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Tanya's POV:
Honestly, I wasn’t sure if life could feel any heavier than it already did.
It wasn’t the kind of pain that shattered you all at once, nor the kind that demanded tears or made a scene out of itself. It was quieter than that subtle, persistent, almost patient as it settled deep within me, filling every empty space until there was nothing left untouched.
I felt hollow.
Not broken, not destroyed just… emptied out, as though something essential had been taken from me without warning, and all I could do now was exist around that absence.
Because what was the point of living a life that didn’t feel like mine?
What was the point of moving forward, of pretending, of breathing through days that held no meaning if I wasn’t going to marry the person I loved?
The question stayed with me longer than I wanted it to, echoing softly in the back of my mind even as I stepped into the office earlier than usual, hoping perhaps foolishly that work might distract me from it.
But the moment I entered the editorial floor, I knew that hope had been misplaced.
The space was completely empty.
Rows of desks stretched out in perfect order, untouched and still, their surfaces clean, their chairs neatly pushed in, as though no one had been there for days. The monitors were dark, reflecting faint, distorted versions of the room, and the air itself felt unmoving thick with a silence that didn’t comfort, but pressed.
It wrapped around me slowly, that silence, curling into the corners of the room and slipping into the spaces between my thoughts until it felt almost suffocating, like it was trying to make me aware of everything I was trying not to feel.
My phone buzzed softly in my hand, the sudden sound cutting through the stillness, grounding me just enough to breathe again.
Ishu ♡:
I’m going out to meet Reyanshhhh…!!
A faint smile touched my lips, fragile but real, as I read her message, the familiarity of her tone easing something within me.
Me:
You sound excited. ><
Her reply came almost instantly, as though she had been waiting for it.
Ishu ♡:
That’s the last thing I feel.
Actually… not even on the list.
A quiet breath slipped past my lips, softer this time, warmer somehow, because even now despite everything she could still pull a small, reluctant smile out of me.
“Tanya, Adhvik sir is calling you to his cabin.”
Alan’s voice broke through my thoughts, sudden and grounding, pulling me back into the present with a sharp clarity I hadn’t been prepared for.
Right.
The files.
Ishu had told me to take Malik’s case to him to understand what exactly we could publish and what needed to stay buried until we had proof strong enough to withstand consequences.
I gathered the papers, flipping through them with practiced familiarity, though my attention wasn’t entirely there, my fingers moving more out of habit than focus as I aligned the sheets and secured them together.
For a brief moment, my gaze caught my reflection in the glass panel nearby.
The light blue fabric of my top fell softly against me, paired with baggy jeans that I had chosen with more thought than I wanted to admit. It suited me—or at least, it made me look like someone who had herself together.
Which, I realized, was far from the truth.
I stepped into the elevator and pressed the floor number, watching as the doors slid shut with a quiet finality that seemed louder than it should have been.
Inside, the silence followed me again.
Closer this time.
My body felt… off.
Not weak, not exactly but distant, as though I wasn’t fully anchored within it, like I might lose balance without warning.
My phone buzzed once more.
Arhaan.
The name alone was enough to make my heartbeat shift, uneven and uncertain, my fingers hovering over the screen as if drawn to it despite everything.
For a moment, nothing else existed.
But before I could open the message, the elevator chimed, the doors sliding open to the last floor, breaking the moment before it could settle.
I exhaled quietly and slipped my phone back into my pocket.
Not now.
I walked toward his cabin, my steps slower than usual, more deliberate, as though I was unconsciously trying to prepare myself for something I couldn’t quite name.
This was my third time coming here.
And yet, it didn’t feel familiar.
The walls were the same, the glass reflecting the same muted surroundings, the air holding the same stillness but something about it felt heavier today, as though the space itself was aware of something I wasn’t.
I pushed the door open.
The scent reached me instantly rich, polished wood layered with the sharp undertone of whiskey, warm and lingering, settling into the air in a way that made the room feel both grounded and distant at the same time.
The files in my hands suddenly felt heavier.
Too heavy.
Like they carried more than just paper.
And then,
I didn’t notice the table.
The impact was sudden, sharp, the edge colliding with my leg and sending a jolt of pain upward before I could react.
A small gasp escaped me.
My balance shifted.
Tilted.
For a brief, disorienting second, it felt like the ground beneath me had given way entirely.
I’m going to fall.
