Khushi sat at her desk, fingers curled tightly around a pen she wasn't even using.
The meeting room still clung to her—
his tone,
his jaw,
the sharpness that wasn't aimed at her but still cut straight through her.
Why had it hurt?
Why did her chest feel bruised from a single clipped sentence?
She tried to breathe normally. Tried to rearrange files. Tried to focus on the tiny words printed across spreadsheets. But her thoughts kept looping back, circling him like a moth circling its most dangerous flame.
He wasn't like yesterday.
Yesterday he was distant but… soft around the edges.
Today he was iron. Walls. Heat turned into ice.
She didn't understand.
Had she done something wrong?
Had the file mistake embarrassed him?
Was she frustrating him?
But when she replayed the moment in her head—his cold stare, the way his throat had tightened, the way he forced the word "Khushi." out—it didn't feel like annoyance.
It felt like restraint.
Like something he was fighting inside himself.
That thought alone made her pulse misbehave.
Her chair wobbled slightly as she shifted, and she flinched, embarrassed by her own restlessness.
She pulled her dupatta forward, smoothing it over her shoulders. Her fingers trembled.
She kept waiting for her body to calm down.
It didn't.
Because even without looking at him, she could feel him somewhere behind her.
A presence.
A weight.
A silent pull that made it impossible to breathe deeply.
NK passed by with a lopsided smile.
"You okay, Khushi-ji? You look like someone told you jalebi was banned in Delhi."
A tiny puff of laughter escaped her, but her voice was faint.
"I'm fine. Just… nervous."
NK tilted his head. "Because of him, right?"
His eyes flicked toward Arnav's office door.
Khushi's cheeks warmed so fast she nearly dropped her pen.
"N-no! Nothing like that. He's my boss. And a very powerful one. Anyone would be nervous."
NK didn't look convinced, but he didn't tease further.
He just gave her shoulder a gentle pat and walked off, humming.
Khushi stared at the computer screen again.
The words blurred.
Her thoughts didn't.
Every breath she took felt like it brushed against a memory of him—
his voice,
his stare,
his closeness,
his silence.
She didn't realize she had closed her eyes until a soft ache pressed behind them.
Why does it feel like he's right behind me even when he's not?
Her heart thunked too loudly.
And then—
uncomfortably—
it felt true.
Because she could sense something shift in the air.
Someone watching.
Someone whose gaze she could feel down her spine.
She didn't dare turn around.
She didn't need to.
She already knew.
---
Arnav stood in his office, fists pressed into his desk so tightly the veins on his arms strained.
He hadn't meant to sound harsh in the meeting.
Not at her.
Never at her.
But the SECOND NK leaned toward her, cracked a joke, made her smile—
something inside him snapped.
A muscle deep in his jaw pulsed.
Ridiculous.
Unacceptable.
Weak.
He didn't get jealous.
He didn't get affected.
He didn't feel anything.
Except apparently he did, because the moment she looked hurt—hurt by him—his stomach twisted savagely.
He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing.
What was wrong with him?
This wasn't how he reacted to interns. Or employees. Or anyone.
He didn't watch their faces after he spoke.
He didn't crave their reactions.
He didn't regret an order.
He didn't care.
But with her?
He cared so violently he couldn't think straight.
He'd spent the last ten minutes replaying her expression when his voice went clipped—
the way her eyes widened,
the way her lips parted in confusion,
the way she curled slightly inward, hurt but trying to hide it.
He hated that look.
And he hated even more that he caused it.
Through the glass wall, he saw her now—
curled slightly forward,
biting her lip,
trying to work but clearly shaken.
He exhaled slowly.
He shouldn't go to her.
He shouldn't say anything.
He shouldn't—
He took one step toward the door.
Stopped.
No.
If he spoke to her now, he wouldn't say something professional.
He wouldn't keep distance.
He wouldn't keep control.
So he stayed where he was.
Staring at her.
Wanting her.
Hating that he wanted her.
His throat felt dry, tension coiling like a heated wire under his skin.
Get it together.
But he didn't.
Couldn't.
Not with her sitting there looking small and overwhelmed and so painfully, beautifully real compared to the polished world he lived in.
He needed air.
He needed to walk.
He grabbed the nearest file, pretending it was urgent, pretending he needed to deliver it.
He stepped out of his office.
He didn't look at her desk.
He looked everywhere but her desk.
And his control still cracked with every step.
---
She needed to clear her head.
Just a minute. Just a breath of hallway air.
She stood up too quickly, nearly knocking her chair.
"Oh, great," she muttered.
"Very graceful, Khushi."
NK snorted from two desks away.
"You're doing amazing, sweetie!"
She shot him a glare, flustered beyond belief, and stepped out into the hallway.
Her eyes were down.
Her thoughts were swirling.
Her chest was still tight from the meeting.
She turned the corner—
too fast.
---
He didn't expect her.
He was walking with the file, breathing through the coil of frustration—and then suddenly—
softness collided with him.
A small gasp.
A stumble.
Her scent—jasmine and something sweet—hit him so hard he froze.
Her wrist brushed his chest.
And instinct—pure, unfiltered, unstoppable instinct—took over.
He caught her.
His fingers wrapped around her wrist, firm and urgent, pulling her toward him before she could fall.
Her body steadied against his.
Her breath hitched.
So did his.
For one insane, suspended second—
the world narrowed to her wide eyes
and his tightening grip
and the thunderous silence vibrating between them.
He didn't let go.
He couldn't.
---
Her pulse flew to her throat.
He was touching her.
Not accidentally—
deliberately, instinctively, protectively.
Her wrist fit in his hand like he'd memorized the shape before touching it.
"Sorry—" she breathed.
He didn't move.
Not a muscle.
His eyes locked onto hers, dark and unreadable, but burning under the surface with something she didn't recognize.
Something forbidden.
Something dangerous.
Something that made her whole body flush with heat.
Her free hand pressed softly against his chest, trying to steady herself.
Big mistake.
He inhaled sharply—quiet, almost invisible—but she felt it.
She felt everything.
The hallway temperature seemed to spike.
Her heartbeat was loud.
Too loud.
His silence was louder.
They were too close, much too close, close enough that the faint brush of his breath skimmed her cheek.
"Are you hurt?"
His voice was low. Controlled.
Barely.
She shook her head.
"Just—surprised."
He still didn't release her wrist.
His thumb—unintentionally or not—pressed lightly against her pulse.
It sent a shiver through her.
He felt it.
His jaw tightened.
And then—
slowly, deliberately—
he let her go.
But the imprint of his fingers stayed.
Her wrist felt branded.
He stepped back half an inch.
Not enough to break the moment.
Just enough to pretend he was being professional.
She swallowed, unable to speak.
He stared at her a second longer than necessary.
A second that rewrote something inside her.
A second that he would never admit to needing.
Then he whispered—barely, dangerously:
"Be careful."
She nodded.
He walked past her.
But neither of them took a normal breath for several seconds.
Because something had shifted.
Something irreversible.
Something both terrifying and intoxicating.
And both of them knew—
that was no ordinary collision.
---
Thanks for reading! 💛
Don't forget to:
👍 Vote
💬 Comment
🌟 Follow
See you in the next chapter! 🖤