Episode 19

Mishti’s hands are shaking, not because she is finding it difficult to make some vegan enchiladas that has been demanded of her but because the person who has demanded them is standing beside her, resting his back against the kitchen counter, munching on an apple, not wearing his usual formal attire but is clad in a polo shirt and some sweatpants.

And even though she likes cooking in an empty space, it’s for three reasons that she doesn’t mind him here. First, that he is her boss and this is his home, he can sit wherever he likes; second, she doesn’t mind him standing close to her, speaking a few truths about her life as he asks her about them and attempting to know a few of his own in the process; third and most important, she doesn’t want the man to travel to yesterday’s scenario and interrogate her even more thoroughly than he had done before.

“I think I deserve to know why you were trying to hide from my mother when you weren’t on the supposed leave that you said you would take!” Samrat demands, arms folded across his chest and right foot tapping the ground.

His stance intimidates her, forcing her to stumble through her words, not that she was too confident with her explanation before.

“I – I wanted to take the leave, but you had said to m-make the dish –”

“I didn’t think you would. I was kidding and had already told Vivek to order them from the restaurant in case you didn’t make them, which I was sure you wouldn’t.” Samrat answers, his brow loosening its arch into exasperation.

“Well, you don’t know me too well then.” Mishti finds herself saying, avoiding eye contact.

“Guess, I don’t, huh?” She hears a small smile in those words as her employer speaks. “But what about my mother? Why were you hiding from her? Do you guys have a history that I’m not aware of?”

“You aren’t aware of many things.” Mishti’s mind supplies, unhelpfully, a thought that she shakes off immediately.

“It’s – It’s not that. I was just …...nervous.” She says, trying her best not to lie to the man. Not again. “Y-Your mother seemed really strict. Her stance and the way she walked reminded me of an officer.” Mishti throws an arrow in the air, it not being a complete lie.

Those few moments that she had observed the woman, it really looked like it. Though she is sure that it is only her imagination. Their agency and her brother had told her that the woman was a charity donor, who visited the functions and galas held by her son. The description suited a billionaire's mother.

However, the way Samrat has brows raised, and lips curled into what seems a gesture of appreciation, has Mishti confused.

“Spot on.” He says, “She was a police officer. In fact, she retired just a few years ago.” Samrat reveals and for a moment Mishti’s mind comes to a screeching pause, her whole body freezing.

What?

That woman was a police officer?

A police officer in the house that Mishti was assigned her tasks in?

What was the agency even thinking?

“But, yeah, I can’t blame you for not wanting to see her. It’s how I feel most of the time.” Samrat admits sombrely, bringing Mishti out of her reverie though she is unable to get over the shock.

She has to tell everyone about this. She doubts that they know it.

“– shti…Mishti?”

“Huh?”

“Where are you lost?”

“N-Nothing. Sorry, what were you saying?” she asks, still unable to school her face into a neutral look.

“I was saying that I still didn’t get why you thought covering your eyes wouldn’t let her see you.” He says, amused. “If anything, it only made you look cu –” he pauses for a second, eyes wide, before schooling his expressions faster than she ever could. “– silly, it made you look silly.” Samrat gulps, slightly avoiding eye contact when Mishti squints her eyes at him.

“Anyways, g-goodnight.”

He rushes out of the kitchen, leaving Mishti dumbfounded, effortlessly making her forget to call her brother in favour of finding a solution to whatever riddle the man had just said to her.

Stupid Mishti.

Stupid Samrat.

And his stupid face and words and everything.

The same face that he is relaxing on the kitchen counter with, playing KBC with her.

“So, before this have you ever worked somewhere else? I mean your c.v. doesn’t have much written on it, so….” The man in question asks, picking the newly baked cookies, right from Mishti’s hand when he is done eating his apple.

“Aren’t you following your usual diet today; only breakfast, lunch and dinner, no snacks or desserts?” Mishti asks eyeing the cookie that he is munching onto happily but doesn’t get an answer in reply. Just, “I asked the question first.”

Mishti bites back the retort that it is only him who has been asking questions till now.

Oh, well.

“Truth be told, no, I haven’t cooked before for anyone else. Just my family and friends.”

“Oh… so your parents must feel special then, their daughter cooking such good food,” Samrat remarks good-naturedly but Mishti gulps hearing the words.

She gives him a tight smile and shakes her head. “Family doesn’t only comprise of parents, now does it?”

She says hearing which Samrat is quick to grasp the situation if that utterly guilty look on his face is anything to go by.

“I’m so sorry, there wasn’t any mention of this in…. I’m rea –”

Mishti’s tight smile turns fond as she shakes her head again. “Let me alter my statement. I don’t have mummy and papa, but I do have my parents. My brother, the best one in the world. He has parented me all my life.” Mishti confesses with a smile, Samrat’s gaze softening at the revelation. “We were both brought up in an orphanage. I was six and he was ten when we were dropped there.”

Samrat gulps, a frown crawling between his brows. “Dropped?” he asks, and she nods.

“Yeah, we lived with our relatives for a month before that. My Chacha and Chachi. Sadly, they couldn't bear to take responsibility for two more children whilst handling their son. So, they brought us to the orphanage.” She reveals, ignoring the way her eyes sting a little at the reminder and quickly smiles. “They tried to help though so it’s ok.” She says.

“But yeah, once we were there in the orphanage, life changed for us. Not so much for me because I was still just a baby.” Mishti chuckles, and Samrat smiles, imaging a girl with a toothy smile with two pigtails on her head.

“For my brother though, everything changed. He had to take up my responsibility which he did without a frown on his face. He made my education his priority, instead of his own. He did this with everything, even food. I didn't like it. I wanted to make him happy as well, wanted him to eat the pieces of paneer that he used to transfer in my plate or to not eat those bitter gourds that he was forced to eat because he didn’t want me to eat them. It was at that time that I decided that once I'll grow up, I'll cook him all the foods that he likes and will never make him eat the food the orphanage made him eat. I’ll make him feel at home, at least with the food. That’s when I started cooking.”Mishti finishes with a proud grin though her eyes shine with unshed tears.

Samrat on the other hand is unable to stop a fond smile that crawls up his lips or the way his gaze refuses to waver from the girl's face.

It makes Mishti nervous, a slight flush climbing up her cheeks. “I didn't mean to bore you with my sob stor –”

“It wasn’t.” Samrat contradicts immediately. “It wasn’t any sob story. It’s your life, Mishti. I’m glad you shared a part of it with me.”

An instant smile, albeit a little shy, crawls up Mishti’s face at those words, heart filling with glee.

Samrat makes face at that and Mishti knows it’s all just a pretence.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough, you may stop smiling now.”

The words have the opposite effect as Mishti finds herself chuckling instead.

Samrat narrows his eyes. “I liked you better when you didn’t grin all the time.”  He says but is unable to bite back the smile himself.

“And I liked you better when….” Mishti contemplates and then shakes her head, lowly mumbling, “I like you better now.”