Mishti’s eyes stay stuck at the flaming stove, mindlessly stirring the contents in the pot, physically all well now.

It doesn’t occur to her when the flame grows bigger, trying to capture the lace of her sleeves, all her thoughts focused on her brother’s call that she had got yesterday, the conversation echoing in her mind all the while, her eyes gathering uncalled tears as they blur her vision.

“Hello, Bhai?” Mishti asks with uncertainty lacing her voice, anticipating her brother's reaction with a bated breath.

“Oh, Chutki. I'm glad you picked up the phone quickly. I was so worried.” He says, a breath of relief escaping his mouth.

Mishti imitates the action, a small smile crawling up her lips.

“Of course, bhai –”

“Chutki, lovely, we don't have time to talk right now. Just listen to what I'm saying and don't panic, ok?”
The warning makes Mishti panic, though she nods nonetheless even if her brother isn't able to see her.

“We have to go, Chutki, we have to get out of here." His brother exclaims with alarmed voice, not giving her chance to freak out in earnest at the words as he continues. “They are out to get us. Our doubt on Vineeta Agnihotri was right. She knows everything. She and the agency are working together.” Her brother says and she sits up straight on the bed, momentarily forgetting any kind of fever she had been suffering from.

 “What? Together? That means that the watch, the transaction and the vase –”

“Yes, Chutki, it was all Samrat’s mother. That woman, after her suspension and killing Tara's parents had gone down against her. She – she wanted to ruin her life. Tara had told us that this wasn’t the first time she had been trapped in a situation like that, and had she seen that woman's face, she would have never applied for a job in Samrat's house, even if it was to rob him. But that woman is too sharp, Chutki. She chose Tara for the job because she knew that she was a thief. She wanted to catch her red-handed!” Mihir frets through the other side of the phone, taking quick breaths while Mishti struggles to catch up.

“But then when Samrat's wife, Sakshi, published that article, she got determined to clear her name and get back her reputation. At least that's what we have got to know. And so instead of tracking only a single person, she made a deal with the agency to give her a big prey and they gave us up. All five of us. The agency had been lying to us all along, Chutki. They knew from the very beginning that the woman’s target has changed from Tara to us. They were trying to get us caught! Get you caught.” Mihir cries and Mishti's eyes widen in shock, a constant murmur of "no, no," leaving her mouth, an expression of disbelief.

It was his mother?

She knew about the watch and its location, she knew about the money that Samrat had kept for buying the shares, she knew about the vase, how important it was to her son and how he would have never forgiven her if she would have stolen it.

It was his mother all along. She wanted to catch them… her.

"But bhai, h-how did you know all this? Are you o-ok?" She asks with a fearful voice, imagining all the worst situations in her head.

"I had installed a bug in the orphanage when I had gone there for Daya sir's prayer meet. I had got the idea from Ranvi when he had installed the mic at Samrat's house."

"Here?"

"Not the time, Chutki.... and even though we are safe for now, we won't be for too long. You need to get out of there. I am booking the tickets for all of us, even Tara who we can't track anywhere but I'm sure we'll reach her. Till then pack your bags and get ready to run out of the place. Make sure you don't leave any of your identity markers in that place. Alright? Or your fingerprints. They’ll raid both the house the first thing they find us. I'll text you the time of our flight once I book it. But tomorrow evening we'll be leaving and that's final.”

“Mishti…”

“Mishti!”

“…. Mishti!”

Mishti is shaken out of the memory when a hand pulls her away from the stove, the jerk making her stumble backwards, her back bumping against a chest, arms coming around her to stabilize her.

“Are you ok?” The man, that she recognizes as Samrat, asks, an urgency in his voice. Unknown to why he is freaking out, Mishti nods her head slowly, unable to decipher the way man’s face goes from panicky to angry, gaze overly concerned.

“What is wrong with you? What were you doing?” he asks, yells, as he turns her around to face him.

“Your sleeve….” He holds the said article of cloth and brings her hand in front of her face. The cloth had turned black. “Your sleeve was burning! Where the hell was your attention at? How could you be so careless?” he exclaims in a high-pitched voice while Mishti takes her time to absorb the information, her gaze flitting from her burnt sleeve to Samrat’s furious yet concerned gaze, a part of her brain still somewhere remembering the conversation with her brother.

You need to get out of there!

Her brother had said she had time till today evening, it was still early morning but what was she doing preparing a breakfast when her bags were packed inside. She hadn’t even had the chance to bereft the place of her fingerprints.

“Mishti!”

“Huh?”

“Don’t you think you’ve made a habit out of hurting yourself, first getting your hand injured, then the fever and then this. What, are you looking for excuses to not do this job? Do you want to leave that desperately?” Samrat asks and even though Mishti knows that he’s probably just being sarcastic, she can’t help when the words hit the nail, flicking on the switch on her mind that she had been struggling to keep off, her vision yet again blurring, burning with tears that she tries to keep on bay by down casting her gaze. 

“Mishti?” Samrat’s voice immediately changes from panicked to gentle, so does the grip of his hands on her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry…. I didn’t mean – I was just worried. What if something happened to you? Something worse than this?”

 Leave?

The last thing she wants to do is leave even if it costs her life or freedom. But she’ll have to eventually, wouldn’t she? 

“Mishti, what's wrong? Tell me.”

Tell him? What should she tell him? That she is a con artist, a thief who was here to rob him? That she has been lying to him all this time, disguising as his chef, and now that the lies are on the verge of getting revealed, she has to run. She has to run away from this house, from her job, from him, a person who was a broken stranger for her four years ago but who now means so much more to her, the thought of going away and not seeing him ever again makes Mishti's heart ache like never before.

