Jayant

Yesterday, Miss Murty had dropped the idea of going out for coffee when I asked her. I thought maybe she just needed time. But today-today was supposed to be different. I waited for her with a restlessness I couldn't hide, pacing the corridor instead of sitting in my cabin. My eyes flicked toward the office entrance every few seconds. My heart was drumming louder than the silence of the morning.

After what happened yesterday, I thought... no, I felt something had changed. There was a softness in her laugh, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. For once, we weren't boss and employee-we were just two people standing at the edge of something we couldn't name yet.

And then the door opened.

There she was-Miss Murty. Walking in slowly, poised as always, but her eyes... they didn't search for mine. She walked right past me. No glance. No greeting. Nothing. As if I were invisible. As if yesterday had never happened.

I stood there, frozen. Shocked.

I stood there frozen, watching her walk away, her heels echoing against the marble floor, every step sounding like a door shutting in my face.

It stung.
More than it should have.

I called after her, trying to keep my voice neutral.
"Miss Murty, are you alright?"

She turned slightly but didn't look at me. "I'm fine, sir. By the way Good morning." Her voice was composed. Too composed. And then she walked away to her desk without another word.

How was my morning supposed to be good when she had just walked away like that-leaving me stranded in a moment that felt more like a goodbye than a beginning?

Then just like that, she walked to her desk and sank into her seat, busying herself in emails like nothing had happened. Like we hadn't happened.

And I just stood there, trying to remember how to breathe.

How could she forget everything so easily? The way she had looked at me yesterday. The way her voice trembled when she teased. The way she blushed when I got too close.

Was it all in my head?

I couldn't take it anymore.

I walked to her desk, each step feeling heavier than the last.
"Miss Murty... I need to talk to you."

I barely finished the sentence when she turned to a colleague nearby and engaged him in some conversation about a presentation-completely dismissing me, as if I hadn't even spoken.

And I...
I just stood there.
Like a fool.

A thousand things I wanted to say froze on my lips. Instead, I turned away quietly and walked back into my cabin. The door clicked shut behind me, but the silence inside felt louder than ever.

I sat in my chair and stared out the window, but my thoughts kept circling the same question.

What changed overnight?

Or worse-was I the only one who felt anything at all?

Her ignorance wasn't just painful-it was infuriating. A quiet kind of fury that coils beneath your skin and demands an outlet. I couldn't sit with it any longer. I needed answers. Or at least a moment alone with her.

I turned to Vijay, my assistant, and said curtly, "Call Miss Murty to my cabin."

Maybe if we spoke alone, away from the eyes and silence of the office, I could ask what changed.

But a few minutes later, when the door opened, it wasn't just her.

She had brought her team member with her.

A subtle move, but a deliberate one. Clever.

I looked up, hiding my disappointment behind a blank expression. Clever move. Intentional, no doubt. She had made sure I wouldn't get the chance to ask anything beyond work.

So that's what we did-work.

We discussed deliverables, budgets, strategy. Or so I assume-that's what the others were talking about. My mind was somewhere else entirely, trapped between her silence and my need for clarity.
I nodded in the right places, contributed where necessary, but my mind was fixated on her. On the way she carefully avoided eye contact. On how perfectly she played the role of the focused professional-calm, efficient, detached.

When the meeting drew to a close, the team began to rise, gathering papers and laptops, preparing to leave.

I saw my final chance slipping through my fingers.

"Miss Murty," I said, trying to keep my voice neutral. "Could you stay back for a moment?"

For the first time, she hesitated. Just a fraction of a second. Then came the rehearsed reply, smooth and emotionless.

"I'm afraid I have a meeting scheduled in five minutes with vip client, sir. Perhaps we can speak later?"

She was gone before I could say another word.

And I couldn't push. Not in front of everyone. Not when professionalism hung in the air like a warning.

So I sat there, watching the door close behind her, the words I needed to say still lodged in my throat.

