Khushi's steps were uneven.
Not rushed.
Not slow.
Just… wrong.
Like her feet weren't listening to her anymore.
Like her body was walking, but her mind was still stuck inside the glass-walled office where her fingers had brushed his.
Where her breath had caught.
Where his eyes had darkened.
Where the air had felt too hot, too tight, too aware.
The day replayed in a dizzying loop:
The collision.
The way he'd steadied her.
The warmth of his hand around her wrist.
The silent moment when the world had stopped.
And then—
the file.
The fingers brushing again.
The look he gave her that burned straight down her spine.
She placed a hand on her chest, pressing as if she could calm the storm inside.
But nothing calmed.
Nothing slowed.
She felt… shaken.
Shaken in a way she didn't understand.
Didn't want to understand.
Her lane appeared.
The familiar street.
The small shops.
The neighbors arguing.
Scooters honking.
Life continuing like nothing had changed.
But everything inside her had.
She paused outside her home.
One breath.
Two.
She had to hide this.
Whatever this was.
She stepped inside.
---
"HAI RE NANDKISHORE!"
Khushi nearly jumped out of her skin.
Buaji stormed toward her like she had caught sight of an alien.
"What happened to your face, Sanka Devi?"
Khushi blinked. "What? My— my face?"
"You look like you fought with a ghost, lost the fight, then asked the ghost for life advice!"
Khushi sputtered. "Buaji, I'm just tired—"
"TIRED?!" Buaji threw her hands in the air. "I told you that big fancy office will chew you like stale papad and spit you out like—"
"Buaji." Payal appeared quietly from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her dupatta. "Let her breathe."
Khushi blinked. "I—I'm fine."
Buaji snorted. "Fine, my foot! These corporate log are heartless! Ruthless! They run on money, coffee, and broken souls!"
Buaji's eyebrows nearly flew off her forehead. "Your face is pale! Your eyes are big! Your soul is halfway out your body!"
Khushi attempted a laugh… failed miserably.
she whispered, "I'm just tired."
Buaji scoffed.
"Tired? Of course you are! These big office people make you work like a donkey and pay you like a peanut!"
Payal stepped closer, voice soft, serious.
"Khushi… did something happen at work?"
Khushi froze.
Her throat tightened.
Her breath caught.
Her chest throbbed painfully.
Images slammed into her mind:
Arnav's fingers tightening around her wrist—
His breath hitting her cheek—
His eyes dragging over her face like he was memorizing it—
The moment he didn't let go, not immediately.
Heat flushed through her.
She swallowed hard.
"No," she lied.
The word felt wrong on her tongue.
Payal held her gaze a long moment — seeing the tremor in her sister's eyes, the fluttery breath, the way Khushi kept clutching her own dupatta like she needed anchor.
But Payal didn't push.
She only whispered, "When you're ready… talk to me."
Khushi nodded quickly, eyes stinging for reasons she didn't understand.
Buaji dramatically waved a ladle in the air.
"Tomorrow she will go and show that office who Khushi Kumari Gupta is!"
Khushi wished she knew who that was.
"Go," Buaji said. "Freshen up. Your brain looks scrambled like yesterday's leftover paneer!"
Khushi practically fled to her room, closing the door softly behind her.
The second the latch clicked, her breath finally broke out of her chest.
---
She pressed her back against the door, eyes closed.
Her legs felt wobbly.
Her hands tingled.
Her heartbeat still hadn't settled.
She slid onto her bed slowly, like her body was too heavy to hold.
And then, in the quiet of her room, everything she had been avoiding — everything she had shoved down under smiles and lies — crashed into the open.
The trembling.
The confusion.
The unsettled heat humming under her skin.
She grabbed her pillow and hugged it to her chest, fingers tightening.
"He looked at me like…"
Her voice shook.
"Like he could see the part of me I don't even understand yet."
"And I let him."
The confession trembled out of her.
"Why… why does it feel like I'm being pulled toward something I should stay away from?"
She pressed her forehead to her knees.
"Why do I want tomorrow to come so badly?"
Her heart whispered the answer she refused to say aloud:
Because she wanted to see him again.
Because she wanted…
She hated the answers bubbling in her chest.
She pressed a hand to her mouth.
"What is happening to me…?"
But the whisper wasn't frightened.
It was… longing.
And that scared her more than everything else combined.
She curled onto her side, a soft, helpless sound escaping.
She wanted tomorrow to come.
She wanted to see him again.
Even if she shouldn't.
Even if it made no sense.
Even if it was the kind of thing that complicated lives.
Somewhere deep inside—
she already knew:
She wouldn't stay away from him.
Even if she tried.
---
Arnav reached home late.
Too late.
He walked into his room, loosened his tie, and braced both hands on the desk, breathing hard.
He should have forgotten the day.
He couldn't.
Every moment attacked him—
the collision,
her gasp,
her warmth pressed against him,
and then…
Her fingers brushing his.
Soft.
Warm.
Unexpected.
Dangerous.
His hand twitched at the memory.
That same hand.
He lifted it slowly.
Stared at it like it wasn't his.
Like it carried her imprint.
Her heat.
Her skin.
It made something dark coil inside him.
"I shouldn't have touched her," he whispered.
Silence answered him.
A beat passed.
"But I wanted to."
The admission dropped into the room like a sin.
He shut his eyes, jaw clenching, breath shaking.
He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once—twice—then stopping abruptly.
"Why can't I stop thinking about her?"
The question scraped his throat raw.
No answer.
His thoughts were darker now, heavier, more suffocating:
Why didn't she smileat him?
Who else did she smile at today?
Did anyone else touch her?
Did she think about him?
Did she feel what he felt?
His pulse spiked.
He hated these thoughts.
He needed distance.
Boundaries.
Control.
Tomorrow…
he shouldn't go near her.
He shouldn't look at her.
Shouldn't speak to her.
Shouldn't touch her.
He exhaled a lie:
"I won't go near her tomorrow."
But the truth was already settled deep inside him—
He would.
He always would.
Because whatever this was…
whatever she had started…
whatever he had allowed…
was not stopping.
Not now.
Not ever.
---
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