Khushi
Khushi told herself the same sentence at least ten times since the collision.
"Forget about it. Forget about HIM."
Her cheeks still burned when she replayed it—
the crash,
the sudden jolt,
his fingers closing around her wrist,
the way his breath had brushed her forehead.
She touched the spot on her wrist without thinking.
A stupid, fluttery warmth spread there.
She hated that.
Well… no.
She hated that she didn't hate it.
The worse part?
He was avoiding her.
Not subtly.
Not politely.
Not accidentally.
Avoiding.
He skipped the entire floor for fifteen minutes.
His door stayed shut.
He sent Aman for every small message.
Every time she walked past his office, she felt him—
not looking up,
but too still,
like someone pretending not to listen.
Why did it bother her?
Why did it sting?
She didn't want his attention.
She didn't need it.
Yet her heartbeat betrayed her every time a shadow crossed his glass door.
She sat at her desk, trying to work, but her eyes betrayed her—
flicking up, stealing glances toward his cabin,
toward the man she was supposed to fear…
not chase with her thoughts.
She let out a breath.
"Bas, Khushi," she whispered to herself. "Stop thinking about him. Stop feeling… whatever this is."
Except her heart didn't listen.
It kept tugging—soft, relentless, magnetic.
Gravity, she realized.
That's what it felt like.
A pull she didn't understand.
A pull she couldn't fight.
--
Arnav
Avoiding her was supposed to fix everything.
Distance.
Boundaries.
Control.
Simple.
Except none of it was simple.
Every time he told himself not to look at her,
his eyes did it anyway.
Every time he told himself to focus,
her face replaced every graph and number.
He kept his office door shut.
He sent Aman out instead of calling her in.
He didn't step into the hallway until he was certain she wasn't there.
And still—
Still—
He felt her everywhere.
The brush of her dupatta earlier still lingered against his shirt.
The warmth of her wrist still clung to his palm.
He looked down at that hand now, staring at it like it had betrayed him.
Just a touch.
Barely a second.
Yet it felt like someone had shot electricity straight into his veins.
"No," he muttered, jaw tight.
No more proximity.
No more lapses.
No more moments.
He needed space.
He needed silence.
He needed—
His phone buzzed.
A message from Aman.
"Sir, the internal review file Khushi prepared—you'll need to sign it today. She's waiting outside."
His pulse kicked like someone had slammed a fist into his chest.
He closed his eyes.
Perfect.
Just perfect.
He wasn't avoiding her anymore.
Fate was avoiding him.
---
Khushi
She stood outside his door with the file clasped to her chest, silently begging the universe:
Please don't let him be rude.
Please don't let me look stupid.
Please don't let my heart embarrass me.
The silence on the other side stretched too long.
Her fingers curled reflexively.
Why was she nervous?
Why did seeing him feel like approaching a storm she secretly wanted to walk into?
Stupid, stupid heart…
---
Arnav
He stared at the door.
At her silhouette faintly visible through the frosted panel.
He could see the outline of her hand—
the way she fidgeted with the file,
the way she shifted her weight,
the way she waited for him.
Something in his chest tightened painfully.
He took a breath.
Cold. Controlled.
"Come in."
The door opened.
Her scent hit him first—
soft, floral, maddening.
She walked in, timid but determined.
Their eyes met.
And instantly—
gravity snapped back into place.
The Charged Moment
She stepped closer to hand him the file.
He reached out at the same time.
Their fingers brushed—
light, fleeting, but enough to ignite every nerve in both their bodies.
Khushi gasped quietly.
Arnav's eyes darkened instantly.
Neither moved away.
Neither breathed.
For one suspended heartbeat—
the world blurred,
the office vanished,
and only the warmth between their hands existed.
He pulled back first.
Too fast.
Too sharp.
She swallowed hard.
"Sorry," she whispered.
He wasn't sure if he hated the apology…
or needed to hear it again…
from closer.
He shook his head once, clipped.
"Be careful next time."
But his voice wasn't cold.
It was low.
Tight.
Strained.
Like holding her hand for one second
had cost him more control
than he'd ever admit.
---
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