I wasn't sure what hurt more-
her silence or my inability to break it.

I'd tried. God knows I had.

When she looked tired, buried behind her screen, I didn't call anyone else. I made the coffee myself and placed it quietly on her desk-hoping she'd look up, maybe smile. She didn't. Not even a nod.

And still, I kept trying. Found excuses to walk past her space. Waited for a moment when we were alone so I could talk-really talk-but every attempt was met with the same cold wall. She dodged me with practiced ease. Ignored me like it was effortless.

And yet... I couldn't stop watching her.

As the hours passed and the golden tint of evening crept into the office windows, I noticed something had changed.

Her composure was unraveling, thread by thread.

She looked... lost. Not physically. Just distant. Her brows were slightly furrowed, her fingers stilled too long on the keyboard. Something was bothering her.

And that's when I realized-she hadn't left yet.

Normally, she was the first to leave when office hours ended. Efficient. Timely. Almost mechanical. But today, she stayed.

Minutes ticked by.

Everyone else had packed up and left, but she remained, her fingers trembling slightly as they hovered over the keyboard.

I stepped out of my cabin and walked toward her.

Itna bhi jyda kaam nhi hai ki tum overtime Karo.
"Today's workload doesn't exactly justify overtime," I said, my tone intentionally casual, though my heart wasn't.

She didn't even glance at me. Just calmly began gathering her things, the same mechanical grace she used to distance herself all week.

"I was just leaving," she replied flatly.

No explanation. No emotion.

She picked up her bag and walked away, her heels echoing faintly in the now-empty corridor.

And I just stood there.

Leaning against the edge of her desk, watching her disappear again-not just from the room, but from whatever fragile connection I thought we still had.

I didn't stop her.

I didn't call after her this time. What was the point?

She had mastered the art of walking away.

And I, apparently, had mastered the curse of watching her do it.

Outside the office building, Shreya didn't wait for her cab like she usually did.
She simply walked away.

No direction. No urgency. Just... walking.

There was something in her eyes-a weight she was carrying, something heavy and restless. She looked lost in a way that made my chest tighten. So I stepped out of my car, ready to catch up to her... but before I could call out, she hailed an auto and disappeared into the night.

Without thinking, I got into my car and followed.

She got off near a large mall and walked inside without hesitation. I parked as quickly as I could and went in after her, scanning every floor, every aisle. And then-I found her.

She was strolling slowly, licking an ice cream cone, but her smile was a lie. Her eyes kept flicking to her phone again and again, like she was waiting for a message that wasn't coming.

She wandered into the clothing section, trying on elegant gowns-blues, reds, blacks. She looked at herself in the mirror, forcing a smile, tilting her head as if trying to convince her reflection that she was fine. But I could see through it.
She didn't buy a single thing.

Moments later, she bought a single movie ticket. And I followed her inside.

I sat two rows behind. She didn't notice me-of course she didn't. The lights dimmed. The film began. It was supposed to be funny. People laughed.

She didn't.

Instead, halfway through, her shoulders started to shake. Then the soft sound of crying reached me.
She was sobbing. Quietly, but completely.
My heart clenched at the sight.

I wanted to go to her. Wrap her in my arms. Tell her whatever it was-whatever she was fighting-she didn't have to fight it alone.

But before I could move, she stood and walked out.

I followed again. At this point, I couldn't stop.
By now, it was late. The streets were mostly empty. I found her again-walking alone, hugging her arms to her body. That was it. I couldn't stay in the shadows anymore.

I walked up to her, took her hand without asking, and gently guided her toward my car.

"Mr. Patil, what are you doing?" she asked, trying to pull away.

But I held on-firm, not forceful. "Let me drop you home," I said.

"I don't want to go my home" she snapped.

I didn't think. I just blurted it out. "Then come to mine."

The world went still. For a moment, time froze around us.
Even she went quiet.

I started the car, but my mind was a mess. What did I just say?

