Ankita’s POV
By 5:30 p.m., I had almost finished my work for the day.
Almost.
The designs were checked, the corrections were marked, and the final draft was saved safely in its folder. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment, tempted to shut down the system and call it a day. But one glance toward Rehan Sir’s cabin stopped me.
The glass door was still closed.
The meeting was still going on.
Rehan Sir and Mr. Abhinav Kapoor had been inside for hours, discussing something that seemed far more serious than the usual business proposals. And in our office, if the senior management was still working, it usually meant we weren’t leaving either—especially not when Ms. Sharma was around.
So, with a small sigh, I kept my computer on.
Across the room, Ms. Sharma was pretending to be busy, but her excitement was impossible to miss. Her face had been glowing since morning, and every few minutes, her eyes would drift toward the cabin door. Anyone could tell she was waiting for one person.
Mr. Abhinav Kapoor.
The Abhinav Kapoor.
She had mentioned his name so many times in one day that even the office plants must have memorized it by now.
After a while, she came near my desk, adjusting the edge of her dupatta with an air of importance.
“Ankita,” she said, lowering her voice as if she was sharing confidential information, “Rehan Sir has asked HR for the list of staff from the production and designing section.”
I looked up at her. “Oh.”
“Maybe they are selecting staff members for the new venture,” she continued, her lips curving into a proud smile. Then, with absolute confidence, she added, “I am the best, so I think I will be selected.”
I pressed my lips together to hide my smile.
Thank God for keeping things low, I thought. Nahi toh kaise handle karti main?
Out loud, I simply nodded. “Yes, ma’am. You would be.”
Her smile widened, satisfied with my answer.
The clock kept moving slowly after that. 6:00 p.m. became 6:30. Then 7:00. The office had started emptying, but a few of us still remained, waiting for some unspoken permission to leave.
I had already messaged Mom.
I’ll be late. Urgent meeting in office.
It wasn’t exactly a lie. It just wasn’t my meeting.
By the time the clock crossed 7:00, my patience had started thinning. I glanced at Ms. Sharma, who was still sitting stiffly in her chair, pretending to check files while her attention stayed fixed on the cabin.
Finally, I gathered enough courage.
“Ma’am,” I asked softly, “shall we leave?”
For a second, she didn’t respond. Then she looked toward the cabin door one last time. Her face fell slightly, disappointment passing through her features before she covered it.
“Yes,” she said with a heavy heart. “Let’s go.”
I felt a little bad for her. She had been waiting so eagerly to meet Mr. Kapoor, and now it seemed the chance had slipped away.
I started packing my things—shutting down my computer, arranging the files, and placing my diary inside my bag. Just then, the cabin door opened.
My hands paused for a second.
Rehan Sir stepped out first, still speaking over his shoulder. I looked only for a moment before lowering my gaze again. It was none of my business. I zipped my bag and picked it up.
Then suddenly, there was a small commotion near me.
A gasp.
A stumble.
A soft exclamation from Ms. Sharma.
I turned instinctively.
And there she was—Ms. Sharma—caught in the arms of a man.
I didn’t need anyone to tell me who he was.
Mr. Abhinav Kapoor.
He was taller than I had expected, dressed in a sharp suit that made him look powerful without trying. His hold on Ms. Sharma was firm, protective, as if he had caught her just before she could fall. Anyone else might have found the scene dramatic. Ms. Sharma certainly looked like she had stepped straight into one of her dreams.
I almost smiled.
But then his face turned slightly.
And his eyes met mine.
Only for a fraction of a second.
A small, meaningless moment.
Yet something flashed across his face—shock, disbelief, something too intense for a stranger’s expression.
I didn’t understand it.
I didn’t want to understand it.
So I turned away, adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder, and walked out of the office.
Behind me, the air still felt disturbed, as if that one glance had left something unfinished.
But I ignored it.
I had become good at ignoring things.
Abhi’s POV
We lost track of time.
