CHAPTER 17 #2
The restaurant glowed with quiet luxury, all muted lights and polished wood. Rajat and Abhimanyu had already ordered a full course. Mishti sat opposite them, smiling as she talked to them, yet her attention was nowhere near the table.
For the third time in ten minutes, she glanced at her phone.
No message.
No call.
Her thumb hovered over the screen, temptation tugging at her, but she stopped herself.
If Karan wanted to reach out, he would. He always did things on his own terms. Still, her thoughts had already travelled back to Wadhwa Mansion.
She pictured the quiet house, the kitchen where she had cooked alone, every dish prepared with so much care.
She wondered if he had reached home yet, if Maria had served him the food, if he had even bothered to taste it.
Or had his anger ruined his appetite? What would his reaction be when he realises that she had obeyed him and still left? Would he eat or would his pride refuse even that small comfort? Or would he come here? Because the invitation was passed to him too.
Across the table, Rajat noticed the crease on her forehead and exchanged a knowing glance with Abhimanyu. With a soft sigh, he leaned back in his chair and spoke gently, “Relax, Mishti. I know you are worried, but Karan is not a child you have left behind with a nanny. He will manage.”
She offered a faint smile, clearly unconvinced.
Abhimanyu leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “He is right. I even texted Bhai the location,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Just in case he feels like dropping by, you know.”
Mishti shook her head slowly, her gaze still fixed on the dark screen of her phone. “Woh nahi aayenge, (he won’t come here),” she said sadly.
She knew him too well. His ego would have taken a hit tonight, and Karan Wadhwa did not walk into places where he felt unwanted or challenged, especially not for explanations he had no intention of giving.
Today was different in another way too. For the first time, he had asked her to cook for him.
A small thing, perhaps, but it had mattered to her.
She should have stayed.
She should have been there, serving him dinner, sitting across from him, sharing that first meal in silence or tension or whatever form it took.
That moment should have belonged to them.
Instead, she had chosen to honour Rajat and Abhimanyu, the two men who had stood by her when she felt most out of place.
She did not regret that choice, yet guilt pressed hard against her chest.
She did not want to ruin their mood by dragging her worry to the surface, but she knew she had hurt her husband tonight. And with Karan, hurt never passed quietly.
The waiter arrived just then, breaking her spiral of thoughts. One by one, the dishes were placed on the table, and aromas filled the space. Plates gleamed, cutlery aligned perfectly, yet her appetite had vanished.
As the last dish was set down, Mishti lifted her eyes once more toward the entrance of the restaurant, her heart betraying a foolish hope.
He would not come.
She knew it even as she wished otherwise.
Her fingers curled together under the table. If nothing else, she hoped he had eaten. That he had at least tasted the food she made for him. That he had not let anger win over hunger.
Then, with a quiet exhale, she finally looked back at the table, forcing herself to be present, even as her thoughts stayed behind, waiting in her house that suddenly felt too far away.
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When she returned home around eleven thirty with Abhimanyu, the first thing Mishti did was look for Maria.
She did not even pause to take off her footwear properly. The question had been lingering in her mind all through the drive back, growing heavier with every passing minute. The moment she saw Maria in the corridor, she asked her urgently, “Did Karan have dinner?”
Maria hesitated, her eyes dropping for a brief second before she answered. That hesitation alone was enough for Mishti to know.
“No, Ma’am,” Maria replied. “Sir refused to eat. Since you were not home, he did not want dinner. He went to bed without eating.”
She stood there, stunned, guilt spreading slowly through her chest. He had actually slept hungry. Not because there was no food, but because she had not been there.
Abhimanyu, sensing her distress, placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t worry so much,” he said lightly, trying to soften the moment. “Bhai’s ego needs a little trimming anyway. You cooked for him. You even invited him for dinner, clearly. What was the harm in joining us all for one meal?”
Mishti nodded faintly, though the ache did not lift. “Still,” she murmured, “I shouldn’t have left.”
Abhimanyu smiled and added, “He will be fine tomorrow. And anyway, I am going to eat the rajma chawal myself in the morning. No breakfast for me, only that. You know I love it too. Tonight, I am already full, but tomorrow, for sure.”
