Pride (20/4) | OS Series: Peccatum | UPDATED- Page 19 | COMPLETE - Page 4

The silver tiffin box sat on the edge of the desk mockingly, taunting him with its shiny skin that left pretty light formations on the walls of the room. It contrasted well with the ebony of the desk, shining brightly in the glaring sunlight.

He glared at it angrily, feeling his irritation rise as it sat there. It was forbidden, only increasing his desire for the goods inside. He could feel himself salivating as his stomach grumbled in protest, longing for the delicious food sure to be inside the tiffin box.

He glanced over at the clock. It was noon, just in time for lunch. They had just finished a long, difficult morning, heading down to Biripur to interrogate more people in the hopes of finding the elusive Raja Thakur. They hadn't had any success, and everyone was irritated as a result.

From the cafeteria, he could smell the slightly sour flavors wafting down from the army kitchens. He grimaced, knowing that he really should make his way down there and eat lunch with the rest of his colleagues.

"Saab, if you're not going to eat it, at least let me eat it." He shot an irritated glare at the guard standing by the door. The man shrunk back, slipping once again into the shadows as he resumed his position.

He continued to glare the box down, as if he was attempting to burn it with his gaze. How dare it taunt him like that, sitting on the desk as if it had done no wrong? His tongue slipped out, wetting his dry lips, and he winced as he felt his stomach grumble once more.

"Bhabhi's cooking is absolutely phenomenal- her food tastes just like my mother's." He could hear the satisfied murmurs of the men outside, having just finished eating the inviting food sent by her. His hands twitched, begging him to give into the temptation.

His hands reached out unwittingly and pulled the silvery container towards himself. He opened it slowly as the steam swirled out, allowing the delicious vapors to permeate the air. His eyes closed as he licked his lips, inhaling the smell in deeply.

He glanced at the neatly written note on top of the container, the script impeccable and perfectly straight across the small piece of paper.

This is your favorite, isn't it? I know it probably isn't as tasty as your mother's, but I hope it comes close.

A soft smile graced his face, all hesitation of delving into the delicacies housed within the innocent box dropped. He reached in, pulling a piece off of an impossibly soft poori. He dipped it into the spicy broth, allowing the pillowy dough to absorb the flavors of the chole, cooked just enough to have a nice bite to it.

He nearly groaned out loud at the flavors dancing on his tongue. The fried, delicate poori was laden with the vibrant spices of the chole. He could taste the finely ground powders, roasted with just the right amount of heat. The onions and the garlic were sauteed to a gentle caramelization, lending a slightly sweet taste to the savory meal.

He could resist no longer. His hands worked of their own volition, reaching in over and over again to tear off pieces of poori, dipping them in with no hesitation. For the first time in years, he felt as if he was eating his mother's food, reminding him of long summers back home where she would painstakingly feed him with her own hands. He had not had such delicious food since then, resorting instead to the brittle rotis and overcooked dal that the army dumped on their plates in the name of food.

As he finally reached the end, stretching eagerly towards the sticky rounds of jalebi that sat in the accompanying bin, he heard the door creak open. His fingers were stained with the thick syrup of the crispy, orange rings, dripping down his pointer finger as he clutched the sweet guiltily.

"Aman, what are you doing?" The sharp voice of his senior rang out, the familiar click of his boots echoing in the empty room. He turned slowly to face him, holding the jalebi like a criminal caught with a bag full of loot. He cowered under Rudra's narrowed, piercing gaze, mentally cursing himself for not being more vigilant.

"Uh- woh- ji- main..." He attempted to come up with a suitable excuse for the situation he was in, but found himself tongue tied, completely at a loss.

"Is her food really that good? All I hear, everywhere I go, is praises of that woman's cooking." The bitterness in his boss's mouth was not shocking, especially in relation to the woman at question. He knew Rudra resented the fact that his wife had won over his entire crew with seemingly no effort, her flouncing ghagras and brilliant smiles enchanting and distracting everyone in the BSD.