After that brief conversation with Rehan, we had buried ourselves in work. The proposal was bigger than we had initially expected, and every point needed careful discussion. Financial planning, production capacity, team selection, design approvals—one topic kept leading to another.
By the time I checked my watch, it was almost 7:00 p.m.
Rehan leaned back in his chair and rubbed his forehead. “Enough for today. Let’s continue tomorrow.”
I nodded, closing the file in front of me. “Dinner?”
“Definitely,” he said. “I’m starving.”
We stepped out of the cabin still discussing the proposal. Rehan walked ahead, speaking about some technical requirement, while I followed behind, half-listening and half-lost in my own thoughts.
The lobby outside the working area was quieter now. Most desks were empty. A few lights were still on, casting a pale glow over the polished floor. The office, which had been buzzing all day, now felt strangely still.
Then suddenly, someone collided with me.
It happened so quickly that I barely registered it.
A soft gasp.
A body losing balance.
Instinctively, I reached out and caught the person before she could fall.
My hands held her firmly by the arms, stopping her just in time.
I was about to look down and apologize when I heard a small giggle from the side.
A soft, almost hidden sound.
My eyes moved toward it.
And the world stopped.
For a second, everything around me disappeared—the office, the lights, the woman I was holding, Rehan’s voice in the background.
All I could see were those eyes.
Those same eyes.
The eyes I had carried with me for years.
The eyes I had searched for in crowds, in dreams, in memories that refused to fade.
My Sunshine.
She was standing a little away, holding her bag, looking at me with a faint smile. Not a full smile. Just a small curve of her lips, polite and distant, as if I was no one.
As if she had never known me.
Our eyes met.
Only for a fraction of a second.
But that was enough.
My breath caught in my throat.
Before I could move, before I could speak, before I could even convince myself that she was real—she turned around and walked away.
Just like that.
I stood frozen.
“Abhi?”
Rehan’s voice came from somewhere far away.
“Abhi!”
I blinked and looked at him.
Only then did I realize I was still holding the woman who had bumped into me. She was saying something, probably thanking me or apologizing, but her words didn’t reach me.
Nothing reached me.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, helping her stand properly.
She smiled at me, but I was already looking past her.
Toward the direction where she had disappeared.
My mind refused to accept what my eyes had seen.
Was it her?
Was it really her?
No.
Yes.
It had to be.
Those eyes were not something I could mistake. I had lived with them inside me for years. They were printed somewhere deep in my soul. Even if I saw them from the corner of my eye, even in a crowd, even in darkness—I would know.
I would always know.
Rehan came closer, his brows drawn together. “What happened?”
I forced myself to look normal. “Nothing.”
He didn’t believe me. Of course he didn’t. But thankfully, he didn’t ask anything more at that moment.
We went to the restaurant for dinner, but I wasn’t there.
My body sat across from Rehan.
My mind stayed in that lobby.
Rehan kept talking—about the proposal, about the team, about the next day’s meeting—but I barely responded. Every few seconds, the same image flashed in front of me.
Her eyes.
That small smile.
The way she turned and left.
At last, Rehan placed his fork down and stared at me. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” I said quickly. “Just a little tired, I think.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Tired? You? And you want me to believe that?”
I looked away.
Luckily, he didn’t push further.
After dinner, we returned to the hotel. Rehan wished me good night and went to his room. I entered mine, changed my clothes, and lay on the bed.
But sleep didn’t come.
How could it?
The ceiling above me blurred as memories rose one after another. The laughter from years ago. The innocence. The name I had never been able to say without feeling something twist inside me.
Sunshine.
I turned to one side.
Then the other.
I shut my eyes.
Those eyes appeared again.
I opened them.
They were still there.
At first, I told myself I would confirm everything in the morning. I would ask Rehan calmly. I would check the employee records. I would behave like a sensible man.
But I had stopped being sensible the moment I saw her.
By 3:00 a.m., I couldn’t take it anymore.
I got out of bed, grabbed my room key, and walked straight to Rehan’s room. I knocked once. Then again. Then harder.
After a few moments, the door opened.
