Isha realized something the moment she walked into the meeting room.
She was trapped.
The long table was already half-filled. Laptops open. Coffee cups scattered. Quiet conversations buzzing through the air. She scanned the room quickly—and her eyes landed on the empty chair beside Aarav.
Her heart sank.
"Sit here," the manager said casually, pointing to it.
Isha forced a polite smile and took the seat, her movements stiff. Aarav didn't look at her immediately. He was reviewing something on his tablet, brows slightly drawn together in concentration.
The meeting began.
Numbers. Deadlines. Expectations.
Isha tried to focus, but she could feel his presence beside her—too close, too quiet. Every time he leaned forward to speak, his arm brushed hers lightly, sending an unexpected jolt through her chest.
Get a grip, she told herself.
"Ms. Isha," Aarav said suddenly, "can you explain your approach for the client strategy?"
She straightened instantly. "Yes."
As she spoke, she felt his gaze on her—not intimidating, but sharp, attentive. He wasn't trying to catch her making a mistake.
He was listening.
That realization steadied her voice.
When she finished, the room fell silent.
Aarav nodded once. "That works. We'll proceed with this direction."
Isha blinked.
No criticism. No corrections.
Just acceptance.
Her fingers curled slightly against her notebook as warmth spread through her chest—quickly followed by confusion.
After the meeting, the manager stopped them.
"You two will coordinate closely for the next two weeks," he said. "This project is important."
Two weeks.
Isha swallowed.
"Understood," Aarav replied calmly.
They walked back to their desks in silence. The office felt louder somehow, as if every passing glance carried curiosity.
Finally, Isha spoke. "If you want, I can send you daily updates."
"That won't be necessary," Aarav said. "We'll work on it together."
Together.
The word echoed in her mind.
That afternoon, they sat across from each other in the small discussion room. The glass walls made it impossible to escape each other's presence.
Isha opened her laptop. "I've outlined the initial framework."
Aarav leaned closer to look at the screen. His shoulder brushed hers again—this time longer.
Neither of them moved away.
"This section," he said quietly, pointing. "We should simplify it."
"I was thinking the same," she replied before she could stop herself.
He looked at her, surprised.
A faint pause stretched between them.
"Good," he said. "Then we're aligned."
Something shifted in the air.
They worked like that for hours—exchanging ideas, finishing each other's thoughts, falling into a rhythm neither of them expected. The awkwardness slowly dissolved, replaced by a comfortable focus.
At some point, Isha laughed softly at something he said.
The sound seemed to surprise both of them.
Aarav froze for a second—then looked away.
Silence followed.
"I didn't mean—" she began.
"It's fine," he said quickly. "We should take a break."
They stepped out for coffee in the evening. The sky outside had darkened, clouds gathering again.
"Do you always keep people at a distance?" Isha asked suddenly.
The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Aarav stiffened.
"What makes you think that?" he asked.
She hesitated. "You're kind. But you act like you don't want anyone to get close."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"Some distances are necessary," he said.
"For you," she replied softly, "or for others?"
He looked at her then—really looked at her.
The silence between them grew heavy.
Before he could answer, raised voices echoed from behind.
"Hey, that's not fair!"
One of the senior staff members was pointing at Isha's laptop, frustration clear in his tone. "You made this mistake. Now we have to redo everything."
Isha's heart dropped.
"I—I followed the instructions," she said, panic creeping in.
Aarav stepped forward.
"She didn't make the mistake," he said calmly, his voice cutting through the tension. "The data you provided was outdated."
The room fell silent.
He turned to Isha. "You did exactly what you were told."
Her eyes widened.
No one had ever defended her like that before.
The senior staff muttered an apology and walked away.
Isha stood frozen.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Aarav didn't meet her eyes. "I won't tolerate unfair blame."
But his clenched fists told another story.
That night, rain returned.
Isha waited for the bus under the shelter, hugging her bag close. The road glistened with water, memories of their first meeting flashing through her mind.
A car slowed near the stop.
Her heart skipped.
The window rolled down.
"Get in," Aarav said. "I'll drop you."
She hesitated. "You don't have to—"
"I know," he replied. "I want to."
The rain grew heavier.
Isha looked at the empty road… then at him.
Slowly, she opened the door and stepped inside.
As the car pulled away, silence filled the space between them.
Neither of them noticed how close they were sitting.
Or how dangerous that closeness was becoming.