CHAPTER 21
ARYAN
The first warning sign is Ajay knocking twice before entering. He only does that when something—or someone—important is behind him.
“Sir,” he says, stepping aside slightly, “someone’s here to see you.”
I don’t even get the chance to ask who. “Move, Ajay,” my mother’s voice floats in before she does, warm and unapologetic as always.
I look up from my laptop just in time to see her walk into my office like she owns the place. Which, technically, she kind of does. If not legally, then emotionally. This company exists because she let me chase it instead of forcing me into something safer.
“Ma?” I stand up immediately, half surprised, half delighted. “What are you doing here?”
“What? I need permission to visit my own son now?” she replies, eyebrows raised in mock offense.
Ajay hides a smile and excuses himself.
I walk around the desk and pull her into a quick hug. She smells like home. Maybe because she is home. I inhale the scent of sandalwood and the faintest hint of spices which means she was cooking before she came here.
“You could’ve called,” I say.
“And give you time to escape?” she shoots back.
“No, thank you.” I chuckle. She does know me well because I would have escaped.
CEO or not, mothers can dictate their children anywhere and everywhere.
She once pulled me by my ear in front of my staff because I had not attended my cousin’s birthday party and all I could do was follow her.
Before I can reply, there’s another knock on the door. “Come in,” I instruct.
Ishika. Of course.
She steps in with a file in hand “Mr. Khanna, I needed you to sign—” she starts, then pauses.
Stopping mid-step when she notices my mother standing there, “Oh. I’m sorry.
I didn’t realize you had company.” Her posture straightens instinctively.
Not nervous—never nervous—but cautious. Measured. Professional.
I can see it—the immediate shift in her tone. Calm. Polite. Guarded.
“Ishika,” I say quickly, a smile forming without permission, “this is my mother.”
My mother turns toward her with immediate interest. The kind she reserves for things she finds intriguing. “And this,” I continue, unable to hide the warmth in my voice, “is Ishika Vyas. Our interior designer.”
Ishika gives a small nod. “Hello, ma’am.”
My mother studies her for a second longer than necessary. Not in a judgmental way. In a curious one. Taking in the red hair. The nose pin. The steady eyes. “Oh, I’ve heard about you,” Ma says casually.
I choke. “You have not.”
She ignores me completely. “So you’re the one handling his expansion project?” she asks Ishika.
“Yes,” Ishika replies simply. “Trying to.”
“Trying?” my mother repeats, raising an eyebrow.
Ishika glances at me briefly. “Your son has opinions.”
I gasp dramatically. “I have excellent opinions.”
“Debatable,” Ishika replies instantly, her lips twitching despite herself.
My mother’s eyes light up. “Oh, I like her,” she declares.
“Excuse me?” I put a hand to my chest. “You just met her.”
“And she already looks exhausted by you,” Ma says sweetly. “That tells me everything.”
Ishika presses her lips together to hide a smile. I look between the two of them in disbelief. “This is betrayal. Absolute betrayal. I introduce you and within thirty seconds you switch teams?”
My mother folds her arms. “You deserve it.”
Ishika tilts her head slightly. “I agree.”
I throw my hands up. “Unbelievable.”
They both laugh. And I swear the sound of Ishika laughing in front of my mother does something strange to my chest. It feels…significant. Like two different parts of my world colliding and somehow fitting. Is Ishika a part of my world?
My mother steps closer to Ishika. “He troubles you, doesn’t he?”
“Constantly,” Ishika replies without hesitation.
“Lies,” I protest. “I am a delight.”
“You are dramatic,” Ishika corrects.
“See?” Ma beams at her. “You understand him already.”
I point at them. “I am standing right here.”
“Yes,” my mother says dryly. “Unfortunately.”
Ishika actually laughs properly at that. Not the controlled, polite version. The real one. And I find myself watching her instead of defending myself. The way her eyes crinkle slightly. The way her shoulders loosen when she forgets to stay guarded.
Ma notices. Of course she does.
“So, Ishika,” she continues smoothly, “do you stay nearby? Or does he make you travel unreasonable distances because he forgets employees are human beings?”
“I do not—”
“I manage,” Ishika interrupts calmly before I can finish. “He’s…manageable.”
Manageable? I narrow my eyes at her. She gives me a look that clearly says behave.
My mother’s smile widens. “Good. Keep him manageable.”
I clutch my heart again. “I feel attacked.”
“You should,” Ishika replies lightly.
My mother laughs and then, without missing a beat, pulls her phone out. “Give me your number.”
Ishika blinks. “Ma’am?”
“In case he acts up. I need updates.”
“Ma!” I exclaim.
Ishika hesitates for only a second before she dictates her number calmly. I stare at both of them like I’ve been outplayed in my own office. What is happening?
“This is not how this was supposed to go,” I mutter.
Ishika finishes and steps back slightly. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a site meeting.” She gives my mother a polite smile and nods at me before walking out. “I will come back later for the signature.” She gives me a nod. I follow her with my eyes for a second longer than I should. The door closes.
There’s silence for just a beat and I groan knowing fully well what’s going to happen now. “So,” my mother says slowly.
I grunt. “Please don’t.”
“She’s nice.”
“There is nothing going on there,” I say immediately.
“Sure,” she replies, the word stretched out with a knowing smile.
“I swear, Ma—”
She raises a brow, clearly enjoying this. And that’s when I realize she’s fishing. She wants a reaction. I roll my eyes and gently push her toward the chair. “Sit down Ma.” I give her light nudge and direct her to my chair, “You’re here to inspect the office or interrogate me?”
“I brought lunch,” she says, suddenly softening.
That catches me off guard. “You didn’t have to,” I murmur.
“I know,” she says simply.
She opens the tiffin, and the familiar smell hits me instantly. I sit across from her and watch her serve it like she used to when I was younger.
“You’re losing weight,” she comments casually.
“I’m not.”
“You are.” I shake my head, smiling despite myself.
“You work too much,” she adds.
“So do you,” I reply.
She pauses for a second. We don’t talk about Papa much. Not directly. But sometimes it lingers in the spaces between sentences.
“I worry about you,” she says quietly.
I look up at her. Not teasing now. Not matchmaking. Just…my mother.
“I’m fine,” I say, softer.
She studies my face for a second, like she’s trying to read what I don’t say. “And she makes you laugh,” she says after a moment.
I blink. “Who?”
She gives me a look. I sigh. “She’s an employee.”
“She’s a person before that,” Ma corrects gently. There’s something in her tone that makes me sit back.
“I’m not saying anything,” she adds quickly. “I’m just saying…I haven’t seen you look at someone like.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Because I don’t fully understand it myself.
“She argues with me,” I mutter.
“She challenges you,” Ma replies.
“She’s stubborn.”
“You need that.”
I shake my head. “You’re reading too much into this.”
“Am I?” she asks softly.
I don’t answer. Because the truth is—I don’t know.
All I know is when Ishika laughs, something in me feels lighter.
And when she’s upset, it sits heavy. And when she’s not around, I notice.
Ma closes the tiffin and reaches across the table to squeeze my hand briefly.
“Eat properly,” she says, back to practical mode. “And don’t overthink everything.”
“I don’t overthink,” I protest.
She laughs. “You absolutely do.”
I stand and pull her into another hug before she leaves. “You’ll always be my child,” she murmurs.
“I know,” I reply. As she walks out, I glance toward the corridor where Ishika disappeared earlier.
And I can’t help the small smile that forms. If my mother already likes her—God help me. Because this is getting complicated. And I don’t think I want it to be simple anymore.