Tuesday.
8:58 PM.
Singhaniya Tech.
The office was nearly empty now.
Lights dimmed in sections.
Cabins dark.
Only a few screens still glowing like stubborn stars that refused to log off.
Anika sat at her desk.
Laptop open.
File in front of her.
Mind—
not even pretending anymore.
Because every time she tried to focus—
her body remembered before her brain could interfere.
His hand at her waist.
The way he hadn't stopped this time.
The way she hadn't either.
Her phone lit up.
No hesitation now.
She picked it up.
> Still thinking?
Her lips pressed together.
> Working.
A beat.
Then—
> Liar.
Her fingers paused.
A small exhale escaped her.
> You should go home.
Reply came instantly.
> Come say that to me.
Her gaze lifted—
without thinking.
His cabin.
Lights on.
Glass walls.
And there he was.
Inside.
Watching.
Like he hadn't moved on either.
Like he knew she wouldn't.
Her pulse shifted.
Not sharp.
Not nervous.
Just—
aware.
> You're impossible.
> Yet you're still here.
She locked her phone.
Looked back at her screen.
Tried—
failed—
and then closed the laptop.
Because pretending at this point?
Pointless.
She stood.
Walked.
Not rushed.
Not hesitant.
Just—
inevitable.
9:06 PM.
Vihaan's Cabin.
She didn't knock.
Just opened the door—
stepped in—
closed it behind her.
The quiet inside was different.
More contained.
More dangerous.
He was leaning against the desk.
Arms folded.
Watching her like she had just confirmed something he already knew.
"You didn't go home," he said.
Neither surprise nor question.
"You didn't either," she replied.
A faint shift in his expression.
Almost a smile.
Almost something else.
"I had a reason."
Her brows lifted slightly.
"Oh?"
A step closer.
Unhurried.
"You."
That—
should've made her deflect.
It didn't.
Instead—
she moved further in.
Until the space between them
started to feel intentional again.
"This is a bad pattern," she said.
But her voice lacked conviction.
"Patterns repeat," he replied calmly.
"A choice doesn't."
Silence.
Because that—
that meant something.
"You're calling this a choice?" she asked.
"I'm saying you're still here."
A beat.
"And you walked in without knocking."
Her fingers tightened slightly around the file she was still holding.
Because he noticed everything.
Always.
She placed the file down on the table.
Not because she needed to.
But because she needed something to do with her hands.
"Don't read too much into that," she said.
"I don't read," he said quietly.
A step closer.
"I remember."
Her breath slowed.
Because that—
was worse.
He wasn't guessing.
He wasn't assuming.
He was tracking.
And she felt it.
Every step of it.
"You're staring again," she said.
"I didn't stop."
No apology.
No shift.
Nothing.
Her pulse picked up—
just slightly.
"Someone could walk in," she said.
"They won't."
"That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
A beat.
She held his gaze.
Didn't look away.
Didn't soften.
"You don't care about being careful."
"I do."
A pause.
"Just not when it comes to this."
And that—
that line crossed something.
Not loudly.
But clearly.
Her breath hitched.
Not hidden.
Not controlled.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
His gaze dropped—
just for a second—
to her lips.
Then back.
That flicker—
not subtle anymore.
"You're doing that again," she said.
"Doing what?"
"That."
He didn't pretend not to understand.
Didn't deny it.
Instead—
he took another step closer.
Now—
there was barely space left.
"If you want me to stop," he said quietly,
"say it."
That—
that was new.
Not control.
Not assumption.
Choice.
Placed directly in her hands.
Clear.
Undeniable.
She could stop this.
Right here.
Right now.
She didn't.
Her fingers curled slightly against her palm.
A slow breath.
Then—
"Close the blinds."
It slipped out before she could rethink it.
Before she could take it back.
Before she could pretend she didn't mean it.
Something in his expression shifted.
Not shock.
Not surprise.
Something sharper.
More intent.
"Say that again," he said.
Lower now.
Slower.
Her heartbeat picked up.
But she didn't step back.
Didn't retract.
"Close. The. Blinds."
This time—
clear.
Steady.
And completely intentional.
He held her gaze for a second longer.
Then—
turned.
Walked to the glass wall.
Pulled the blinds down.
One by one.
The outside world—
cut off.
Just like that.
The last strip of light disappeared.
And suddenly—
it felt different.
Quieter.
Closer.
More—
private.
He turned back.
Looked at her.
And this time—
there was no restraint left in his expression.
"Better?" he asked.
Her breath wasn't steady anymore.
But her voice was.
"Yes."
That was all it took.
Because now—
there were no excuses left.
No interruptions waiting.
No space for hesitation.
He crossed the distance in two steps.
Faster this time.
Less measured.
More certain.
His hand found her waist again—
firmer than before—
pulling her closer without asking.
Her breath broke—
but she didn't resist.
Didn't slow him down.
Her hand lifted—
fisting into his shirt—
like she already knew
this wasn't stopping halfway.
"You're not walking away now," he said.
Not a question.
Not a warning.
A statement.
Her lips parted slightly.
"Not tonight."
And that—
that was the last line that needed to be said.
Because after that—
there was nothing left to hold back.
He kissed her—
not slow,
not careful—
but like he had already decided
he wasn't stopping this time.
And she matched him.
No hesitation.
No delay.
Her hand tightened,
pulling him closer,
like distance itself had become irrelevant.
His grip at her waist shifted—
stronger now—
anchoring her there.
Keeping her there.
The kiss deepened—
not tentative anymore—
not testing—
just—
knowing.
And then—
a sharp knock on the door.
Both froze.
Not stepping apart—
just—
still.
"Sir?" a voice from outside.
"Are you still in?"
Her fingers tightened in his shirt.
His jaw flexed.
But he didn't let go.
Didn't step away.
Didn't break it completely.
Just leaned closer—
voice low near her ear—
"Don't move."
Her breath caught.
Again.
"Sir?" the voice came again. Louder this time.
A pause.
Then—
footsteps.
Fading.
Silence returned.
But now—
charged differently.
Closer to danger.
Closer to exposure.
Vihaan pulled back just enough to look at her.
"That," he said quietly,
"is why you were worried."
Her pulse was still uneven.
"And you weren't?"
A faint smirk.
"I am now."
A beat.
Then—
his hand tightened again at her waist.
"But not enough to stop."
And before she could respond—
he kissed her again.
Deeper.
Like interruption only made it worse.
Like almost getting caught—
didn't end it.
It intensified it.
And this time—
neither of them held back.
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