Wednesday.
5:02pm.
Anika walked back to her desk like nothing had happened.
Steps even.
Posture straight.
Face composed.
Too composed.
She sat down.
Opened her laptop.
Screen lit up.
Emails.
Pending work.
Deadlines.
Everything waiting.
Everything normal.
Her fingers rested on the keyboard.
Didn’t move.
Because her mind—
Wasn’t here.
It was still in that cabin.
In that space.
Too close.
Too quiet.
Too—
Much.
“…sirf kaam nahi hai.”
The words echoed again.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just—
There.
Persistent.
Unwanted.
Her fingers pressed a key.
Wrong one.
She deleted it immediately.
Exhaled once.
Sharp.
Focus.
She forced her eyes back to the screen.
Read the first line.
Didn’t register it.
Read it again.
Nothing.
Her jaw tightened slightly.
“Seriously?” she muttered under her breath.
At herself.
At him.
At—
Everything.
---------------------------------------
5:17pm.
“Tu theek hai?”
Rohan’s voice.
Casual.
But not careless.
Anika didn’t look up immediately.
“Hmm.”
Automatic.
Wrong answer.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t leave.
Just stood there.
Waiting.
She sighed internally.
Looked up.
“I’m fine.”
Better tone.
More believable.
Still not true.
Rohan studied her for a second.
Not pushing.
Just—
Not convinced.
“Tu jab itni ‘fine’ lagti hai na,” he said lightly, “tab usually problem hoti hai.”
This time—
She did smile.
Small.
Unintended.
“Work hai,” she said.
Safe answer.
Expected.
Boring.
“Work toh hamesha hota hai,” he shrugged. “chal coffee pike aate hai.”
Again.
Same offer.
Different timing.
She hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then—
“Not now.”
Soft.
But firm.
He nodded.
“Okay.”
Still didn’t move.
“Waise…” he added casually, “kal chalenge. Aur main puch nahi Raha bata raha hoon.”
That made her look at him again.
“Dekhenge.”
Not yes.
Not no.
But—
Not rejection either.
He grinned.
“Good enough.”
“Hmm.. aur kuch sirji ?” she asked playfully.
“Nothing,” he shrugged. “Bas… agar kuch ho, bol dena.”
A beat.
“Main hoon.”
Simple.
Easy.
Genuine.
And that—
That should have felt comforting.
It did.
But not enough.
“Hmm,” she nodded.
He left.
--------------------------------------
Inside the cabin.
He hadn’t moved much.
Not physically.
But the stillness wasn’t calm.
It was… contained.
Vihaan finally picked up the file he had been working on earlier.
Opened it.
Looked at the numbers.
Didn’t see them.
His pen hovered over the paper.
Didn’t write.
“…interfering.”
The word stayed.
Different from before.
He leaned back slightly.
Closed the file.
Not abruptly.
Just—
Done.
For now.
His gaze shifted.
Not to the camera.
Not immediately.
But it got there anyway.
Camera 2.
Her desk.
She was sitting.
Working.
Or at least—
Pretending to.
He watched.
Not long.
Not indulgently.
Just enough.
Her posture.
Too straight.
Her hands.
Still.
Her focus.
Not on the screen.
He leaned back.
Exhaled slowly.
“…affected,” he muttered.
Not a question.
A conclusion.
He should’ve looked away.
He didn’t.
Because just then—
Rohan stepped in.
Leaned against her desk.
He didn’t mean to look.
He did anyway.
Not at the screen first.
At her.
The angle from his glass—just enough.
Not words.
Not sound.
But—
The pause.
The way she looked up.
The way her expression changed.
And then—
That smile.
Small.
Unintended.
Not guarded.
Not controlled.
His grip on the pen tightened.
Barely.
But enough.
He looked back at the file.
Numbers stared up at him.
For a second—he tried.
Then gave up.
Closed it.
Too quickly.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said under his breath.
It did.
His jaw tightened.
A fraction.
Then—
Loosened.
Then tightened again.
Because that smile—
Wasn’t for him.
And that—
Shouldn’t have mattered.
It did.
His gaze flickered back.
Just once.
Too quick to be deliberate.
Too deliberate to be accidental.
Rohan was still there.