What would she think of me?
What if she thinks I'm taking advantage? What if I've ruined everything?

She didn't protest, but she didn't say yes either. I started driving, not sure where I was going-just circling roads, trying to figure out what I had just done.

I drove in circles for a while, unsure what to do. Then I decided-I'd at least try to understand what was really bothering her.

"What's wrong, Shreya?" I asked gently.

She crossed her arms and looked out the window. "Nothing," she replied, clearly lying.

"To phir tum apne ghar kyu nhi ja rhi ho" ("Then why won't you go home?")

"Bas mera man nhi hai" ("I just don't feel like it,") she muttered.

"Kya tum bhi... nhi btana hai mat btao, lekin yeh aise pata chal jane wale jhuth mat bolo"
("Come on. Don't give me half-truths. If you don't want to tell me, say that. But don't hide behind excuses.")

She snapped. "Haan mujhe nhi batana hai" ("Fine. I don't want to tell you.")

"Alright," I said. I was about to say something else when she turned toward me with sudden heat.

"Kya aap ek hi road me baar baar ghumna band karenge, aapko apne ghar le kar nhi jana hai to kisi hotel ke paas drop kr dijiye mujhe" ("Can you stop circling the same road over and over again?" she said sharply. "If you're not taking me to your place, drop me at a hotel. I'll take care of myself.")

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

"...Okay," I said quietly, then turned the car toward my home.

The air between us was thick, awkward, uncomfortable. So I tried to ease it.

"I still remember the first time I saw you," I said with a soft laugh. "You shattered my car's windshield. I've had enemies less destructive."

I glanced at her. "You're different, Shreya. Tough, unpredictable, full of fire. And whatever you're carrying inside you right now... I know you'll face it. You always do. watching her from the corner of my eye. "That's who you are. My strong Shreyu."

"What?" she said suddenly.

"What 'what'?" I replied, confused.

"What did you just call me?"

"Shreyu? You don't like the nickname?" I teased.

And then she said it-low, defiant, aching:
"My Shreyu? I'm not your Shreyu."

"Did I say that" I said

We pulled up in front of my apartment building just then.
She went silent, staring out the window.

Her earlier grief seemed to fade as curiosity took over. She looked up at the building, eyes wide, taking in every detail. But she didn't say a word-just kept staring, like something in her had shifted.

And for the first time that night, she wasn't pretending anymore.

When I show sparkle in her eyes by seeing by house, i realised She wasn't mine. I knew that but from this moment I want to make her mine.
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"Why are you ringing the doorbell?" she asked, brows raised as I reached for the button. "Use your key."

I paused, looked at her, then at the door again. "Because I don't have the key."

"You don't have your house key?" she asked, clearly annoyed.

"Nope. Someone inside will open it."

She frowned. "Wait... someone? You mean like... your house help?"

I blinked. "No. My family."

Her face drained of color.

"Your what?" she whispered.

"My family. My parents."

Her jaw dropped. "You brought me to your parents' house? At 11:43 p.m.?"

I gave a small shrug. "Yeah."

She stared at me like I'd just declared I lived with a pet tiger. "Oh my God! I thought-like every other CEO-you lived alone in a sleek, luxury apartment."

"Where's it written that CEOs have to live alone?" I teased.

She stared at me for a second, half in shock, half in amusement. "Are you really this innocent, or is it just an act?"

"Innocent?" I raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"

But before I could get a proper answer, she turned sharply and began walking back toward the car. "Just drop me off at a hotel," she muttered. "This is too much."

"Wait-at least tell me what the problem is," I called out, following her.

"Well, clearly I was wrong!" she huffed, dramatically placing her hand on her forehead like she was about to faint. "You live with your mom and dad?!"

"Why are you reacting like I've brought you home to meet them for marriage?" I laughed.

"Because this feels like that! Are they even awake?"

