Disguised Darling|✓

Episode 4

“God, no…”  A half-awake Samrat grouses as he descends the stairs to his house, wanting to do nothing more than going back to his bed and sleep till the end of the world. Even his valet doesn't start his job this soon.

Though he has a nutjob to confront right now who is incessantly ringing his Italy imported doorbell.

“What do you want?” He all but whines to whoever it is on the other side of the door, not quite expecting to get an answer in return.

He gets that anyway.

“I think I'll have to say you!” The voice comes, loud and chirpy – too chirpy to be acceptable at eight in the morning. And wait a second, did the person just answered back with a ‘you’?

Frowning, as Samrat peeks in through the peephole of the door, it is just to find a girl standing there with a smile on her face, swinging on the balls of her feet, hands tied behind her, looking all around the place until she gets bored of it and decides to peep back through the hole. 

Samrat jerks back, startled.

“Who let you inside? Where’s the guard?” Samrat murmurs more to himself than anyone else but opens the latch to the door nonetheless because if the guard has any love for his job, he wouldn’t let any unwelcomed person inside.

“So, who are you and why do you need me?” he asks calmly despite himself, standing in his pyjama-clad and sleep mussed hair glory, tapping restlessly on the door pane an expression of nonchalance gracing his face as he assesses the girl who is now standing there looking at him, unmoving. 

True to his thinking, Mishti is indeed left still on the spot trying to digest the fact that the person she had met that day, his weeping face still flashing through her eyes as she daydreamed about him, hoped that he would be fine where ever he was – is standing right in front of her eyes, at a distance so tangible; her dreams turning into a tactile reality as she takes in his eyes that are still sleepy but awake enough to conjure up a frown, the lower part of his face adorned with a black coloured scruff that she remembers wasn't that thick all those years ago, hair going in all directions.

The sight brings a wave of emotion inside her in front of which she stifles by pasting a bright smile on her face because try as she might, she doesn’t think she’s going to get over the view in front of her anytime soon.

“I’m Mishti, nice to meet you.” She states, extending her hand for the greeting which Samrat hesitantly yet firmly shakes. “I want you because I’ve been hired by your mother, Mrs Agnihotri, as your personal chef. I look forward to work here and please you with it thereafter.”

“Alright, you may stop smiling now.” The answer comes instead, that has Mishti fish mouthing for a second, baffled, her smile indeed vanishing into thin air. 

Samrat squints his eyes.

“Anyways, come in. Though I do remember ma telling me that someone named Preeti would be coming to work. Want to say something about that?” he asks and Mishti struggles to answer, not because she has forgotten that she’s on a mission here and is diguising as someone else but because she thought perhaps this time, she’d be able to introduce herself to the man properly, with her real name. No lies.

Mishti doesn't think it's possible though.

“Yes, of course. My work name is Preeti Ahuja, yes, but everyone calls me Mishti so…” she trails off, surprised to see no hint of suspicion in the man’s eyes. 

Samrat just raises his brow in acknowledgement, shifting to the side to let the girl inside. He nods.

“Very well. But since this is your workplace, you’d be addressed as Preeti.”