I had been waiting for Ankita’s reply, even though I knew deep down—it wasn’t coming. Still, hope is a foolishly loyal friend. Every few minutes, I checked my phone like a man possessed—whether she was online, typing, or had sent even a single dot. Nothing. Not even a "seen."
I sat at the dining table, restlessly tapping my screen and glaring at my Wi-Fi like it had personally betrayed me. Rehan, who was watching all this with the amusement of a cat watching a laser pointer, suddenly messaged me a “Hi.”
When I looked up, he smirked. “Just proving that our Wi-Fi is fine, bro. It’s not the internet that’s down—it’s your luck. You’re running like an express train, Abhi. She’s already a broken soul, and you’re just scaring her more.”
I crossed my arms and grinned smugly. “Thank God I’m not like you—a mail train stuck at the same station for years. You’ve still not reached your ‘Mia’ platform!”
The expression on his face was priceless. I knew I’d won.
Rehan only smiled and said, “Anyway, I’m booking a cab for your sunshine to visit your godown.” He gave me that devilish grin—the kind that spelled trouble.
I stared at him in horror. “Rehan, you wouldn’t dare!”
He raised an eyebrow. “You think I can’t?”
“Please, yaar. Don’t mess this up for me. I’ve worked hard for this chance!” I pleaded.
He leaned back, pretending to think. “See? I’m a mail train, remember? Too slow to understand all this. What would I know about your lightning-speed love story?”
“Fine,” I said, trying not to lose my cool. “Just don’t book the cab. I’m warning you!”
Rehan smirked. “Or what?”
“Then the cab won’t survive. You’re challenging a mechanic who’s in love.”
He raised a brow, and after a dramatic silence, we both burst out laughing.
That night, I checked my phone one last time before sleeping. Still no message. I wondered if she was upset about what I’d asked her that morning. I thought of saying sorry, but then decided—no. She needs space. It’s her choice. I’ve made mine, and I don’t regret it.
I set the phone down, and smiling faintly, drifted into sleep—into dreams where she smiled back.
Morning came too soon. While heading out, I remembered the previous night’s banter and asked Rehan, “You’ll convince her to come with me, right? I can join you if you want.”
He gave me that look. “Yeah, so you can terrify her more and ruin everything? No thanks.”
I shot him a glare. He ignored it.
“Relax,” he said casually. “I’ll handle it. But… I do expect a little something in return.”
I sighed. “You mean a bribe.”
Rehan grinned. “One week with your latest car.”
If looks could kill, he’d be flatlined. “Rehan, no way!”
“Then I’ll arrange another car—and maybe it’ll break down when you’re in it.”
I groaned and threw him the keys. He caught them mid-air and laughed like a maniac. “Pleasure doing business!”
As he twirled the keys, I muttered, “You’ll pay for this, you devil.”
But in the end, seeing my sunshine was worth any price—yes, even my car.
Ankita’s POV
My scooty gave up on me in the middle of the road. Completely dead. I kicked it, cursed it, and prayed all at once—but it didn’t budge. To make things worse, a few men nearby started throwing unpleasant looks and comments my way.
Just when I was about to melt into the pavement out of sheer stress, I saw Mr. Abhinav Kapoor walking towards me. Relief flooded through me—finally, a familiar face. The second he arrived, those men dispersed like smoke.
He glanced at the scooty for barely a second and said, “Fuel pipe’s gone. It won’t start.”
That man didn’t even need a stethoscope; he could diagnose vehicles like a doctor. I tried to refuse his offer for help—mostly to save myself from feeling indebted—but he was annoyingly stubborn.
“Don’t you trust me?” he asked.
I didn’t. Not because he was creepy—he wasn’t—but because trusting anyone had never gone well for me. Still, I had no choice.
He dropped me home and insisted he’d get the scooty fixed. When I thanked him and called him “Sir,” he grinned and told me to call him by his name. I couldn’t. He was my boss. That’s…weird.
That night was another sleepless one. Nightmares again. So I woke early, worrying about how to get to the office. Then I realized—I didn’t even have his number to ask about the scooty! I’d have to ask Rehan. Great. That’ll look totally normal.
But when I stepped outside, there he was—Mr. Kapoor, leaning against his car, waving like this was the most casual thing ever. Somehow, he remembered. Surprised, I got in. He kept stealing glances at me from the side, but—oddly enough—it didn’t feel uncomfortable.
When we reached, I thanked him. Later, he said the scooty would take two days to repair. I felt terrible about the trouble, but before I could offer to pay, my phone pinged. A message from an unknown number—it was him. He said the scooty was fixed earlier than expected.
Miracle much?
I asked the cost, and his reply nearly gave me a heart attack. He wanted a coffee instead.
When I looked up from my phone, I saw him standing with Rehan, smiling faintly. Our eyes met—just for a heartbeat—and I quickly looked away. Saying “no” felt rude. Saying “yes”… I wasn’t ready.
Old memories rose like old wounds—years of being told my voice didn’t matter, years of being punished simply for saying “no.” The familiar tightness pressed against my temples, and a headache slowly began to bloom. I kept repeating to myself that I would thank him properly when the moment came. As for the coffee… I’d just quietly let that topic disappear.
I was about to leave when I heard steady footsteps behind me. I turned around and saw Agarwal Sir, Rehan Sir, and Abhinav Sir walking together toward the parking area. His own car wasn’t there—he was heading out with Rehan Sir instead.
My eyes instinctively searched for his face, hoping he’d at least glance my way. But he didn’t. He walked past without the slightest look, without even the faintest acknowledgement that I was standing there. A strange discomfort twisted in my stomach. I had wanted to thank him in person, properly, sincerely.
Instead, he walked away like I wasn’t even there.
A quiet worry crept in—had he gotten angry? Did he feel offended because I never replied to the coffee message? Maybe he thought I was ignoring him on purpose. The thought bothered me more than I expected.
Even after reaching home, the scene kept replaying in my mind—his silence, his straight walk, the absence of even a sideways glance. My thoughts spiraled between guilt, confusion, and that old fear of disappointing someone without meaning to.
By the time night settled, my head felt heavy with overthinking. Somewhere between wondering what he must be thinking and convincing myself not to think at all, I drifted into sleep—mid-thought, mid-worry, and not at all at peace.
Next day, Abhinav Sir wasn’t in office. The silence felt heavier somehow. Around 4 p.m., Rehan called me in.
“Ankita, from Monday, you’ll be reporting directly to Abhinav Kapoor for the new project,” he announced.
I nodded, uncertain whether to feel proud or terrified.
“You’ll be working at the warehouse. It’s about an hour’s drive, and not safe for two-wheelers. You can use a cab or go with Mr. Kapoor,” he continued.
I hesitated. He must’ve noticed. “Trust me,” he said gently. “You believe in Mr. Aggarwal’s judgment, right? He wouldn’t suggest this if it wasn’t safe.”
I finally nodded. “I’ll go with Mr. Kapoor.”
Rehan smiled knowingly. “Perfect. I’ll inform him.”
As I left the cabin, I could already feel my heart racing. Monday suddenly felt…too close.
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