Before I could reply, she kept going, flustered. "God, I'm not dressed for parents! I look like someone who ran away from home, not like a guest. I didn't even brush my hair!"

"You look fine," I said sincerely.

She shot me a glare. "Stop trying to make this normal. It's not."

Before she could answer, the door clicked open.

We both froze.

There, standing at the door in a simple cotton saree and the warmest smile, was my mother.

And just like that-Shreya changed.

Her eyes widened. Her posture stiffened.

Her eyes twinkled. "Why are you both fighting outside like street kids? Come in. Who's this, Jayant?"

Before I could say a word, Shreya straightened up like she was standing at attention in front of a general.

"This is Shreya Murty," I said smoothly. "She works with us."

My mother gave Shreya a warm, knowing smile. "Ahh. Come in, beta."

Shreya gave the most painfully polite "Namaste Aunty" I've ever heard in my life-like her soul was trying to flee her body.

Then as my mom turned to go back inside, Shreya elbowed me hard in the ribs.
"Mr. Patil abhi bhi u-turn le skte hai." ("Mr. Patil we can still take a U-turn.")

I grinned, clutching my side. "You elbowed the CEO. That's workplace violence."

"Consider it mercy. You're lucky I didn't strangle you at the door!"

Still grumbling, she stepped inside. I followed her with a smirk on my face and a strange warmth in my chest.

As soon as we stepped inside, Mom did what she always does-switched into full interrogation mode, but with that sweet smile that made it hard to say no.

"So, where are you from, beta? What do you do? Family in Delhi?" she asked Shreya, motioning her to sit in the living room.

Shreya answered politely, still visibly flustered and trying hard to keep her posture straight like she was at a job interview. I could see her eyes darting around the living room, probably wondering what fresh hell she'd walked into.

"Sit, sit. I'll bring some water," Mom said warmly and disappeared into the kitchen.

I quickly followed her. "Maa, please don't ask her why she's here this late," I whispered. "She's already uncomfortable. She'll feel worse."
Mom smirking "Fine. I'll ask you instead. Why is she here?"

I hesitated, then said honestly, "She needed a place to stay tonight. I couldn't leave her alone, so I brought her here."

Mom raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What happened-are there no hotels left in all of Delhi?"

I exhaled and rolled my eyes.

Then after a pause, she said quietly, "You've never brought any girl home before... except Alisha."

I rubbed the back of my neck. "Maa... not now."

"What? I'm just saying," she replied with a mischievous smirk. "Now come. She's waiting."

We returned to the living room with two glasses of water. Mom handed one to Shreya with a warm smile. "Beta, did you already eat, or would you like something?"

Shreya, already overwhelmed, started shaking her head. "No no, Aunty, thank you. I'm fine."

"She hasn't eaten," I said, betraying her in less than a second.

Mom didn't miss a beat. "Then no more discussion. You both sit, I'll bring food."

Shreya gave me a look like she was going to murder me with her eyes. I just smiled and shrugged, sinking into the chair beside her.

Within minutes, Mom returned with plates of warm homemade food. She served Shreya like she was feeding her own daughter-offering second helpings, insisting she try the sabzi, adding a little more rice even when Shreya said she was full. And Shreya... surprisingly, didn't resist too much. In fact, a softness had crept into her eyes.

At one point, she turned to me and asked gently, "Your dad's not home?"

I nodded. "He's away on work. He'll be back tomorrow morning."

Mom added, "Now I remember, once he told me about you. I think he liked you."

Shreya nodded slowly. "Yes, he was kind."

After dinner, Mom stood up and stretched. "Come on, beta. I'll show you the guest room-you'll sleep here tonight."

Shreya followed her quietly from hall. I stayed back, watching the two of them disappear into the soft-lit corridor. The house had gone oddly still.

A few moments later, Mom stepped out again and glanced back at me.

"She's a good girl," she said softly.

I didn't reply. I just gave her a small, helpless smile.