That earned a small, fragile smile from her.
They parted for the night soon after. Mishti returned to her room, exhaustion finally settling into her bones.
She considered checking on Karan, even standing outside his door for a moment.
But the thought of facing his anger drained whatever strength she had left.
The day had already been too long. The office, the boardroom, the cooking, the emotional strain, and then the dinner.
She simply did not have it in her to withstand another confrontation.
Tomorrow, she decided to speak to him. But sleep refused to come.
Even by the time the clock crept past two in the morning, she was still awake, staring at the ceiling, the image of Karan going to bed hungry replaying relentlessly in her mind.
Restless and uneasy, she finally gave in.
She slipped out of bed, pulled a soft pink robe over her nightgown, and stepped quietly out of her room, straight down the stairs without sound.
Her first instinct was to check the bar counter at the far end of the living room.
Karan had a habit of drinking late into the night when his thoughts refused to settle.
But the bar was empty.
The absence of any glass or bottle told her he was not there. Which meant he was in his room. She exhaled softly and turned back, deciding to return.
That was when she noticed a faint glow of light spilling from the kitchen. She frowned slightly. Had someone forgotten to turn it off? Or was Maria still awake?
Curiosity pulled her forward.
She walked slowly toward the kitchen, and the moment she crossed the threshold, she froze.
Karan was there.
Not just standing. He was eating.
He stood at the marble counter, shirtless, dressed only in grey joggers, his broad back facing her. A plate lay in front of him with the food she had cooked with her own hands. He had reheated it, served himself, and was eating quietly, not letting anyone know about his hunger.
For a moment, she simply stood there, unable to move. He looked different like this. So soft…So human.
The anger that usually clung to him was absent. He was just hungry. And he was clearly enjoying the meal.
Her eyes stung unexpectedly.
So, despite all those tantrums, he had eaten after all. Not to prove a point. But because his body had demanded it, and hopefully because somewhere inside him, he had wanted what she had made.
Karan did not know yet she was there. The dim kitchen light did not reveal her presence, and his attention was entirely on the plate as he relished the food. She folded her arms loosely across her chest, leaning against the doorway, watching him with a softness she did not try to hide anymore.
Karan then served himself a portion of the moong dal halwa next, scooping it carefully, tasting it with a spoon, separate from the rest of the meal. The way he paused for half a second after the first bite told her everything.
He loved it.
Her lips curved into a soft smile, one filled with relief. Whatever walls stood between them, whatever anger and pride still separated them, this moment felt strangely intimate. He was eating her food in the middle of the night, alone. She stayed where she was, silent, letting him have that moment.
Karan was almost eating too fast, driven by hunger and by how unexpectedly good it tasted, when he suddenly felt a presence beside him.
A glass of water was placed quietly on the counter, close enough for his fingers to reach without effort.
The simple sound of glass touching marble made him pause, and he turned only to find Mishti standing there.
For a fraction of a second, he was shocked. He had not expected her to find him like this, in the middle of the night, eating the food she had cooked. It was a moment he had meant to keep to himself.
Without a word, he picked up the glass she had brought and drank the water in long, steady gulps, his throat moving visibly as he swallowed. When he placed the glass back down, his expression had already hardened again.
Mishti did not comment on having caught him eating. Instead, she smiled softly, the kind of smile that carried care rather than triumph. “I kept the spice low,” she said gently. “I know you don’t like your food too spicy. I hope it was okay.”
His jaw tightened instantly. The question was too intimate, too domestic, for his liking, so he did not answer.
She read the tension immediately.
Not wanting to intrude further, she let out a quiet sigh and decided to leave. When she took a step away from the counter, his hand closed around her arm.
The contact startled her.
Mishti turned back in confusion. A flicker of nervousness passed through her eyes. But before she could speak, before she could pull away, Karan moved. He lifted her with such ease that it left her breathless, as if she weighed nothing at all, and placed her on the marble counter behind her.
The action was swift and undeniably intimate.