A flush sounded as she exited the washroom, making her way to the wash basin. Turning on the tap, she let the cold water run through her hands, washing them thoroughly. After turning off the tap, she reached for a tissue when she heard the creak of the door opening.
"Excuse me."
A male voice startled her, and she swiftly turned around, astonished to hear a man’s voice in the ladies' washroom. He stood in the doorway, wearing sunglasses, and seemed momentarily stunned by her presence.
There was a brief silence until she broke it.
"Yeah?"
Her voice snapped him out of his daze.
"This is the gents' washroom," he said, still looking at her, unblinking behind his shades.
Unaware of his intense gaze, she replied casually yet politely.
"Umm, you might be mistaken. This is the ladies' room. The gents' might be on the other side."
There was something almost enchanting about the way she spoke, her voice carrying a calm assurance that caught him off guard. For a moment, he questioned his own certainty.
"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice hesitant.
She gave a small nod. "It's written above the door."
His eyes finally shifted from her, looking up as he stepped out of the doorway. Sure enough, the sign above read *Ladies*.
Embarrassed, he quickly decided to leave but couldn't help glancing at her one last time before he did.
"Sorry, I was mistaken," he mumbled before exiting.
She dried her hands with a tissue and used the hand dryer before leaving the washroom.
As she stepped out, she was once again greeted by the female colleague who had been asked to show her around the office by Raghav.
*******
After a while, she politely excused herself from the group, feeling overwhelmed by the extensive tour. The office was far too big to explore in one go, and she was already exhausted. All she needed now was a quiet place to rest.
She asked for a secluded spot, and they led her to a small room where a cluster of sofas circled a decorative table. The space was quiet and inviting. Grateful for the respite, she sank into one of the plush sofas, hoping to steal a moment of peace.
But her solitude was short-lived. The door swung open, and the same group of women barged in, interrupting her rest.
She opened her eyes, annoyance flickering across her face as she looked up at them.
"Sir is asking for you," one of them said.
She sighed, her frustration barely concealed. —What does he want now?– she thought bitterly. —Can’t he let me rest for even a minute?—
Reluctantly, she got up and followed them as they led her to his office.
When she entered the room, she found him sitting at the head of the table, engrossed in his laptop with a pen in hand. Another man sat opposite him, his back turned to her. The man in charge glanced up at her, still speaking to the other person, and gestured to the left with a subtle wave of his hand.
She hesitated, unsure of what he meant. She looked in the direction he indicated and noticed a door.
"Go and take rest there," he said, his tone firm yet not unkind.
Realizing his intention, she nodded in acknowledgment and made her way to the door. As she opened it, she was greeted by the sight of a spacious, comfortable room. A large bed dominated the space, surrounded by well-chosen furniture and a TV mounted on the wall. The room felt luxurious, almost out of place in an office setting.
She took a moment to take in her surroundings, then slowly approached the bed. As she lay down, the soft mattress and cool sheets beckoned her into relaxation, but sleep eluded her for a while. Her mind raced with thoughts—about the day, the strange encounter in the washroom, and the man who now offered her a place to rest.
Finally, her exhaustion overcame her, and she drifted off into a deep, much-needed sleep.
Deep in her sleep, she felt a tickling sensation on her cheekbone, something rough brushing against her skin. She snuggled deeper into the pillow, trying to escape the disturbance, but the tickling persisted. Half-asleep, she swatted at it with her hand, hoping to make it go away, before tucking her hands under the pillow and sinking back into slumber.
Time passed, and slowly, her deep sleep began to ebb. Drowsily, she opened her eyes, blinking against the soft light that filtered into the room. The saffron hue cascading from the window told her that the sun was setting, signaling the end of the day. Panic shot through her as she realized just how long she had been asleep, and she bolted upright.
As she did, her eyes landed on him. He was seated opposite her, engrossed in his laptop, his face illuminated by the screen's glow. Without lifting his gaze, he greeted her with a calm, "Good evening."
His tone was polite, but when his eyes finally met hers, they held a strict, slightly irritated expression.
"Good evening," she stammered, uncertain of the reason for his seriousness. *Did I do something wrong?* she wondered, anxiety creeping in.
"You slept so soundly that you didn’t even wake up for lunch, despite my repeated attempts to rouse you," he said, his voice edged with frustration.
Her eyes widened in surprise. "You tried to wake me up?" she asked, incredulous. Had she really been that deeply asleep? The way he described it made it sound like he had made quite an effort.
"Yes, many times," he replied, his tone stern as his eyes returned to the laptop. "You even pushed my hand away."