Rehan stood there half-asleep, hair messy, eyes barely open.
“What happened?” he asked, startled.
“I saw those eyes, Rehan.”
He stared at me.
Then he rubbed his face and groaned. “What is new in that? You always see those eyes in your dreams. And you woke me up at 3 a.m. to tell me this?”
“No, idiot,” I snapped. “I saw her in your office.”
His sleep vanished a little, but disbelief took its place.
“Abhi,” he said slowly, “please. We will visit a doctor tomorrow. Let me sleep now.”
I didn’t move.
I just stood there, looking at him.
Something in my expression must have reached him because after two minutes, he sighed and opened the door wider.
“Come in.”
I stepped inside while he sat on the bed, rubbing his eyes.
“You are thinking too much,” he said. “Nowadays, I think you are imagining her everywhere.”
“This idiot is my best friend,” I muttered under my breath. “And he thinks I’m mad.”
“What?”
“I saw her,” I said firmly. “When we came out of your office building lobby. She was there. Before I could react, she left.”
Rehan watched me silently.
I took a step closer. “You think I am mistaken, right? You think I imagined it. But Rehan, all these years I have lived with those eyes. I may forget faces. I may forget voices. But not those eyes. Even if it was just a sideways glimpse, I can tell for sure. They were my Sunshine’s eyes.”
Now Rehan was fully awake.
His expression changed.
“Are you sure?”
I glared at him. “At 3:00 a.m., do you think I would joke about this?”
He became quiet.
Then slowly, he said, “If you saw her in the office lobby, that means she may be working in my company. Some staff from production and designing were still present till late because we were in the cabin. I didn’t ask anyone to stay, but they probably thought we might need some documents.”
He paused and frowned.
“But there is no Sunshine in my office.”
I glared harder.
He immediately corrected himself. “I mean… Ankita. Ankita is not working in my office. At least, I don’t think so.”
Then something seemed to strike him.
He got up, opened his laptop, and sat at the small desk.
“Let me check the employee list.”
Those few minutes felt longer than the years I had spent searching for her.
I paced the room while Rehan typed. Every click of the keyboard tightened something inside my chest. Hope is a dangerous thing when you have spent too long surviving without it.
Then Rehan stopped.
His eyes fixed on the screen.
“What?” I demanded.
He looked up slowly. “Ankita works in the designing team.”
For a second, I couldn’t breathe.
Then anger rushed in.
“You knew she was working in your company and you didn’t bother to tell me?”
Rehan stood immediately. “I didn’t know, Abhi. I swear. I never noticed. There are so many employees, and I don’t personally check every file.”
“How could you not know?”
“I said I didn’t know!” he replied, equally shocked. “If I had known, do you think I would have hidden it from you?”
I turned away, running a hand through my hair.
Ankita.
She was here.
In Rehan’s office.
So close.
All this time, she had been so close.
Rehan checked further and then gave me her address and phone number. My fingers tightened around the paper.
“I am going to check myself,” I said.
Rehan immediately became alert. “Abhi… if she is with…”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t have to.
The words hit me like a stone.
If she was with someone.
If she had moved on.
If she belonged to another life now.
I closed my eyes for a second and forced myself to breathe.
Then I said, “I promise. If she is with somebody, I won’t bother her. Not for a second. I won’t even look at her again if that’s what her happiness needs. It will be closure for me.”
Rehan kept looking at me.
I opened my eyes.
“But if the case is otherwise,” I said, my voice lower now, “then she is mine. By hook or by crook.”
“Abhi,” Rehan warned.
I only gave him a faint wink, though my heart was anything but playful.
“Reach your office early,” I said. “Be ready with her file. I need to know everything.”
He nodded slowly.
I returned to my room, but there was no point in sleeping anymore. I showered, changed, and waited until it was reasonable enough to leave.
Reasonable for the world, maybe.
Not for me.
By 6:25 a.m., I was outside her house.
It was a small two-storey house with a neat, beautiful garden in front. The plants were well cared for. A scooter was parked inside the premises, but there were no other vehicles.
