When I first decided to leave my old job, I didn't expect my life to twist the way it did. I had already worked with Aleena, the HR at the new company, and she had become the kind of friend who never let you feel alone. She was always calm, never gossiping aboutpeople, and always made everyone feel seen. and now, one of the sweetest people I know. We had already become close during my transition into this new job, and she wanted me to feel excited about joining.
On my last day at the old office, she called me, her voice light with excitement.
"Wait till you meet everyone," she said, "I'm going to show you a video so you can recognize a few faces."
She sent me a clip-on WhatsApp. It wasn't any official staff introduction—it was a video of some employee doing a survey on the streets, mainly a YouTube video made by the social media team. It was a street-style video where someone was asking students at Delhi University... questions about Europe. I watched the video, trying to focus.
The guy holding the mic had this confident posture and a sarcastic tone in the way he asked questions. I didn't even know his name at the time. He was wearing a white t-shirt and glasses, talking to the camera like he owned the space.
I remember squinting at my phone screen. The guy in the video had this round face and a mean expression like he thought the whole world was wasting his time. Every time someone gave a silly answer, he'd raise his eyebrow, then press his lips together like he was trying not to laugh.
I frowned. "God, he looks fat and so mean."
Aleena didn't say anything mean back. That's just how she is. Soft-spoken, never rude about anyone. She just giggled and shrugged.
She only said, "He's in the social media team. You'll see him around."
I don't know why, but that clip stuck in my mind. The face. The voice. The way he
narrowed his eyes at people when they couldn't answer. Something about him annoyed me. I thought he was full of himself.
But then—life.
When I finally joined the new office, he wasn't even there. They said he'd gone to the US and would be gone for three months. So, my first weeks were about learning everyone else's names and trying to figure out where I fit. I just settled in, got used to the office, the culture, and the people. I was already struggling with some team issues—people not accepting me and feeling a little alone. I was trying my best to adjust. But they made it hard. They kept me out, like I was invisible unless they needed something. So I found myself gravitating towards the social media team. His team.
That's how I became friendly with them—spending breaks in their room, laughing over silly jokes, telling them office gossip. Nothing deep. Just comfort in small pockets. They made me feel seen. And that's when I started hearing more about him—Sarmad.
I tried to focus on myself. On learning the work. On ignoring the ache that Dheer had left behind.
Dheer.
Even the name made me feel exhausted. For two years, I had been in a situationship
with him—a blurry, confusing half-relationship. He never really committed. He never really left. He always pretended he wasn't seeing anyone else, but I had instincts. I knew about the girl he was probably with.
Nothing proved it more clearly than November. My birthday was November 15th. Dheer had only sent a dry "happy birthday." No effort. No surprise. No warmth.
Two weeks later, on November 28th, it was that girl's birthday. Dheer took her to Shimla, alone. There were pictures on Instagram. Stories full of mountains and fairy lights.
That was the last time I let myself not to expect anything from him.
Maybe this is a chance to finally leave him behind.
December came, and with it, Sarmad's return.
I didn't even see him arrive.
I was downstairs, pacing front and back… phone pressed to my ear as I tried to sound like I was fine. My friend's voice crackled through the speaker, something about weekend plans I wasn't really listening to. I was too busy trying to keep my thoughts in order, trying to keep from spiralling back to the same tired heartbreak.
When I finally turned to head outside, I saw them—Prashant standing near the entrance, Oh Prashant is my favourite colleague he is also from social media team, we both are same age and same at goofiness but he is more mature, Know world better than me off course
and next to him, that face I'd only seen on Aleena's screen.
He was taller in person, broader too. He wore an army green t-shirt that stretched a little across his chest, and for some reason, the sight of him made my pulse skip.
They were mid-conversation, and I could feel Prashant's eyes flicking toward me,
probably in that moment when Sarmad asked, "Who's she?"
I swallowed and tried to look casual, but I knew I was failing. I kept my phone pressed to my ear even though I'd stopped talking.
As I came closer, he turned his head.
And then he smiled—just a little, as if he'd found something amusing about the fact that
I was pretending not to notice him. His eyes were steady and dark brown
"Hi," he said, his voice soft and surprisingly warm. "You must be Saher."
He knew my name. He actually knew my name.
My heart stumbled in my chest.
"Yes," she said, her voice soft.
He walked on. Just like that. Just a greeting, a polite gesture.
That was it. That was all it took to lodge something inside me, some curiosity I didn't want to name.
But for me, it was a shift.
Because in that short moment, everything I had thought about him—from that video, that mean-looking face, that judgmental attitude—all of it shattered.
The universe was teasing me. It was like it whispered, Forget what you thought. Watch now.
After that, I found myself in their room more often. Not because of him—at least that's what I told myself—but because his presence added something warm to the air. I'd sit with his team, cracking stupid jokes, being my goofy self. And he'd listen.
When everyone else made me feel like too much—too loud, too dramatic, too talkative—he looked at me and smiled.
Not the kind of smile you give out of politeness.
The kind of smile that says, you're fine just the way you are.
He never interrupted. He never mocked. He just watched with this softness in his eyes, and I started catching myself watching back. Just tiny glances at first. Then longer ones. Then looking away when he caught me, pretending I was lost in thought.
The universe kept giving hints.
One day, while sitting in their room, telling them some absurd office gossip, I noticed him lean back in his chair, arms folded, smiling with the kind of ease that makes you forget where you are. That was the first time I felt it—not just interest or attraction. But something deeper. A calmness I never knew I needed.
This wasn't a silly crush anymore.
This was something I couldn't name yet.
But it was beginning.