Chapter Six: A Taste He Couldn’t Forget

Morning arrived quietly, as if the night before had never happened.

Poornima Singh Mewar woke up with the same discipline she had built over the years. No matter how heavy her heart felt, mornings were never allowed to show it. She stood in front of the mirror, her expression composed, her eyes betraying nothing of the tears they had shed just hours ago.

Because this was her rule—

The world would never see her break.

Dressed in a crisp ivory shirt and tailored trousers, she tied her hair neatly and stepped out, leaving behind the silence of her penthouse in .

Her destination… her world.

“Saffron Ember.”

A name she had chosen herself. Unique. Warm. A blend of royalty and fire—just like her.

The restaurant stood elegant yet inviting, its interiors glowing with soft amber lights, intricate Rajasthani elements fused seamlessly with modern luxury. It wasn’t just a place to eat.

It was an experience.

Poornima walked in, her presence instantly noticed by the staff.

“Good morning, ma’am,” they greeted respectfully.

“Morning,” she replied softly, her tone calm. “Check the reservations for lunch. And make sure the new batch of saffron is used for the signature dish.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She moved through the space like she belonged—because she did. Every corner, every detail carried her touch. Here, she wasn’t someone’s unwanted past.

She was the creator.

The owner.

The one in control.

Around noon, the doors opened again.

And this time…

Power walked in.

Veeresh Rathore stepped inside, accompanied by his business partner. His sharp eyes scanned the place briefly—not out of curiosity, but out of habit. He observed everything.

The ambiance.
The crowd.
The service.

Efficient. Refined. Thoughtful.

“Not bad,” his partner commented, taking a seat. “This place has a reputation.”

Veeresh didn’t respond immediately, settling into his chair as a waiter approached.

“What would you recommend?” his partner asked casually.

The waiter smiled politely. “Our signature dish, sir—Saffron Ember Laal Maas. It’s a chef’s special.”

Veeresh’s gaze lifted slightly.

“Bring that,” he said. “Two.”

“And something light on the side.”

The order was placed.

As they waited, their conversation naturally drifted to business.

“The Royal Heritage Corridor is moving faster than expected,” his partner said, leaning back. “Construction updates came in this morning.”

Veeresh nodded once, his tone steady.

“Phase one groundwork is complete. Restoration teams have started on the first set of forts.”

“And the investors?”

“Aligned.”

His partner smirked. “Of course they are. You don’t leave room for misalignment.”

Veeresh didn’t react.

Because it was true.

A few minutes later, the food arrived.

The aroma reached them first—rich, deep, layered with spices that felt both bold and refined.

The dish was placed before them.

Saffron Ember Laal Maas.

A perfect blend of fiery Rajasthani flavors, balanced with a subtle richness that made it stand apart. The color was deep red, the texture flawless, the presentation simple yet elegant.

Veeresh picked up his fork, his movements unhurried.

He took a bite.

And paused.

Not visibly.
Not dramatically.

But something… shifted.

The flavors unfolded slowly—spice hitting first, then warmth, then an unexpected smoothness that lingered. It wasn’t just food.

It was crafted.

Intentional.

His partner reacted almost immediately.

“This is…” he let out a short breath, clearly impressed. “This is exceptional.”

Veeresh didn’t respond.

But he took another bite.

And then another.

Because for the first time in a long time…

Something had his attention that wasn’t power, numbers, or control.

“What did he call this again?” his partner asked.

“Saffron Ember Laal Maas,” Veeresh replied, his voice quieter than usual.

As if he was thinking.

Analyzing.

But not in the usual way.

Across the restaurant, unnoticed by him, Poornima stood near the kitchen entrance, watching the floor with quiet focus.

She didn’t see him.

Not yet.

Because some meetings…

Were meant to happen slowly.

Back at the table, the plates were nearly empty.

Veeresh leaned back slightly, his expression unchanged—but his mind wasn’t.

“Call the waiter,” he said.

The staff member arrived promptly.

“Yes, sir?”

“Pack this,” Veeresh said, gesturing lightly. “Same dish. Two portions.”

The waiter nodded. “For takeaway, sir?”

“Yes.”

His partner raised an eyebrow, amused. “Taking food home now?”

Veeresh glanced at him briefly.

“It’s worth it.”

A simple statement.

But coming from him…

It meant more than praise.

Minutes later, as they stepped out of Saffron Ember, the takeaway in his hand, Veeresh cast one last look at the place.

Not out of habit this time.

But out of curiosity.

Something about it lingered.

Not just the food.

Something else.

Something he couldn’t quite place yet.

That evening, back at his estate in , the same dish was served again.

But this time…

There were no meetings.
No conversations.
No distractions.

Just him.

And the taste he couldn’t ignore.

Veeresh took a bite, slower this time.

As if trying to understand it.

As if trying to find the person behind it.

Because nothing this precise…

Nothing this perfectly balanced…

Was accidental.

And Veeresh Rathore didn’t believe in accidents.

Somewhere, unknowingly—

He had just taken the first step closer to her world.