spinach and mushroom quiche.” He says, taking his mother towards the chair, pulling back one for her.

“You remembered my favourite food?” Vineeta asks excited.

“It was Dad’s favourite.” Samrat dismisses. “Vivek!” he calls out then, “serve the food, please.”

That’s how their dinner begins, leaving Mishti to fend for herself, observing the unexpected coldness in the mother-son relationship.

It all goes well until she sees something crawling down the wall she is leaning against.

Usually, Mishti likes to think of herself as a brave individual who doesn’t get deterred by minor difficulties, but when that minor thing is a spider – yes, she doesn’t think of herself as a superwoman anymore. And so barely suppressing a scream, all Mishti thinks about is about getting out of the room.

Thankfully, the door doesn’t creak when she opens it (of course, it doesn't, luxurious greasing and all that). Stealthily tiptoeing against the wall of the kitchen that is situated only a few steps behind the dining table, she tiptoes against it, internally praying that none of the spectators would catch her in the act.

It so happens though that her prayer remains unanswered if Samrat staring at her all wide-eyed, choking up on a bite is anything to go by, almost as if he has seen a ghost. Mishti guesses that she partly looks like it.

“Samrat? What’s wrong? Here have some water.” His mother passes a glass of water to his coughing self that he ignores, his gaze solely focused on Mishti who flails her hands in the air, a panicked expression covering her face as she shakes her head, followed by keeping her finger on her lips, pleading her boss to stay quiet.

“Why aren’t you drinking it? And why do you keep looking behind? Who’s ther –”

“Mom!”

Before the woman can turn around and look behind, Samrat speaks up, an uncharacteristic urgency on his face.

“It’s nothing. It's no one.” He states pressingly, though his voice goes back to that dry tone as he continues. “But it is time, shouldn’t you leave already?”

A calculative look dawns over Vineeta’s face as she looks at her son, nodding belatedly.

“I’ll go in a few minutes.” Samrat nods coolly, his gaze not so subtly yet again landing on Mishti, Mishti who sits there on the floor, her hands covering her eyes, as if the action would stop someone from seeing her. It makes an unprecedented chuckle erupt from Samrat’s mouth, gaining the attention of both women.

“Is something wrong? You’re behaving a little weirdly today.” His mother questions, but he can’t quite find in himself to focus on it, not until the girl who sits against the wall peeks from behind her fingers, and when she finds the situation to be in her favour, tiptoes to her room, away from his mother’s vicinity, for reasons unknown.

It’s then when he looks at his mother, giving her a curt nod and standing up. “Everything’s fine.”

On the other hand, Mishti pants against the door, her brows curling worriedly, knowing that there’s no way that she can back out or explain to her employer why she wasn’t out of the house yet, enjoying her half-day and if she was here, why couldn’t she meet his mother.

Samrat helping her throughout it all was another mystery that she was dying to solve.

It’s after another fifteen minutes that the sound of chairs scraping against the floor reaches Mishti, making her rush to the window of her room, looking outside as she sees Samrat leading his mother to the car.

Only, the mother doesn’t sit in it.

“Samrat, you know how much I worry about you. Tell me honestly, is everything ok at your place? The staff, your accessories, watches and all that…what about your business?”

Samrat’s eyes widen as he hears the question, and so does Mishti’s at those on point assumptions reciting the past events so accurately.

Mishti sees as Samrat schools his expressions, a frown making its way between his brows. “It’s all good. You don’t need to worry.”

“But that chef --”

“Why are you so adamant about meeting her? I understand that you appointed her but please remember one thing, I let you hire people to work for me because that is the least personal thing that you can do in my life. I don't want you to meddle in it.”

They leave it at that with Samrat’s mother getting inside the car and driving away, taking away any awkwardness or bitterness that had taken its place on his face.

Just at that moment, he turns around, his narrowed gaze landing straight on Mishti through the window as if he had been knowing about her peeping all along.

“Come out.” He mouths.

And out Mishti goes.