The thought came quietly, almost detached, accompanied by a flicker of embarrassment that felt oddly louder than the pain itself.
Of all the ways to make an impression.
I closed my eyes instinctively, bracing for impact,
But it never came.
Instead, I felt it.
A firm hold.
Strong arms wrapping around my waist, steadying me with an ease that suggested control, certainty like there had never been a doubt that he would catch me.
The world seemed to still around that moment.
Everything slowed.
The faint scent of raspberries reached me, unexpected and soft, contrasting sharply with the heavier notes of the room.
I opened my eyes slowly.
“You should walk slowly.”
His voice was calm, low, controlled in a way that didn’t demand attention but held it effortlessly.
I looked up.
His eyes met mine.
Dark. Unyielding.
And yet, There was something there. Not softness. Not warmth.
But something restrained, something carefully held back, as though he was deliberately choosing not to let it surface.
I tried to step back, to create distance, but his hold lingered just a fraction longer than necessary, subtle enough to question, but not enough to ignore.
Then, as if catching himself, he closed his eyes briefly and let go.
I steadied myself, stepping away, only to notice the scattered files at my feet.
A quiet sigh left me as I crouched down to gather them, the moment shifting back into something more familiar, more manageable.
Before I could reach them, he bent down too.
Neither of us spoke.
The silence between us had changed.
It wasn’t empty anymore. It was aware. Close.
My fingers brushed against his as we both reached for the last sheet at the same time, the contact brief but enough to send a subtle, unexpected awareness through me.
He stilled.
So did I.
There was the faintest tremor in his hand.
I looked up.
He pulled away almost immediately.
We stood at the same time,
And collided.
Our foreheads meeting with a soft, almost absurd impact.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
He was closer than I had realized.
Close enough that I could feel the shift in his breath.
Close enough that the space between us didn’t feel like space at all.
Without thinking, I lifted my hand and tapped our foreheads twice more, a small, instinctive gesture accompanied by a faint, almost embarrassed smile.
“Horns will grow if we don’t do it three times.” The words felt lighter than the moment deserved.
But somehow, they broke it.
He looked at me for a second longer than necessary,
And then, he chuckled.
Soft. Unrestrained. Unexpected.
“Show me the files,” he said, his voice settling back into composure, though something about it felt slightly altered now. “They need to be reviewed.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, taking my seat.
I began explaining Malik’s case in detail, outlining the sensitivity of the matter, the necessity of evidence, the consequences of publishing without certainty.
My voice remained steady.
Measured.
Professional.
But my focus,
It wavered. Because I could feel it.
His gaze.
Not shifting. Not distracted.
Just there.
On me.
The papers slipped slightly in my hands, and I adjusted them quickly, clearing my throat as I forced myself to finish.
When I stood, closing the file,
His eyes followed.
And then, unexpectedly.
He smiled.
“Your marriage,” he said, as though it were a natural continuation of the conversation. “You love him?”
The question caught me off guard, sharp enough to disrupt the fragile composure I had been holding onto.
How does he know?
Ishu.
Of course.
“It’s none of your business,” I replied, the edge in my voice sharper than intended.
“Did you cry?” he asked quietly. “Your eyes… they’re red.”
There it was again.
That look.
Concern.
Unfiltered.
And for reasons I couldn’t quite explain, it irritated me more than it should have.
“As I said before,” I replied, meeting his gaze directly,
“it’s none of your business, Mr. Agnihotri.”
I turned and walked toward the door, my steps quicker now, more determined.
Before I could reach it,
His hand closed around my wrist.
Not harsh. Not forceful.
But firm enough to stop me entirely.
“What are you doing?” I asked, turning back.
And then,
Something unfamiliar spread through me.
A slow, unsettling warmth that settled somewhere in my chest, lingering in a way that felt dangerously close to something I didn’t want to name.
“The thing I should have done long ago,” he said.
My throat tightened.
The words landed heavier than they should have.
I stepped back instinctively.
“Excuse me..” I whispered, the confusion in my voice barely concealed.
But I didn’t wait.
I couldn’t.
I turned and walked out quickly, my breath uneven, my thoughts tangled, my heart refusing to settle into anything familiar.
I need to talk to Arhaan.
I pulled out my phone, unlocking it with hurried fingers,
And froze.
A video message.
From an unknown number.
lemme know how the chapter is !!!
Signing off,
Samikshaaa
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