One of those smiles you give when you don't know what's happening, but you know something has already changed. And it's a good change.

I knocked gently on the guest room door.
"May I come in?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

From inside, I heard her soft chuckle.
"You never ask for permission when you lean way too close Mr. Patil. But now you want permission to enter this room?"

I smiled faintly, pushing the door open. "Don't flirt like that," I said, eyes cast downward as I stepped in. "Tum to Bhool Jaogi lekin main nhi bhool paunga" ("You forget the next day... I don't.")

She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, looking relaxed-almost too relaxed for someone staying at her boss's house at midnight. I walked over and sat across from her on the couch, trying to keep the space respectful.

She tilted her head, studying me like she could see right through the armor I wore all day at work.
"This is your house," she said teasingly. "Is that why you're pretending to be such a good man? Are you trying to impress me?"

I gave her a crooked smile. "are you impressed?"

"A little," she said with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

I said on my defence. "Then it good by the way, I'm always a nice guy."

"Oh really? And here I thought you were the 'arrogant-but-brooding' CEO with tragic eyes."

"That's very specific."

She grinned. "It's on-brand."

We both chuckled. There was a strange warmth settling between us, like the world outside this room didn't matter tonight.
"Now go! Or I won't let you sleep tonight," she said with mock sternness.

I didn't catch the look in her eyes when she said it. I didn't fully understand what she meant. Maybe she didn't either.

So instead, I said quietly, "No... I want to talk to you."

She raised a brow. "Just talk?"

"Yes," I replied. "You said you wanted to know who I am outside the office, right? So know me. The way I'm trying to know you."

"Mr. Patil..." she began.

I stood up and walked toward her, then gently sat at the edge of the bed, not too close-just enough.
"Start by calling me Jayant," I said softly.

She froze a little, her shoulders tensing as if my presence had just become real in a different way.
Her voice was lower now. "Jayant... whatever happened yesterday-was harmless. Just office flirting. That's all it was, to me."

I nodded slowly. "But it wasn't, to me. And I'm not asking you to feel something you don't. I'm just asking for a chance."

She didn't respond. She just sat there, still and quiet, her eyes locked onto mine like she was hearing something she wasn't ready for-but also couldn't ignore.

That stunned her into silence. I didn't push further. I just let the truth sit there, quiet and honest.

"I know I have no right to ask you what's wrong," I added. "And I won't. I could find out-believe me, I'm capable of it-but I won't. Because that's not how I want to know you. Because until you give me the right to know your pain... I won't cross that line."
I continue "i want to know you from you...I want to understand you through your own words, not from others."

She looked at me differently then. Like she wasn't expecting me to understand, but maybe-just maybe-I did.

Then her phone ring.

Whatever softness was in her gaze vanished. The way her expression changed-so fast, so sharp-it felt like I'd just watched a wall rebuild itself in seconds. I didn't ask anything. I simply stood I stood up, gently. "I'll give you a minute."And I walked out. closing the door behind me, giving her the space she clearly needed.

In the hallway, I suddenly remembered something: we were supposed to go for coffee today. It never happened. Maybe this was the moment to make it right.

I went to the kitchen, made two mugs of coffee, and returned-holding them both carefully, steam rising between my fingers. And this time, I didn't knock.

I just walked in.

Her face was turned toward the window, The city lights spilled in through the glass, painting her silhouette in silver.
I stood by the doorway, two coffee mugs warming my palms, unsure whether to step forward or give her space.

In a low, careful voice, I said, "Let's talk... over coffee. You tell me something about you, and I'll tell you something about me."

She didn't turn. Her voice came out strained-heavier than usual, as though it was carrying too much.
"Don't" she whispered. "Don't talk to me right now. Please... if you say anything, I'll destroy whatever little beautiful this night had. I'll ruin it."

And I understood. There was something so fragile in her tone, like a glass on the verge of cracking. I didn't know what had broken her-but I could feel the weight of it even in the silence that followed.