Leaning.
Talking.
Easy.
Comfortable.
That same—
Ease.
Something in his expression stilled.
Not anger.
Not exactly.
Something quieter.
More controlled.
More dangerous.
He leaned back in his chair.
Forced his eyes to the screen again.
“Focus,” he said under his breath.
This time—
It sounded less like a reminder.
More like a warning.
---------------------------------------
5:31pm.
The cabin door opened.
Anika didn’t look up immediately.
Didn’t react.
She felt it anyway.
That shift.
That awareness.
Uninvited.
Unavoidable.
Her eyes flickered up.
Just for a second.
He was walking out.
Phone in hand.
Talking.
“…send it tonight. I don’t want delays.”
Calm.
Controlled.
Normal.
Like nothing had happened.
Like she hadn’t—
Her gaze dropped back to the screen instantly.
Too fast.
His step slowed.
Not enough to stop.
Not enough to turn.
But enough.
Because he saw it.
Her reaction.
Too quick.
Too sharp.
Too—
Real.
His voice didn’t change.
Didn’t break.
But the next word came a second late.
“…yes.”
Then he kept walking.
Like nothing had happened.
Like he hadn’t noticed.
He had.
--------------------------------------
6:02pm.
Most of the office had started winding down.
Chairs pushed back.
Systems logging off.
Soft conversations replacing structured ones.
End of day.
Normal.
Anika wasn’t done.
Didn’t want to be done.
Because leaving meant—
Thinking.
And thinking meant—
Replaying.
She didn’t want that.
So she stayed.
Worked.
Actually worked this time.
Numbers aligned.
Slides fixed.
Emails sent.
Everything precise.
Everything controlled.
Everything—
Safe.
---------------------------------------
6:18pm.
“Anika.”
Her name.
Not through intercom.
Not formal.
Direct.
Close.
She looked up.
He was standing there.
At her desk.
Not inside the cabin.
Not calling her in.
Here.
That—
That was new.
Her posture straightened slightly.
Instinct.
“Sir?”
Too quick.
Too formal.
Too—
Defensive.
His gaze didn’t linger unnecessarily.
Didn’t soften.
Didn’t sharpen.
Just—
Stayed.
“Client deck,” he said. “Final version ready?”
Work.
Of course.
“Almost,” she replied.
“Send it before you leave.”
“Okay.”
A pause.
Small.
Barely noticeable.
But it was there.
Neither moved immediately.
Because something about this—
Felt incomplete.
Again.
He broke it first.
“Good work today.”
Same line.
Same tone.
Same control.
But this time—
Closer.
She nodded once.
“Thank you.”
And for a second—
Just a second—
Their eyes held.
Not accidentally.
Not professionally.
Just—
Held.
Then—
He stepped back.
Distance restored.
Like it had never shifted.
““I’ll be in the cabin,” he added.
Neutral.
Clean.
Safe.
“Okay.”
Matching him.
Exactly.
He turned.
Walked away.
This time—
No rush.
No pause.
No looking back.
And somehow
That felt worse.
Because they had just stood right there—
close enough to say something.
And still didn’t.
--------------------------------------
6:27pm.
Her laptop screen glowed.
Inbox empty.
Work done.
No more excuses.
No more delays.
She sat there.
Still.
Hands resting lightly on the desk.
Not moving.
Because now—
There was nothing left to distract herself with.
And the silence—
Returned.
Stronger.
Clearer.
Unavoidable.
Her eyes shifted.
Across the floor.
To the cabin.
Door slightly open.
Lights still on.
He was still inside.
Of course he was.
A breath in.
Slow.
Then—
She looked away.
Shut her laptop.
Stood up.
Bag in hand.
Ready to leave.
Not immediately.
Her steps slowed.
Just slightly.
As she passed the cabin.
Not stopping.
Not turning.
Just—
Aware.
And inside—
He knew.
Of course he did.
Neither moved.
Neither called out.
Neither broke it.
And that—
That was the problem.
Because this time—
Nothing had happened.
No argument.
No confrontation.
No touch.
No line crossed.
And yet—
Everything had changed.
Because this time—
neither of them made a move.
And that was exactly the problem.
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TO BE CONTINUE...
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