The same person she had promised not to leave if she ever has the chance.

She’s going to leave him. Yet again.

No. She must make things right. She must tell him everything. She needs to preserve the place in his heart that she has unknowingly created, that is reflected in his eyes whenever he looks at her, that reflects in the curve of his lips whenever he smiles at her, that reflects in the way he speaks to her and only her; so soft and gentle.

She can’t lose this.
She can’t lose him.

The realisation has her looking the man in the eyes for the first time today. It is only now that she sees how his brows have curled in worry, the corner of his mouth drawn downwards, his gaze flitting all over her face, hands cupping her cheeks in air, not daring to touch.

“What’s wrong, love? Tell me.” He asks once more, his voice so hesitant, no more than a whisper but the softness in it has Mishti breaking down.

She doesn't think much before she takes a step forward which considering there prior proximity has her face smushing against his chest, her hands going around to tie behind his back, a sob escaping her mouth getting followed by another one, and another.

Samrat all the while stays still on the spot, his hands hovering over her back, eyes sad and wide, his head turned down to be able to look at the crown of the girl’s head.

“S-Samrat....”

It's that barely audible, whimpered out name that makes Samrat step out of his shocked trance, his hands immediately going around the girl’s frame, trying to accomplish an action that he doesn't remember even doing with his ex-wife.

Just as his hands come around her, holding her tightly against his chest, Samrat feels Mishti exhaling a stuttered breath on his chest that seeps through his shirt right into his heart.

He too doesn't let his inhibitions get the best of him, ducking his face to her shoulder, inhaling into it.

Their succeeding breaths come out in sync, louder and shallower than before, getting lost in a feeling that they both haven’t had the opportunity to relish before.

Mishti's hands travel through the entire spans of his back before settling on his shoulder, all the stress and sadness in her mind getting overpowered by the pleasant feeling blooming inside her heart. Samrat's condition too doesn't get too different from Mishti's as he keeps his hand still on her back but can't help the way his eyes shut close as he feels Mishti smiling in his chest, an almost serene feeling growing in his heart.

“Samrat,” he hears Mishti whispering, voice breathy and melancholic.

“Yeah? Tell me, whatever it is,” he says gently not quite ready to let the girl go and yet wanting to give her a push that she needs.

“I don’t want to go from here.... to leave you. I want to tell you something. You’ll – you’ll hear me out, right? You’ll listen to me?” Mishti asks, desperate, and it's when that Samrat loosens his grip on her as he pulls away only to look right at her face, pink cheeks juxtaposed with eyebrows pinched together. 

He gently strokes against her tear-stained cheek with his thumb, as he gives the girl an encouraging smile of his own.

“Of course, Mishti, of course, I’ll listen to you, in fact, I too want to tell you something.”

The words though only do to increase Mishti's panic, quickly getting at spilling out the truth.

“Samrat, I –”

“Mishti, I –”

They both get interrupted by each other, following which Samrat smiles and Mishti gulps.

“Can I say it first?” Mishti asks an unwanted sheen yet again sheeting her eyes as she sees Samrat nodding.

“Of course. Go ahead,”

“Samrat, I - I am not what you... I – I was here to –” however before any more words can leave her mouth, the doorbell rings, both individual's attention averting to the sound, Samrat's gaze flitting between the door and Mishti.

If only Vivek was here. Pity he has gone out to buy some groceries.

“I'll just check it, ok?” Samrat says.

“But –”

“It’ll only take a moment. It might be Vivek.” He says and Mishti reluctantly nods her head, her gaze falling on his hand that is still tightly clutched into hers.

She loosens her hold and lets him go.

With every step, he takes towards the door, Mishti's heart sinks to her stomach, not wanting to keep the lies in her heart for even a second more.

Samrat takes a long time to come back, seconds passing and then minutes. It is when ten of them pass that she sees someone entering the kitchen.

It's not Samrat.

It's a girl who seems familiar to her, yet the indifference on her face making her a stranger to her.

Mishti peeks behind her to look for Samrat who doesn't seem to follow her.

“Mishti.” The girl says, bringing all her attention towards her.

It is then that Mishti takes another look at the person, her mouth opening into a gasp as she realises who it is.

“Tara!” She says, her brows raised in surprise, yet her lips smiling seeing the girl after all those years, but before she can engulf the girl in a hug, Tara takes a step back, averting her gaze and fixing it on the ground.

Footsteps echo in the kitchen as another pair joins them.

It's Samrat but he doesn't look like he had looked only minutes prior. His face shining with fondness is now crumpled distraughtly, his gaze that had been so loving, so trusting only moments prior is now marred with a shadow of distrust and betrayal, his concerned brows now stitched into a shattered frown, his hands that had been tightly held in hers only minutes ago are now trembling, holding a bunch of sheets that she can't see the content of.

Though Mishti does see among those papers, with wide eyes, a photo of her, and her brother, and their friends.

The photo of her very first mission taken by the agency. The day when she had first met Samrat. Though here there is no scarf covering her face, just bags of stolen stuff surrounding their relieved smiles; her successful mission meant she would stay with her friends and her brother.

Mishti's gaze travels from Samrat to Tara who still isn't looking back at her, her lower lip quivering and eyes pooling with tears.

Mishti gulps thickly, her hands, gripping the counter for support.

“T-Tara... ” She murmurs scared, terrified and it is only then the girl looks at her with wide guilty eyes.

“I’m sorry, Mishti. I'm sorry for what I said to you all those years ago and .... I'm sorry for today.”

Police alarm siren follows her whispered words and Mishti… Mishti can't breathe.