Chapter 8
Armaan
I arrived at the office before sunrise, when the building was still mostly empty and the hallways echoed with my footsteps. The security guard at the entrance had looked surprised to see me so early, but he had simply nodded and let me through without comment.
I could not sleep. That was the truth of it.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face.
The way she had looked sleeping on the balcony, so peaceful and innocent.
The way fear had flashed in her eyes when she woke to find me leaning over her.
The tiny cut on her wrist that I had bandaged with hands that felt too rough, too unworthy to be touching something so delicate.
The guilt was eating me alive.
I was playing with an innocent girl's life. I had married her under false pretenses, tied her to me for a year like some kind of contract employee, all to satisfy an astrological prophecy I did not even believe in. And for what? To make Dadi happy? To keep Avija safe?
What about Viya? What about her happiness? Her safety? Her future?
These questions had circled in my mind all night like vultures, refusing to let me rest.
So I had come to the office. At least here, I could lose myself in work. In spreadsheets and reports and business strategies that made logical sense. In problems that had concrete solutions.
I spent the morning reviewing contracts and responding to emails, trying to force my brain to focus on anything other than the fact that I had left my wife alone in my bed this morning without so much as a goodbye.
Around noon, Meera knocked on my office door.
"Mr. Khanna? The conference room is ready for your meeting with the development team. All the developers are present and waiting."
I glanced at my watch. The client presentation. I had completely forgotten about it in my sleep deprived haze.
"Thank you, Meera. I will be right there."
I gathered the files I needed and stood up, straightening my tie and buttoning my suit jacket. I took a moment to compose myself, to push everything else out of my mind and focus solely on the task at hand.
This was what I was good at. This was what I knew how to do.
I walked down the hallway toward the conference room, my footsteps steady and confident. When I reached the glass doors, I could see through them that the room was already full. Developers, project managers, and the client representatives all seated around the long table.
I pushed open the door and stepped inside.
Everyone immediately stood up, the sound of chairs scraping against the floor filling the room.
"Good afternoon, sir," they chorused.
I nodded in acknowledgment.
"Good afternoon. Please, sit down."
They all returned to their seats, pulling out laptops and tablets and papers. I walked to the head of the table and set my files down, preparing to take my seat as well.
That was when I noticed them.
Two young women standing against the back wall instead of sitting at the table with the others. They looked young, probably fresh out of college, dressed professionally but standing slightly apart from the rest of the team.
New hires, I assumed.
My eyes moved from one to the other in a casual sweep, and then stopped.
Froze, actually.
Because one of them was Viya.
My wife was standing in my conference room.
She was wearing a pink salwar kameez, the color soft and feminine against her skin. Her hair was pulled back, and she was holding an iPad close to her chest like a shield. Her eyes were fixed on something across the room, carefully avoiding looking in my direction.
My mind scrambled to make sense of this. What was she doing here? Then it clicked into place with sudden, sharp clarity.
She worked here. She was part of the development team. That was why she had been in the building that day. That was why she had been in the elevator.
She was one of my employees.
I had married one of my own employees without even knowing it.
My eyes traveled over her again, slower this time, taking in details I had not noticed before. She looked professional and put together, every inch the competent developer. But there was something missing.
No vermillion in the parting of her hair. No mangalsutra around her neck.
The sacred symbols I had placed on her just yesterday were nowhere to be seen.
I understood why, of course. We were keeping the marriage secret. She could not walk around the office wearing sindoor and a mangalsutra without people asking questions. It made perfect logical sense.
But it still stung.
It stung more than it had any right to.
I forced myself to look away from her and turned my attention to Vikrant, the team lead.
"Vikrant, I see some new faces on your team. Would you mind introducing them?"
Vikrant stood up with a smile, clearly pleased to show off his new hires.
"Of course, sir. These are our two newest junior developers. This is Akshita Jain," he gestured to the other young woman, who gave a nervous but professional nod, "and this is Viya Mehra. They both joined us last week and have already been making excellent contributions to the ongoing projects."
Viya Mehra.
She had not taken my name. She was still using her maiden name.
Another sting, sharp and unexpected.
Our eyes met for just a fraction of a second. I saw recognition flash in her gaze, followed immediately by something that looked like panic. Then she looked down, her eyes fixed firmly on the floor.
I kept my expression neutral, professional.
"Welcome to the team," I said, addressing both of them but unable to stop myself from looking at Viya. "I appreciate hard work and dedication. I am sure you will both do well here."
Then I turned to one of the support staff members standing near the door.
"Can someone please arrange chairs for them? There is no need for them to stand during the entire meeting."
There was a brief flurry of activity as two chairs were quickly brought in and positioned along the wall. Akshita and Viya sat down, and I noticed Viya's hands were trembling slightly as she adjusted her grip on her iPad.