I didn't move closer. I just said gently, "You can't ruin this. Not for me. And I won't let you ruin it for yourself either."

And something shifted.

She turned. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. And the next moment, she crossed the room and threw her arms around me-sudden, desperate, real.

I froze.

Not because I didn't want it. But because I didn't expect it.

Her grip was tight, almost trembling. As if she was holding on to the only thing that made sense in that moment. I stood still, caught off guard, both hands still holding the coffee. I didn't want to break the moment, but I also didn't want to spill it all over us. I took a few steps back to set the mugs down on table-and she followed, not loosening her embrace.

And when my hands were free, I wrapped them around her. Tighter than I'd ever hugged anyone. The kind of hug you give when you don't know how to say "I'm here," when words are too weak to carry the comfort your heart wants to offer.

It felt like the world paused.

Then she pulled back slightly, just enough to look up. Her face was close-too close-and our breaths tangled in the space between us. Her heartbeat echoed against my chest.

And then, without warning, she rose onto her toes and kissed me.

Soft. Warm. Real.

I froze again.

It was my first kiss. And not just that-my first kiss ever, and she had given it to me. Her lips moved gently against mine, and her hands slid slowly along my back, searching for safety, for closeness, for something that made her feel less alone.

I stood there, lost between disbelief and desire. Was this real? Or just some fever dream that would vanish with morning light?

Then instinctively, I opened my eyes. And it hit me.

She was hurting.
It was soft. Long. And it ached.

But not with romance-with sorrow.

It wasn't a kiss of love. It was a kiss of need. Of desperation. Of trying to feel something in a world where everything felt too loud or too empty.

I didn't kiss her back.
Not because I didn't want to...
But because it didn't feel right.

I slowly pulled away. My hands stayed on her arms, gently. not with rejection, but with clarity. "You're not yourself right now," I said quietly. "So don't... You'll regret it."

Her brows furrowed, confusion flickering in her expression. But I didn't wait for a reply.

I stepped away from her, walked to the door, pausing before I left.

"If you need me, I'm here," I said, voice heavy. "But not for this. Not when your heart is hurting."

And I left the room.
Because I wanted her-but not when she was lost in pain. Not when she might wake up and question it all. I could be there for her. I wanted to be. But I wouldn't take advantage of a moment that wasn't meant to be shared that way.

Not even if she asked me to.

I didn't sleep that night.
And I don't think she did either.

We were in the same house. But miles apart in grief.

Sometimes, even closeness can't fix what's broken.

I kept replaying it in my head-the way she hugged me, the way her lips had touched mine.

It should've been the most beautiful moment of my life.

But it wasn't.
It didn't feel right.
Not because of her-but because of why it happened.

She did it in pain.
And love... love shouldn't look like that.

Since that moment, I hadn't been able to think straight. My footsteps kept taking me to her door, and then circling back like a coward. I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to understand her. But something inside me froze every time I got too close.

Maybe it was fear.
Or guilt.
Or maybe... heartbreak in a form I didn't yet recognize.

I wasn't even sure if I was angry at her. Maybe I should've been. Maybe a part of me was. But mostly... I was just lost.

What do you do when someone kisses you, not because they love you-but because they're breaking inside?

And what do you call that kiss?

A memory?
A wound?
A gift you never asked for?

That night keeps coming back in flashes. Her arms around me. Her shaking breath. Her lips. My stillness. Her silence after.

I don't even know what that kiss meant to her. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. But for me-it was both.

Because it was my first.

My first kiss.

And yet, it felt like it didn't belong to me. Like it wasn't mine to treasure. It left something behind in me I couldn't shake off-like a thread still tying me to her pain.

I don't even know if I love her.
I wish I could say I did.
I wish I could say I didn't.
But what I do know is this-there's something between us.

Something real.
And whatever it is, it's not letting me move on. Not letting me forget.

Not letting me stay away.
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