CHAPTER 21
ADITI
I’ve barely had two bites of my lunch when someone starts playing Kala Chashma way too loud on a Bluetooth speaker that’s seen better days.
I look around at the laughter, chatter, and clink of spoons and plates.
The whole fourth floor smells of garlic bread, cheap perfumes, and stress sweat disguised under body spray.
It’s our one-month lunch party—the interns threw it together themselves, with Radha coordinating most of it because she’s a walking to-do list with eyeliner.
Paper plates in hand, we stand near the long glass wall that overlooks the city.
Not the pretty side, though. Just cranes, traffic, and scaffolding. Still, it’s better than emails.
“Tell me honestly,” Radha says between chews of her paneer wrap. “Are we actually celebrating surviving this month, or are we pretending it’s not hell working under Mr. Growl-and-Glare?”
I snort. “You’re the one who said he’s secretly hot.”
“I didn’t say secretly hot,” she corrects. “I said broody-hot. Like ‘I’ll ruin your life and then save you from a burning building’ energy.”
My mouth twitches. I don’t answer, mostly because she’s not wrong and I’m not brave enough to admit that.
Especially not after spending two days in his apartment, wearing his oversized shirt, while he cooked me poha, made chocolate protein bars for me, and told me things that made my heart ache a little too much.
I pop a piece of garlic bread in my mouth instead.
That’s when I notice him, Tushar, from logistics, I think, standing just behind Radha.
I’ve seen him once or twice—button-downs too tight at the arms, always the first to comment when someone walks in wearing something mildly fashionable.
The kind of guy who thinks his opinion is a gift and his stare is a compliment.
He walks up like he owns the floor.
“Hey,” he greets, flashing a smile that’s all smirk and no sincerity. “You’re Aditi, right?”
I swallow and nod politely. “Hi.”
He holds out his plate toward me like it’s some kind of offering. “Want to grab dinner sometime? There’s this new Korean BBQ place—”
“Oh,” I cut in quickly, stepping a little back. “Thank you, but no.”
His smile falters. Then it tightens. Oh, that's not a good sign. “Come on. One dinner?”
“I appreciate it, but really... I’m not interested.”
His jaw clenches. I can see his ears turning red, from embarrassment or maybe anger. From the look in his eyes, I can see he is not going to take the rejection lightly. Men. I almost roll my eyes.
“Right. Of course you’re not. I mean, when you’ve got the boss on your side, what would you want with someone who doesn’t sign your paycheck?” He says, grabbing the attention of a few interns nearby.
My heart stumbles.
“What do you mean?” I ask, voice cool but careful.
He shrugs. “You know what I mean. Special treatment, late entries, and the car drop. Come on, we all see it. You didn’t climb—looks more like a shortcut to the top.” His lips curl up in a smirk.
There’s a pause. The kind of silence that rushes in like air before a storm. I don’t realize what I am doing; my body moves involuntarily, and then I slap him.
Hard.
The sound snaps through the room like thunder, sharp and final. I don’t wait to see his face. Don’t wait for gasps or questions or whispers. I just turn around and walk out, each step pounding through my body like a heartbeat. I can’t slow down.
Outside, I stop only when I reach the stairwell. My legs shake. My hands burn.
“Aditi!” Radha’s voice follows me. She rounds the corner, panting slightly, her expression stormy and protective.
“I’m fine,” I say, but the words fall flat.
Because I’m not.
I’m not fine. Especially not right now.
“Is that really what people think?” My voice breaks as I lean against the cold wall. “That I’m here because of… because he—?”
“No,” Radha says firmly, stepping in front of me. “That’s not what people think. That’s what he thinks. Because you bruised his ego. Because men like him think a ‘no’ needs a reason. And if they can’t find one, they make one.”
I swallow, hard. “I tried to be polite. I—”
“You were perfect,” she says, touching my arm. “And he couldn’t handle it. It has nothing to do with Abhimaan. Or you. It’s his own damn insecurity.”
I let out a shaky breath. “I know that. I do. But it still feels like I was just dragged through filth for… what? Doing my job? Saying no?”
Radha nods, quieter now. “That’s the part that hurts the most. You do everything right, and still... someone has the audacity to stain your name.”
The tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them away.
“I just—” My voice breaks. “I didn’t want anyone to think that about me. That I got here because of him.”
That’s all I have ever been in my life. Sometimes I am the daughter of the Malhotras, sometimes the sister of Rudraksh and Aarav Malhotra, and now Abhimaan. This is so unfair to me. Can’t I just be Aditi for once? I feel a lump form in my throat.
Radha’s expression softens. “The people who matter know why you’re here. You’ve earned every bit of it. Hell, the man himself didn’t step into the office for two days because you weren’t there.”
I glance at her.
She smiles. “So maybe that says more about his respect for you than anything they could whisper.”
Her words settle somewhere deep. Not quite comfort, but... steadiness. I nod.
We walk back up the stairs, side by side. My hands still tremble, but I hold my head high.
When we reach the sixth floor, I don’t return to my desk. Instead, I walk straight to the door I know better than to knock on.
He looks up immediately. His eyes sweep over me, like he knows something’s off. I hate how easily he figures it out.
“I don’t feel well,” I say, voice even but quiet. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to take a half day.”
His brows pinch. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” I lie. “Just… tired.”
His gaze sharpens. That unsettling way he sees through people. Sees through me.
There’s a beat of silence as if he’s expecting me to tell him everything, but I can’t; I don’t want to. I might be facing an HR complaint tomorrow most definitely, and he will get to know obviously, so I just let it be. “Go home,” he says. “Text me when you reach.”
I am glad he doesn’t push it.
“Okay.”
I turn to leave, never looking back.
But the weight of his stare stays with me. Like an anchor. Like a question I’m too tired to answer.