Her fingers tightened around the file as she stepped out of the conference room, but her heart felt even tighter — like someone had wrapped it in cold wire.
Why did it hurt?
Why did he have to speak like that?
Why did it matter so much how he spoke?
It shouldn't.
He was her boss.
She was an intern.
This was a workplace, not a… whatever yesterday had been.
Yesterday had been—
No.
She squeezed her eyes shut.
She wouldn't think about that soft "thank you."
Wouldn't think of catching him watching her in the glass.
Wouldn't think about how the room felt different when he entered.
She walked quickly, almost stumbling as she reached her desk and collapsed into her chair. Her hands shook a little when she opened the file to correct the error.
One number.
Just one stupid, tiny number.
She'd checked everything so carefully, but her mind was everywhere — on the job, on the environment, on— … him.
She hated how true that was.
NK suddenly leaned over the dividing partition with a dramatic gasp.
"Khushiji!"
He whispered loudly, glancing toward the conference room.
"Are you okay? I thought his laser-eyes were going to burn through the table."
She blinked at him, startled.
"I—I'm fine."
"No, you're not," NK said, flopping into the empty chair beside her like he owned it.
"That was Raizada 2.0 in there. Full ice edition."
Khushi bit her lip. "He's… strict."
"Strict?" NK shook his head. "Strict is when someone asks you to fix a file. What he did was—"
He narrowed his eyes, lowering his voice.
"—emotional violence."
Khushi's eyes widened. "What? No! It wasn't—"
"It was," NK insisted. "Even the AC got colder."
She stared at him — half horrified, half wanting to laugh.
He held up a dramatic hand.
"I volunteer as tribute to comfort you."
Despite her spiraling emotions, she smiled.
NK's absurdity felt like a bandage — uneven, messy, but warm.
Until—
The air shifted behind them.
A small, almost imperceptible current.
NK straightened immediately.
Khushi didn't have to look to know who it was.
Arnav was passing through the main office floor.
Every head lifted.
Every spine straightened.
His aura did that — commanded space, controlled temperature, demanded attention without asking.
Khushi's heart punched her ribs.
Arnav walked with long, precise strides, not sparing anyone more than a glance… except—
Except when he passed her desk.
His eyes flicked—
Not at her face.
At NK.
NK, who was still too close.
NK, who was leaning on her chair.
A muscle tightened in Arnav's jaw.
It was quick.
Barely visible.
But she saw it.
NK jumped away from her like he'd been electrocuted.
Khushi's eyes widened.
Arnav didn't stop walking.
Didn't comment.
Didn't acknowledge.
But the message was delivered.
And NK whisper-shouted, "He is going to skin me alive."
Khushi's stomach twisted.
This was not good.
This was not normal.
She turned back to her work, her pulse racing.
She did not look up again.
But she felt him.
She always felt him.
---
He hadn't meant to look at her desk.
He'd told himself he wouldn't.
He'd told himself distance was the only way to survive her presence.
But then he saw NK leaning so casually toward her—
too close,
too informal,
too comfortable.
Heat ripped through him, violent and uninvited.
Jealousy.
A word he didn't allow in his vocabulary.
Not for anyone.
Yet here it was, sharp and sour and disgustingly human.
He didn't stop walking.
Didn't say a word.
Didn't give himself away.
But that small flicker of his jaw—
he knew she noticed it.
She noticed everything.
Back in his office, he shut the door harder than necessary.
Aman entered two seconds later.
Arnav didn't look up.
He didn't trust himself to.
"Is there an issue?" Aman asked lightly.
"No."
Arnav's tone was clipped.
Aman raised an eyebrow.
"You're… angrier than usual."
"Wrong data in the file," Arnav replied.
Aman blinked.
"That's what upset you?"
Arnav didn't answer.
Because it wasn't the file.
It wasn't the mistake.
It wasn't even the way she looked hurt afterward.
It was NK.
Leaning too close.
Talking too loudly.
Making her smile.
That smile.
God, that smile.
Arnav's chest tightened painfully.
He snapped the laptop shut.
"Move the meeting summaries to my private server."
Aman didn't move.
He just stared.
"You're losing control."
Arnav's eyes snapped up, dark.
Aman didn't back down.
"You're being harsher than usual. Cold, even by your standards. And you keep avoiding looking at her."
Arnav's jaw clenched.
"You're imagining things."
"No," Aman said. "I'm observing."
Arnav held his stare.
Until Aman sighed softly, like he was speaking to a man standing too close to a cliff.
"You can't protect her if you're the one hurting her."
Arnav didn't breathe.
Didn't blink.
Aman left the room silently.
Arnav stood frozen for a long second, chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths.
He wasn't hurting her.
He was protecting himself.
But the worst part?
He didn't know how much longer he could.
---
She corrected the file.
Three minutes of typing.
One minute of checking.
And the whole time her hands shook.
When she finished, she stood slowly.
The walk back to his office felt heavier than the floor beneath her feet.
She knocked.
Two soft taps.
"Come in."
His voice was steady.
Too steady.
She stepped inside, holding the file like it was a fragile confession.
He didn't look up from the papers on his desk.
Not at her.
Not at the file.
Not at anything except what was safe.
She swallowed.
"Sir… here's the corrected file."
Silence.
He took it without looking.
Her breath faltered.
It was stupid, but the sting came back, hotter than before.
She waited.
He didn't dismiss her.
But he didn't acknowledge her either.
She stood there, caught in a space between wanting to speak and wanting to disappear.
Her voice came out small.
"Sir, if you're unhappy with my work, please let me know. I—I want to improve."
His pen stopped mid-line.
His jaw tensed.
He finally looked at her.
The eye contact hit like a collision — intense, sharp, too heavy for a small office.
"I'm not… unhappy."
The pause between words was too long.
"But mistakes have consequences."
She lowered her eyes.
"Yes, sir.
"You can go."
She nodded, turning to leave—
when he said her name.
"Khushi."
Her heart stopped.
She turned back slowly.
He looked like a man wrestling with something terrible inside himself.
His next words were low.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
"Don't let anyone stand that close to you during work hours."
Her breath froze.
"I—I didn't—NK was just—"
"It doesn't matter."
His gaze hardened.
"Keep your distance."
Her pulse thrashed in her veins.
"I will, sir."
She stepped out of the office.
The door clicked shut.
Her chest heaved once.
Then again.
She didn't know why, but her eyes burned.
Not from hurt.
Not from embarrassment.
From something far more dangerous:
He cared.
And she didn't know what to do with that.
---
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