•| THIRTEEN |•
Sitting on the slightly rusted iron bench near the college garden, you kept staring at the bouquet resting in your lap as if it were some alien object dropped from another planet.
The bright red roses looked fresh — too fresh — their fragrance strong enough to make your head spin.
Beside them sat the luxury chocolate box, neatly wrapped, expensive enough to scream rich man apology attempt.
Your fingers traced the ribbon absentmindedly, but your face remained scrunched in confusion and irritation.
Riya, on the other hand, had zero emotional attachment to the situation.
Her eyes were locked on the chocolates like a predator spotting prey.
Slowly… stealthily… she extended her hand toward the box.
Before her fingers could even touch it —
Slap!
You smacked her hand away without looking.
She gasped dramatically, clutching her hand to her chest as if you’d committed a crime.
“Excuse me?! Violence? Over chocolates?” she whined, glaring at you.
You finally turned your head slowly, narrowing your eyes.
“If you’re not eating them… I’ll eat them,” she added stubbornly, already reaching again.
You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt,“Don’t touch them.”
“Why? You’re not eating them either!” you groaned, leaning back against the bench, bouquet still in your lap.
“That weird uncle is too weird,” you muttered, shaking your head. “First he ruins my dress… then acts arrogant… then suddenly sends flowers and chocolates like some hero. What even is wrong with him?” Riya bit her lip to suppress a laugh.
But you were too busy spiraling.
“How the hell am I supposed to live my entire life with him?” you fake-whined dramatically, throwing your head back as if fate had personally wronged you. “He’s rude… arrogant… old… bossy… and calls me dumb kid!”
Riya snorted.
You sat up suddenly, clutching the bouquet tighter.
“No… no… this is not done.” your eyes narrowed slowly — irritation morphing into mischief.
“I have to teach him a lesson.” Riya’s brows lifted in instant interest.
“Ohhh… now this sounds fun.” You leaned forward slightly, lowering your voice as if plotting a crime.
“Stupid uncle,” you mumbled under your breath, a sly smirk forming on your lips.
That smirk alone made Riya straighten in excitement.
She knew that look.
That was your chaos incoming look.
“What are you gonna do?” she whispered eagerly, scooting closer on the bench.
You didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, you picked up one rose from the bouquet… twirled it between your fingers… eyes glinting with playful vengeance.
Then you turned to her slowly —
Smirk deepening.
“Wait and watch.”
Your voice dropped into a dangerous sing-song whisper.
Clutching the bouquet in one hand and the luxury chocolate box in the other, you stepped inside the towering glass building of Mehra Corporations — your eyes widening slightly at the sheer grandeur of the place.
The lobby alone looked bigger than your entire college block.
Polished marble floors reflected the chandelier lights above, employees walked briskly in formal suits, and the faint scent of expensive room freshener filled the air.
For a split second, you felt out of place in your simple college outfit — like a splash of color in a grayscale corporate world.
But then you remembered why you were there.
Your grip on the bouquet tightened.
Your expression hardened.
“Stupid uncle,” you muttered under your breath before marching toward the reception desk.
The receptionist — a sharply dressed woman with perfectly tied hair and a professional smile — looked up from her screen the moment you approached.
“Umm… hi,” you began, forcing a polite tone despite your irritation. “Can you tell me where Mr. Mehra’s cabin is?”
Her polite smile froze.
Slowly… her eyes dropped from your face… to the bouquet… then the chocolates… then back to your face again.
And in that one glance — her entire expression changed.
She leaned back slightly in her chair, crossing her arms as her gaze scanned you from head to toe — judging, measuring, dismissing.
“Do you have an appointment with him?” she asked flatly.
You blinked, taken aback by her tone.
“No… it’s just… I want to give him this,” you said, lifting the bouquet and chocolates slightly to show her.
A scoff escaped her lips before she could stop herself.
She shook her head slowly, lips curling in a faint mocking smile.
“Listen here, girl… you’re not allowed to meet him. And that too… to impress him.”
Your brows snapped together instantly.
Excuse me?
“Who said I’m here to impress him?” you shot back, irritation rising. “Just tell me where his cabin is… or I’ll find it myself.”
You didn’t even wait for her reply.
Turning on your heel, you walked straight toward the elevators.
“Hey— wait! You can’t just go like that!” she called out, scrambling from her chair.
You pressed the lift button anyway.
She reached to stop you, trying to block your path.