She blinked in disbelief, looking down in embarrassment. *Did I really push his hand away?* she thought, her mind racing as she tried to recall. But there was nothing—just the overwhelming heaviness of sleep.
He glanced up at her, a slow smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he observed her inner turmoil. She seemed genuinely surprised, and a bit embarrassed. It was endearing to see her like this—vulnerable, flustered, not in control.
She looked up, catching his eyes just as he masked his amusement, his face returning to its usual composed expression. Her cheeks flushed pink, and she licked her lips, a nervous habit that indicated she was about to speak.
"Sorry," she mumbled, her voice small and embarrassed. "I'll be more alert next time."
He watched her, a sense of satisfaction warming his chest at seeing this softer side of her. "It’s fine," he said, his tone softer now. "But next time, I won’t let you sleep until you’ve eaten something first."
She pressed her lips together, unsure of what to say, and looked away, still feeling the remnants of embarrassment. With a sigh, he shut down his laptop and began packing his bag.
"Fix your hair. We're leaving," he instructed, his tone gentle but firm.
She glanced at him before quickly complying, her fingers working deftly to braid her wavy hair with practiced ease. As she fixed her bindi in place, he couldn’t help but watch, mesmerized by the simple elegance of her actions. Every movement she made seemed graceful, effortless—she was beautiful in every way, even in the most mundane moments.
As she finished, he approached her, an impulse surging within him. Without warning, he leaned down and pressed a simple, gentle kiss to her lips. It was just a peck, fleeting and soft, but it sent a jolt through him.
The kiss was refreshing, revitalizing, as if he had been touched by something pure and life-giving. It was as though nature itself had caressed him, leaving him feeling rejuvenated, as if he had been gifted something precious.
She stared at him, eyes wide with surprise, but he simply smiled, a sense of peace settling over him. It was a brief moment, yet it lingered, resonating deeply within him.
*****
They were driving to his house, and she sat silently, her gaze fixed on the world outside the car window. Her sleep was fully satisfied, so she was wide awake, her eyes following the passing trees as if they might provide an escape from the situation she was in.
"Do you eat Pizza or burger "?
He asked gaining her attention as she looked at him.
"No".
"What do you eat then"?
He asked.
"Nothing".
She shook her head once more, making it clear she had no interest in discussing her food preferences, or anything else about herself for that matter. They weren’t in a relationship, not in any real sense, and casual conversation felt forced, unnatural. She didn’t want to talk to him about her likes and dislikes as if they were just two normal people sharing a moment together because they weren’t. She resented the forced familiarity. He was imposing himself on her, and she doesn't like that.
"You haven't eaten any lunch. Just asking so that we can grab mutual snacks on the way as it is evening. Do you eat Samosa or katchori"?
This time, she blinked, caught off guard by his persistence. It had been a long time since she had gone out and enjoyed any food outside of home. The thought of eating something she liked, of having even a small moment of normalcy, was tempting. Maybe it would help her feel a little better, even if just temporarily.
Finally, she nodded, a small, reluctant gesture. He noticed it immediately, storing it away like every other small detail he had learned about her.
Without another word, he drove them to a nearby bakery. There, they ordered samosas, kachoris, and tea. As they sat down to eat, he observed her closely. She ate everything on her plate, neat and precise, savoring each bite. It struck him that she must really enjoy these foods, considering how little she ate at home. He had always known she liked tea—he had learned that about her a long time ago—but now he was discovering something new. Maybe, he thought, taking her out like this more often might help him understand her better.
But then the question crept into his mind: why did he need to know her better? What was the point of all this effort? The thought made him uneasy, and the small smile that had been playing on his lips faded as he shifted in his seat, trying to push the uncomfortable question away.
She took the last sip of her tea, holding the cup in her hands, rolling it gently between her palms. Her face was half-hidden behind the rim, and she seemed lost in thought, much like when she was staring out of the car window.
He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest as he watched her. His gaze flicked from her to the empty cup on the table. One thing was clear to him: she didn’t want to go home, at least not yet.
"Aur ek chai mangvadu?" he asked softly, his voice breaking through her reverie.
Should I order another tea?
She looked up at him, biting down on her lower lip, and after a moment, she nodded. There was a vulnerability in that small gesture, something that tugged at him unexpectedly. He noticed how her hesitation revealed more about her than any words could. He clenched his jaw slightly as he observed her, then ordered another cup of tea for her, along with two more kachoris for himself. He figured he could finish them by the time she finished her tea.
He knew she usually never drank more than one cup of tea, even though she loved it. This was her way of prolonging their time here, stretching out the moment as much as possible before they had to return home.
But at the end they reached the mansion.
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