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.
Mishti bites back a smirk.
Samrat once again looks up at her, and then at the empty plate and then back at her. And when he doesn’t say anything, Mishti takes it upon herself to ask, to secure the job she’s been given.
“May I ask how did you like the food?”
“Fine.”
“Fine?” she deadpans, unable to hide the unimpressed look her face invites after hearing the review. This time it is the man who smirks, leaning back in the chair, crossing his arms across his chest.
“Yes, fine. The salt was less than my liking, the texture was a bit too creamy while the look, well let’s just say I’ve seen better-looking dishes.” The reply comes making Mishti’s jaw drop, in her head, of course, rendering her speechless.
“What? Did you think you’re the best chef on this planet?” The question comes and Mishti has a sudden urge to reveal how she knows that he has already categorised her as some 'roadside stall cook' and how she isn’t even that, let alone a chef but of course, she stays quiet.
“Vivek,” the man then calls out and in an instant his valet is in front of him, hands joined in the front and head slightly bowed. “Cancel her ticket. She isn’t going anywhere for now.”
Samrat instructs and the valet departs with an ‘ok, sir’ but not before giving her a stink eye, which Mishti ignores momentarily in favour of concentrating on the words.
“Tickets?” she questions, eyes wide. Had he bought her return tickets on her first day itself?
“No need to get too excited. The food wasn’t that good, but it wasn’t bad either. You can have a few more chances to prove yourself.” He replies haughtily, pushing the chair back.
“You’ll get my schedule and the precautionary list at your mail within a few seconds. Continental, Mexican, and almost all the other cuisines are always preferred to Indian, remember that. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Samrat picks up the napkin from his lap, placing it beside the empty plate and stands up. Picking up his tab from the couch, he ascends the stairs to his room, no more word spoken whatsoever.
However, when Mishti’s phone pings with the mail, she realizes that she can’t find it in herself to complain.
*
“So, you were saying that the girl had fought with the agency members?”
“She had!”
“And where she is staying at since the last twenty-four hours?”
“It’s an inn. The guards were saying that she was threatening them that once she’s to get out she’ll hunt every single one of them down, including the ones who gave them instructions, a.k.a. us.” Ranveer announced, looking at his brother with wide eyes, whose gaze looks intrigued.
“But we don’t have a clue on what she looks like?” Raghav asks further and Ranveer sighs.
“We do, here’s the picture.” He shows his brother a photo on his phone where it’s only the outline of the girl’s face that is visible and not her features, a coffee stain browning the entire picture.
Preeti Ahuja, the name reads.
“Do you think that this coffee had been intentionally spilt on this photo? If anything, she looks suspicious. How could that man’s mother select this girl for the job?” Ranveer comments through his muffled voice, eating chips as he walks and throwing the empty packet in the bin before brushing his hands against his jeans. Raghav rolls his eyes at his brother’s antics but still nods, agreeing, hurrying inside the inn that Ranveer had directed them towards.
“I agree. Guess we’ll get our answers only when we meet the girl in person.” He states, finally reaching in front of the room where the girl is staying at.
“Let’s go in at three; one, two three --”
“You bastard!!”
The brothers don’t get a chance to run, when the girl jumps at them, with her knee in Ranveer’s stomach and her fist colliding with Raghav’s jaw.
It’s only when she tries to aim the hits once again at them that the brother’s come into action, quickly holding the girl from either of her arms, her legs angrily flailing in the air.
“Leave me, you bastards. Let go!!” she shrieks cussing, and Ranveer has the sudden urge to shut his ears, trying to block his sensitive eardrums from the incessant yelling.
“Ranvi, pass me the tape,” Raghav instructs, and Ranveer’s hand immediately goes to his back pocket to fish out the tape, but the next thing they know, there is silence in the room. The girl isn’t shrieking anymore, neither is she flailing like a mad woman trying to get herself free. A duct tape contains so much power, he didn’t know.
It’s only when the girl flips her hair to the side with a jerk of her neck and takes a good look at them letting them have a good look at her in return, do they get to know the real reason for the silence.
“Ranvi! Raghav!!” The girl exclaims, looking at the guys one by one while the brothers shake their head in disbelief.
Raghav exclaims a breathy, “Tara,” while Ranveer excitedly yells, “Oh my God, it’s you, Tara!!”
The brothers simultaneously loosen their grip on the girl but neither of them expects the punches that come with the action.
“You – How dare you guys keep me locked up here like this. Those losers standing out of the door didn’t even give me any food. I’m starving!!” The girl complains throwing daggers at the brothers who let out a simultaneous chuckle, albeit with some loosen teeth in their mouths.
“You haven’t changed at all,” Raghav says, his eyes still very wide and voice low, while Ranveer depicts the same by hugging the girl, who pretends to struggle in his hold but ultimately laughs, holding him back just as tightly.
Once she’s done meeting with the younger brother, she goes and throws her arms around the older one, who doesn’t hesitate to embrace her, caressing her head with his one hand and her back with another.
“We didn’t think we’d ever see you again.” Raghav confesses, words muffled in her shoulder. His voice growing sombre. Tara tightens her grip around him at that, a small sniffle getting heard from her side as well. “Even I didn’t think I would. But I am glad we did.” She states pulling back, giving Raghav a watery smile, and then to Ranveer.
And as if a switch getting flipped in her, she suddenly frowns, crossing her arms across her chest. “Although I didn’t think our first meeting after ten long years would be like this. How dare you guys starve me, even those scoundrels didn’t treat me like this back there.”
“What scoundrels? Who are they?” Raghav asks in a threatening voice, his brows furrowing. Ranveer too doesn’t have a better reaction, his fists clenching at his sides. The girl rolls her eyes at the overdramatic action, huffing out a chuckle.
“Relax, my dear angry young men, I’ll tell you guys everything, but before that, you have a lot to answer me about,” Tara narrows her eyes and then at full pitch demands, “And even before that you guys need to buy me a pizza, right now!!”
The brothers gladly fulfil her aggressive request.