Was she nervous about the meeting? Or nervous because I was here?
The meeting began. Vikrant started the presentation, walking through the progress the development team had made on the client's application. Charts and graphs appeared on the large screen at the front of the room. Code snippets were displayed and explained. Timelines were reviewed.
The clients looked impressed. They asked good questions, and the developers provided confident, knowledgeable answers.
It should have been easy for me to focus on the content. This was important work, work that would generate significant revenue for the company if we landed this contract.
But I could not focus.
My eyes kept drifting back to Viya.
She was completely absorbed in the presentation.
Her eyes tracked every slide, every piece of information being shared.
Her fingers moved across her iPad screen, clearly taking detailed notes.
Her brow was furrowed slightly in concentration, and I could see her lips moving occasionally, as though she was talking herself through some technical concept.
She looked so different here than she had last night. Last night, she had been fragile and frightened, a girl thrust into a situation she did not understand and could not control. But here, in this professional setting, she looked confident. Capable. Like she belonged.
I found myself wondering what kind of developer she was. Was she good at her job? Did she enjoy the work? What were her strengths? Her weaknesses?
I knew nothing about this woman I had married. Nothing real, anyway.
About halfway through the presentation, Vikrant paused and looked toward the back of the room.
"Viya, you have been working closely on the performance optimization module. Do you have any input on the latency issues the client mentioned earlier?"
Every head in the room turned to look at her.
I watched as a flash of surprise crossed her face, followed quickly by determination. She stood up, her iPad still in her hands, and cleared her throat.
"Yes, actually. I have been analyzing the current architecture, and I believe we can reduce the app's latency significantly by implementing a more efficient caching strategy.
Right now, we are making redundant server calls for data that does not change frequently.
If we cache that data locally and only refresh it when necessary, we could cut response time by at least thirty percent. "
She spoke clearly and confidently, her technical knowledge evident in every word. She was not just reciting something she had memorized. She understood the problem and had thought through a solution.
I was impressed.
Very impressed.
Several people around the table nodded in agreement. The clients leaned forward, clearly interested in this proposal.
Vikrant looked pleased.
"That is an excellent suggestion, Viya. What do you think, sir?" He turned to me.
I kept my expression neutral, professional, even though something warm was spreading through my chest.
"I think it is a solid approach. It demonstrates good understanding of both the technical requirements and the user experience priorities."
I paused, then made a decision that was probably not entirely professional but that I could not seem to stop myself from making.
"Viya, I would like you to prepare a detailed proposal of your optimization strategy and present it to me personally tomorrow. Include the technical specifications, the implementation timeline, and the expected performance improvements."
I saw her eyes widen slightly. Her grip on the iPad tightened, her knuckles going white.
"Yes, sir," she said quietly. "I will have it ready."
She sat back down quickly, and I noticed Akshita leaning over to whisper something to her. Viya shook her head slightly, her cheeks flushed.
The meeting continued for another thirty minutes. More slides. More discussions. More questions from the clients that were answered competently by the team.
When the meeting finally concluded, I stood and shook hands with the client representatives, exchanging the usual pleasantries about moving forward with the project and being in touch soon.
The room began to empty, people filing out in small groups, chatting about the presentation and their next tasks.
Viya was one of the first ones out the door.
I caught a glimpse of her pink salwar kameez disappearing into the hallway, Akshita close beside her. They were walking quickly, almost fleeing.
I found myself smiling despite everything. Despite the guilt and the confusion and the impossible situation we were both trapped in.
There was something about her reaction, about the way she had practically run from the room, that struck me as oddly endearing. She was so determined to maintain the professional distance between us. So committed to pretending we were nothing more than CEO and employee.
It was probably the smart thing to do.
But it also made me want to break through that distance. To see what would happen if I pushed, just a little.
Vikrant approached me as I was gathering my files.
"Thank you for your time today, sir. I think the clients were very pleased with what we presented."
I nodded.
"The team did excellent work. And your new junior developers seem very capable. Especially Viya. Her suggestion about the caching strategy was insightful."
Vikrant beamed with pride.
"She has been a great addition to the team. Very quick learner. She picks up complex concepts faster than anyone I have seen in a long time. I think she has a very bright future here at New Gen Corp."
Something about the way he said it, the genuine admiration in his voice, made that warm feeling in my chest expand.
My wife was talented. She was smart and capable and valued by her team.
She deserved so much better than what I had given her.
"Make sure she has all the resources she needs for tomorrow's presentation," I said. "I want to see what she can do."
Vikrant nodded enthusiastically.
"Of course, sir. I will make sure she is fully prepared."
I left the conference room and headed back to my office, my mind already spinning with thoughts I had no business thinking.