Disguised Darling|✓

Episode 5

Mishti makes a mushroom and squash risotto on her first day, something that probably resembles the ‘khichdi’ of an Indian kitchen but the moment since she has overheard Samrat’s conversation, she’s pretty sure that the slightly (by that she means totally) pretentious self of the man would rather eat this than even imagining eating ‘khichdi’.

Oh well, his loss.

Though the task wasn’t easy for her, considering that she had to ask about all the possible allergens, the preferred cuisine, the kind of diet Samrat took; when he took it, and everything else from his valet, Vivek, who was a huge problem  himself. He had grumbled about why he should tell her anything about his beloved and respected boss who he has been working for since years now (read: ten).

Mishti had to not so subtly bribe him with the fact that she’ll teach him how to make his boss’ favourite dishes if he only as much as reveal their names.

Thankfully though, after that, she didn’t have to beg him too much and he had quickly provided her with the mandatory list, which brings her here where she sets the table as neatly as she can and awaits the man to take his place who has been not so subtly observing her all this while sitting in the living room, scrolling through his iPad. 

From her escapade four years ago, and her brother's rundown, Mishti had realised that Samrat was the C.E.O. of a furniture manufacturing company that he had inherited from his father, with his mother doing something else entirely something on which she had not been briefed. And being one of the top companies in India, the man made lakhs of rupees every month, but now looking at him through the kitchen window, and observing as he wastes his time scrolling through his insta feed, Mishti seriously has some doubts. Do all the C.E. O’s waste their time like this?

Jokes apart, she’s glad to see him like this – relaxed, satisfied, and free, at least from the exterior. She’s happy to find absolutely no trace of the man that she had encountered that day in the cab, inebriated, distressed, with a broken heart and self. She thinks that if given an option, she’d probably choose the prejudiced man who had judged her without getting to know her instead of the man who had cried for people leaving him. She definitely would.

“Sir, the lunch is ready, please have a seat.” Mishti conjures up the formal words from the back of her brain having not used them in almost forever, not since the time she had directly served them, wincing at the forced use of ‘sir’.

This is going to be awkward. 

Samrat gets up from the couch with an exasperated sigh, Mishti observes, keeping – no – throwing the iPad at the couch, languidly walking to the dining table. 

“Right on time. Good.” He remarks offhandedly as he takes the seat, placing the napkin on his lap and then just…staring at the dish for good ten seconds.

“Risotto?” he questions, but because he doesn’t look at her, Mishti is unable to comprehend if the word is directed to her or himself. She nods, nonetheless. 

And then with bated breath, she waits as the man takes the first bite of the dish, a spoonful carefully getting placed on his tongue letting the flavours grow rife waiting for good two seconds before beginning to chew. 

She exhales only when the man looks up,  stares at her with a straight face and then gets back to take another bite of the food. 

Four more bites and he is done. 

No, he doesn’t leave the food unfinished but the food in the plate gets finished in those four bites because what Mishti had, as a priority, kept in her mind was to prepare the lunch with a portion size of a three-year-old toddler, something that would be served by a chef of a five star or seven star hotel, the exact kind that the man wanted.