No car.
No sign of another man.
I hated myself a little for noticing that.
But I noticed everything.
I waited.
6:30 became 7:00.
7:00 became 7:20.
The street slowly came alive. A milkman passed by. A newspaper landed near the gate of the house next door. Somewhere, a pressure cooker whistled.
Then the door opened.
She came out.
And my world quieted again.
Ankita.
She was dressed simply, her hair tied back, a bag on her shoulder. She turned and said goodbye to an older woman at the door—her mother, probably.
There was softness in that moment. A kind of ordinary tenderness that made my chest ache.
Then she started her scooter and left.
I followed at a distance.
But instead of going directly to the office, she stopped near a park. She parked her scooter and walked inside. I frowned, confused, but followed her quietly.
She sat on a bench.
For a while, she did nothing.
She simply watched the children playing.
Their laughter filled the morning air. Some were running behind a ball, some were fighting over a swing, some were holding their mothers’ hands. The sunlight fell gently across the grass, turning the whole scene warm and peaceful.
But Ankita’s eyes were moist.
She watched the children with an emotion I couldn’t understand—longing, pain, love, loss. Something heavy. Something she was trying very hard to carry silently.
My heart clenched.
What had happened to her?
Where was the girl whose eyes used to shine like she had trapped sunlight inside them?
After some time, she wiped the corner of her eye, stood up, and left the park. This time, she went to Rehan’s office.
I waited outside for ten minutes before entering.
When I reached the designing department, I saw her at her desk.
She was completely absorbed in her work.
She didn’t notice me.
Not even once.
And strangely, that hurt more than I wanted to admit.
I went straight to Rehan’s cabin. He was already there, file open in front of him. The moment he saw me, he understood.
“I was right, Rehan,” I said. “She is Ankita.”
He didn’t reply immediately.
Instead, he pushed the file toward me. “I checked her file. But I’m shocked.”
I grabbed it and opened it quickly.
There were only two papers inside.
One was her KYC document.
The other was her appointment letter.
That was it.
I looked at Rehan, stunned. “How is this possible? She works in your company. You are so particular about paperwork. Why is there no other information?”
Rehan looked equally disturbed. “I don’t know. I only remember that when she joined, Aggarwal Uncle told me a new person was joining and that she would work under Ms. Sharma. I didn’t question him at that time.”
I looked back at the file.
Two papers.
For a person who had been working in the company, there should have been more—background details, previous experience, references, internal records, appraisal notes. Something.
But there was almost nothing.
It was as if someone had deliberately kept her existence minimal.
Hidden.
My fingers tightened around the file.
“Rehan,” I said quietly, almost pleading now, “you know how much this matters to me. At least keep her name in the project list. Please. I want to be near her. I want to know what happened. I want to be with my Sunshine.”
Rehan’s face softened, but he didn’t agree immediately.
“I am not promising anything right now, buddy,” he said. “Approval rests with Aggarwal Uncle. Let’s go to him with the list and see what he says.”
I nodded, though impatience burned through me.
We stepped out of his cabin and walked toward Aggarwal Uncle’s office. To reach there, we had to cross the designing section.
Rehan leaned closer and muttered, “Don’t stare.”
I heard him.
I understood him.
But the moment we entered the section, my eyes searched for her on their own.
And then I saw her.
Ankita sat at her desk, her attention fixed on the screen. A pencil was tucked between her fingers, and a few loose strands of hair had escaped near her face. She seemed unaware of the world around her, completely lost in her work.
For anyone else, she might have looked calm.
Normal.
But I saw what others didn’t.
The silence around her wasn’t peace.
It was distance.
There was something different in her now. Something that made my heart restless. Her eyes were the same, yet not the same. They still had the power to pull the breath out of me, but the playful glitter I remembered from years ago was missing.
The spark was buried.
The sunshine was hidden behind clouds.
And as I walked past her, one thought settled heavily inside me.
I had found her.
But maybe the Ankita I had been searching for had been lost long before I reached her.
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