“I said you can’t go up!” but you sidestepped her grip stubbornly.
“Then stop me,” you muttered challengingly.
Just then—
The conference room doors across the floor opened.
Krish stepped out, still mid-conversation with his secretary while adjusting his watch.
“Mr. Patel, please keep this file in my cabin,” he instructed calmly, handing him a folder.
Then he looked up.
And froze.
His eyes locked on you — standing near the elevator, holding roses… looking furious.
For a fraction of a second, genuine disbelief flashed across his face.
Then irritation replaced it.
Without another word, he strode toward you in long, purposeful steps.
Meanwhile, you were still arguing with the receptionist.
“Where’s that Krish Mehr—” your sentence never finished.
Because suddenly —
A strong hand grabbed your wrist.
“—ack!” you gasped as your body jerked forward.
Before you could react, he pulled you dangerously close to him — so close your bouquet got crushed between your bodies.
Your eyes widened at the sudden proximity.
“What the heck are you doing here, huh?” he demanded in a low, controlled voice — but the irritation beneath it was clear.
You immediately tried to yank your hand free.
But his grip only tightened.
“And why the hell did you send me this stuff?!” you burst out, raising the bouquet and chocolates angrily between you.
Your voice echoed louder than intended.
His jaw clenched as his gaze flickered toward the watching staff.
He leaned closer to you, voice dropping into a warning whisper.
“Don’t create drama here.” you scoffed loudly, unbothered.
“Oh so now you’re worried about drama? You weren’t worried when you sent—” before you could finish —
He grabbed your arm again.
And started dragging you toward the elevators.
“Hey! Leave me! What are you doing?!” you protested, trying to resist, but his strength overpowered you easily.
Employees openly stared now — shocked, curious, gossip already brewing.
Your bangles clinked as you struggled.
“Krish Mehra! Let go of me!” but he didn’t stop.
Didn’t loosen his grip.
He simply pressed the elevator button, still holding you tightly at his side like you might disappear if he let go.
The doors opened.
He pulled you inside.
And the moment the doors closed —
The outside world vanished.
You stood inches apart — your wrist still trapped in his hand… bouquet crushed slightly between you… chocolates tilted dangerously.
And the dangerously calm man you had stormed into his company to confront.
“If you didn’t like it then why didn’t you just throw it away?
Why the hell do you create trouble every single time?
” he yelled, his voice sharp enough to slice through the confined air between you.
The sudden rise in his tone made you flinch before you could stop yourself, your shoulders stiffening instinctively.
There was always something about the way he spoke when he was angry — not just loud, but piercing, like every word was aimed precisely to rattle you.
And the worst part? Your body betrayed you every time.
Somehow, no matter how much you tried to appear unaffected, a strange nervousness crept under your skin whenever you were this close to him — when his eyes were burning into yours, when his presence felt too large for the small space you shared.
You hated that feeling. So you did what you always did — you masked it with indifference.
You rolled your eyes lightly, shrugging as if his anger meant nothing. “First thing — why did you even send me this? And—”
“Oh, shut up,” he cut you off immediately, frustration dripping from his voice.
He dragged a hand through his hair, jaw clenching.
“I don’t want to send you these types of things, okay?
It was my s—” He stopped mid-sentence, the unfinished word hanging between you like a suspended thread, ready to snap.
Before he could finish, the lift suddenly jerked violently.
The abrupt halt sent your balance spiraling.
A small gasp escaped you as your body lurched forward, the floor feeling like it had shifted beneath your feet.
Instinctively, your hands shot out — and you collided straight into him.
Your palms pressed against his chest as you stumbled, his arms reflexively gripping your shoulders to steady you.
For a brief second, time seemed to freeze — your breath caught, his grip firm, your faces far too close in the dim elevator light.
Then the lift went still.
Completely still.
He released you almost immediately, as if the contact burned. His expression hardened again, the brief flicker of concern vanishing behind irritation. Without a word, he turned slightly and pressed the emergency button, his finger jabbing it more harshly than necessary.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, exhaling sharply. “The lift is stopped.” His voice echoed faintly against the metal walls before he let out a humorless scoff. “It’s all because of you. You’re unlucky.”
He didn’t even look at you when he said it.
You stood there, still trying to steady your breathing, your back lightly resting against the cold wall of the elevator. The confined space suddenly felt smaller, heavier — filled with unsaid words, unfinished sentences, and the lingering warmth of the collision you were trying very hard to ignore.