Disguised Darling|✓

Episode 23

The US returned, pretentious, international cuisine lover, sometimes sweet and most of the times sour, Samrat Agnihotri bakes her a pizza for dinner, a classic Margherita that Mishti can kill or get killed for (after Chole Bhature, of course).

But that’s not the point. The point is that the man makes the dish all by himself without any help from Mishti who stands by his side cradling her wounded hand. 

He didn’t whine once. Didn’t complain. Instead, he had been sporting a natural quirk to his lips for the entire duration of the time that he cooked for himself… and her. Them.

It makes something in her chest flutter.

Times like this and Mishti wants to tell Samrat everything. She doesn’t want to hide from him, to lie to him. Times like this and a hope simmers in her heart that maybe he’d understand; understand when she’ll tell him her truth, understand that she is here on a mission, one that she had herself taken upon her to finish, solely because it meant an opportunity to see him up-close after four long years, years that she couldn't stop thinking about him.

Mishti wonders if he’ll ever realise that it was her that day, wonders if she ever wants him to realise that.

“Come on, sit,” Samrat says when he brings out the food to put it on the table, pulling out a chair for her.

Mishti eyes widen, face seeming as if she has seen a ghost.

“Me?” she asks pointing to herself, and Samrat nods with an exasperated sigh as if him inviting her to dine with him on the table is the commonest thing in the world.

“Yes, Mishti, you. Now come on, the food’s getting cold.” 

Mishti doesn’t protest. She finds no reason to and simply sits on the table with a huge grin on her face as the man takes a seat opposite her. 

It’s not that she hasn’t eaten on a massive, polished table before. In fact, the table that they have at their homes might rival Samrat’s but it is the incredulity of the situation that is amusing to her. Getting to eat the food cooked by the man who had seemed to be ignoring her past few days, on his table – Yeah, she finds plenty to grin about.

“Stop smiling,” Samrat remarks, narrowing his eyes though only moments later a small smile crawl up his lips. “You’ll be grinning much more when you’ll taste this deliciousness.” 

“Overconfident much?” 

“It called expertise. Now eat.”

Eat Mishti does, her face morphing into that of surprise as the flavours burst on her tongue, the dish competing with Raghav’s cooking. And that is saying something.

Samrat observes the reaction and smirks. “So, how is it?” he asks but before Mishti can start spouting how scrumptious the food is, an idea strikes her mind. 

Lowering her pitch, and deepening her voice she says, “It’s fine.”

It has the desired effect. 

The overconfident smile falls from Samrat’s face as he furrows his brows. “Just fine?” an involuntarily pout graces his face as he asks her that.

She deepens her voice even more, and straightens her back, trying to act even more naturally. 

“Yes, fine. The seasoning was less than my liking, the texture was a bit too cheesy while the look, well let’s just say I’ve seen better-looking dishes.” 

Samrat looks dumbfounded, his mouth closing and opening like a fish.

Mishti bites back an amused grin.