It was not unusual to hear Rudra bark loudly at a poor soldier who had come to tell him of his wife's latest accomplishment, complimenting her on her savory lunches that she sent every single Friday for the people who worked closely with her husband. As a symbol of protest towards his lovely wife, Rudra would often not even touch the lunch she adoringly packed for him, choosing to ignore it and toss it away. But she was undeterred, and she would often pack food for Aman as well.

Until now, Aman had maintained a careful loyalty towards Rudra, who was like an elder brother to him. Rudra had taken him in when his parents had passed away, caring for him and admonishing him as a sibling. Aman's fondness for Rudra stemmed from the gratefulness and the respect he had for the stern man.

But he was not immune to Paro's charms. He could hardly resist her when she called him Bhaiyya in that impossibly soft voice, her eyes widening and her lower lip trembling as if she was about to burst into tears.

He had defied his boss only once before, and that was for the woman his boss had married, ushering her into the haveli against strict orders. Rudra was not amused, and Aman had gotten an earful later, but it had resulted in their marriage and a delighted smile from Paro Bhabhi, making the yelling entirely worth it.

He couldn't stand the sight of sadness in her eyes, and he had seen it every single time two tiffin boxes went home untouched. It was subtle, and she would quickly mask it with her bubbly countenance, but Aman could see that she was hurt by Rudra's distance from her.

Aman, for his part, knew that his boss was not as untouched as he liked to seem. He would force Aman to give back the tiffin instead, unable to bear the sight of her deflation. When she was sick for a week, Rudra paced around, barking at Aman angrily and making him run to the haveli every two hours to check on her. They had only been married for a month, but Aman could see the clear affection for the stubborn girl in Rudra's icy heart.

He claimed he wanted revenge on her, but his mask would inevitably fall at the slightest sign of her discomfort, forcing him to justify his actions with harsh words that rang unconvincingly in the air.

Aman shook himself, surprised by the silence from his constantly crabby senior that had a habit of yelling out orders on repeat. He looked up from his sticky hands to see Rudra digging into the chole poori that his wife had sent, completely oblivious to the shocked and satisfied gaze of Aman resting upon him.

He watched as Rudra licked his fingers clean, sucking every last bit of the chole off of them. He smirked in amusement as his harsh boss's eyes fluttered shut as the jalebi melted in his mouth, the remains of the sugary sweet sticking to the edges of his lips.

Rudra suddenly felt very aware of Aman's knowing gaze, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His eyes flitted about the room, avoiding the satisfied smirk that played at Aman's lips.

"Kaisa tha?" He could hear the "I told you so" in Aman's voice, and he didn't like it one bit. That damned girl would be the death of him, turning his own right hand man against him in their battle. He cleared his throat, reaching for the glass of water and attempting to wash away the taste of her food. He had no luck.

"Tikh tha. Not that great." He said gruffly.

Aman bit down on his lower lip, hiding a chuckle and nodding at Rudra's obvious discomfort. He heard the soft knock of Paro Bhabhi on the thick, wooden door, and reached out to collect the shiny, empty tiffin boxes lying on the table. Rudra looked away, busying himself with examining the small cracks in his desk.

Aman swung open the door to see her expectant face. Only adorned with her mangal sutra, simple, gold chudis and a streak of sindoor, his Bhabhi was radiant as she greeted him with a small namaste.

Aman couldn't hold back his smile at the sheer joy in her face when he handed her two, empty tiffin boxes. Her face seemed to glow in the light as a thrilled smile stretched across her face. He could hear the chime of her payals fade as she slipped away, carrying the boxes with satisfaction.

When he turned around, his boss was staring off into space, a tiny grin curving up his lips underneath the carefully trimmed mustache. Aman turned around, quietly shutting the door behind him.

His boss would learn the hard way that no one, could say no to Parvati Rudra Pratap Ranawat. Especially when it came to matters of the stomach.