Khushi walked away too fast.
Too fast for someone who was "fine."
Too fast for someone who hadn't just collided chest-first into a man like Arnav Singh Raizada.
Her wrist still tingled where his fingers had wrapped around it—firm, steady, too warm.
The imprint of his touch pulsed under her skin like a secret she wasn't ready to carry.
She reached her desk and immediately sat down.
And then immediately stood up.
And then sat again.
Her breath refused to behave.
Her heartbeat was chaos—an embarrassing, traitorous thundering.
Her mind played the moment on a loop:
Her turning the corner.
His tall frame suddenly in front of her.
Her small gasp.
His hand shooting out lightning-fast.
His fingers circling her wrist.
And that look.
Not anger.
Not shock.
Something darker.
Something hot enough to melt her from the inside out.
She pressed a hand to her chest.
This was not normal.
This was definitely not normal.
"Khushi-ji…"
She almost screamed.
NK popped up beside her desk like an overexcited puppy, holding a packet of chips and chewing loudly.
"You look like someone saw a ghost."
Khushi fought for composure.
"I'm fine."
"No, no—you have the same face I get when I realize I sent a risky text to the wrong person."
She glared at him.
"I did not send any—"
"Then why," NK leaned closer, whispering dramatically, "are you red like a tomato in summer?"
Khushi's mortification skyrocketed.
Before she could defend herself, her phone buzzed.
Payal (8 missed calls).
Uh-oh.
Another buzz—
Payal: WHERE ARE YOU?? CALL. NOW.
Khushi sighed, rubbing her forehead.
NK peeked at the screen and winced.
"Oof. That is the tone of a sister ready to break all family ties."
Khushi grabbed her phone and stood to step aside—
but immediately stopped.
Because down the hall, behind the glass door of his cabin…
Arnav was standing still.
Watching her.
His eyes dropped—
to her wrist.
Her pulse tripped.
She turned away at once, pretending to answer the call, but her hand shook so badly that she almost dropped the phone.
---
Arnav hadn't moved in thirty-eight seconds.
He knew because he counted every one of them.
He was still standing where she had collided with him.
Still feeling the way her body had jolted against his.
Still sensing the small, startled gasp she made.
And worst of all—
He could still feel her wrist in his hand.
Soft.
Fragile.
Warm.
Alive.
He flexed his fingers once.
Then again.
Each time, the ghost of her skin brushed his memory so sharply his breath grew uneven.
This was a mistake.
A massive one.
He shouldn't have touched her.
Shouldn't have let the instinct take over.
Shouldn't have pulled her close when he could have just stepped back.
But he had.
Because he couldn't watch her fall—even for a second.
He looked down at his palm.
It felt warm.
Ridiculously warm.
Like her heat had seeped into his skin and refused to leave.
His phone vibrated.
Aman.
Arnav didn't pick up.
Another vibration.
Another.
Arnav snapped.
"What?"
Aman's voice came out cautious. "Sir, the meeting with the foreign investors—"
"Move it."
Aman blinked from the other side of the glass.
"Move it to… when?"
"Whenever I say."
Oof. Sharp.
Aman stared through the cabin window, seeing Arnav's still-tense posture.
"Sir… is everything… okay?"
The question was innocent.
Arnav's response wasn't.
"Do not ask questions you don't need answers to."
Aman froze.
Arnav hung up without waiting.
His control was gone.
His logic was fractured.
His emotions were rising like a tide he could no longer command.
He dragged a hand through his hair.
Then he made the mistake of looking out.
Khushi stood near her desk, phone against her ear, trying very hard to appear calm.
Her dupatta fluttered slightly with the AC draft.
Her eyes were soft, confused.
Her fingers were still brushing her wrist—exactly where he had touched her.
Arnav's breath stilled.
She felt it too.
That touch.
That moment.
That electricity.
He knew she did.
A dangerous calm washed over him.
Not relief.
Not satisfaction.
Something deeper.
More primal.
He whispered so quietly no one heard:
"…I shouldn't have touched you."
A beat.
"But I'd do it again."
---
Khushi finally answered the call.
Payal didn't wait a second.
"KHUSHI! Why are you not picking up? Are you okay? Buaji said the job is stressful, I told her it's normal, she said it's not normal, and now she thinks your boss is—"
Khushi closed her eyes.
"I'm fine, Jiji. Just… busy."
Payal lowered her voice.
"Are you sure? You sound strange."
Strange.
Yes.
That was one word for it.
Khushi turned slightly, eyes darting to Arnav's cabin.
He wasn't looking at her anymore.
But she still felt like he was.
"I'm just tired," she whispered.
NK, overhearing, muttered to himself:
"Tired? Or attacked by Cupid?"
She shot him a deadly glare.
Payal sighed.
"Come home soon. We'll talk. And eat. Buaji made lauki."
Khushi groaned.
Of course she did.
After hanging up, she sank into her chair.
NK plopped down beside her.
"Khushi-ji…"
She didn't look at him.
"Hmm?"
"I'm going to ask something… sensitive."
Her eyes widened. "No!"
"Are you—"
"No!"
"Falling—"
"NO!"
NK grinned.
"—down the stairs? You tripped earlier. I saw nothing, but ASR looked like he was ready to murder someone."
Khushi nearly choked on air.
NK squinted.
"You DID trip, didn't you?"
Khushi slammed a file onto his lap.
"GO. WORK."
NK raised his hands.
"Fine, fine! No need to injure me. You already injured ASR's patience today," he added with a wink.
Khushi felt her cheeks burn.
---
Back in his office, Arnav sat in his chair.
But he wasn't working.
He wasn't thinking.
He was remembering.
Her body colliding into his.
Her gasp.
Her wide eyes staring up at him.
Her scent—floral, warm, maddening.
Her wrist in his hand.
He lifted his hand again.
His fingertips tingled.
This wasn't rational.
This wasn't controlled.
This was—
Possession.
He leaned back, jaw tight.
"This cannot happen," he muttered.
But the tremor under his skin said it already had.
---
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