CHAPTER 30
ARYAN
There are many things I enjoy in life.
Good coffee. My mother’s aloo paratha. Watching Australia lose. Making profit where everyone said loss was guaranteed. Irritating my siblings. And recently, with increasing consistency—Weekly update meetings with Ishika.
If anyone asks, it is because I am a responsible CEO who likes staying informed about a major expansion project.
If anyone asks honestly, it is because once a week she is required to sit across from me for at least an hour, explain things passionately, glare at me repeatedly, and pretend my existence is an inconvenience while blushing every time I push the right button.
Business is thriving. I’m in my office ten minutes before the meeting starts, pretending to review a report while checking the glass wall that gives a partial view of the corridor. Ajay notices immediately. “You’re looking outside every thirty seconds, sir.”
“I am observing productivity.”
“You are waiting for Ms. Vyas.”
“I am considering firing you.”
He smiles as he places files on my desk. “Then I’ll miss the wedding.”
I look up slowly. “Whose?”
“Yours, eventually.”
“Get out.” He leaves laughing. Traitor. But the thought of maybe calling Ishika my wife, no matter how ridiculous it sounds, has my heart skip a beat. And it’s definitely not helpful that I have imagined her in my home, with my family, after that day because she fits so perfectly.
I look back at the door just as it opens.
And there she is. Ishika steps in carrying a folder against her chest, phone in one hand, annoyance already arranged beautifully on her face.
She’s wearing a cream blouse tucked into dark trousers, sleeves rolled once, hair clipped up in a loose twist that somehow still lets strands fall around her cheeks.
There is a tiny line between her brows. She’s focused. Meaning I am going to have fun. She looks like she’d rather throw the folder at me than greet me. My favorite version of her.
“You’re early,” I say, even though I am glad she is because I was looking pathetic staring at the door like a desperate teenager who watches out of the class in hope of seeing their crushes.
“You’re staring,” she replies immediately. I sit back in my chair, delighted.
“Good morning to you too, Sunshine.”
“Don’t Sunshine me before caffeine.” She rolls her eyes and I feign a gasp.
“Ishika without coffee,” I stand up abruptly, shocking her a bit, “I don’t want to be murdered, I will go get some for you.” It’s her turn to stand up quickly.
“DO NOT!” She exclaims, “There’s only one thing worse than not having my morning coffee,” she pulls a face of disgust, almost making me laugh, “drinking your version of coffee, unless you want me to puke here, don’t you dare leave this office.” She commands.
I smirk, “Are you ordering me, in my own office, Ms. Vyas?”
She scoffs and fakes a smile, “When the CEO is childish, I have no other options left, Golden boy.”
I bark out a laugh as I sit in my chair and she’s smiling, shaking her head as she takes her seat.
She opens the folder and slides a printed sheet toward me. “Reception ceiling work is done. Lighting installation begins tomorrow. Conference wing furniture arrives Friday if the supplier decides punctuality matters and I will make sure he decides that.”
I glance down at the sheet, then back up at her. She’s in work mode. Sharp. Efficient. Minimal nonsense. I should behave. But I absolutely won’t. “You look nice today.”
Her eyes lift slowly. “No.”
“No what?” I feign innocence as I play with the edge of the folder.
“No random comments before updates.”
“It wasn’t random.” I lean in a bit, “I meant it, Sunshine.” I wink at her.
She blinks once. Then reaches for the water bottle and drinks without responding. Her ears are pink. Victory.
I grin openly. She points a pen at me without looking up. “If you smirk like that at every meeting, I’m increasing your decor budget.”
“Flirting through financial threats. Interesting style.”
“I am speaking to a client.”
“You’re blushing at a client.” I point out. She chokes on water. I laugh so hard I have to lean back.
“I hate you,” she mutters, wiping her mouth.
“No, you don’t.”
“Professionally I do.” She huffs, almost pouting but also wanting to throw hands at me.
“Personally?” She glares. I beam. We go through schedules, costs, and labor updates. She explains everything clearly, occasionally sketching rough ideas on paper when words aren’t enough. I barely look at the screen anymore.
I watch her hands. The way she taps the pen against her lip while thinking. The way she pushes hair back impatiently. The way her face sharpens when she cares about something.
I’m down catastrophically.
“You’re not listening,” she says suddenly.
“I am.”
“What did I just say?”
“That your voice gets stricter when you’re irritated.”
She stares at me. “Aryan.” She warns.
“Also that the acoustic panels need revised measurements.”
She narrows her eyes. “Show-off.”
“I always listen to you, Sunshine.” She rolls her eyes again, but I love the way her neck turns a soft shade of pink. I decide to make it worse for her and better for me as I lean in and whisper, “especially when you compliment my biceps.”
She gasps as if she’s scandalized and immediately turns into a beautiful version of red. I hold back my laughter as I notice she’s clenching her fists and then she’s up.
A small smirk forms on her face, “I was drunk when I said that,” it’s her turn to lean in I guess, “but you know who thinks you’re a menace when they’re sober?” She smiles sweetly at me and I think I may faint at the sight, “Your own mother, Golden boy.”
My mouth is hanging open and she looks so proud of herself. “My mother said that?” I ask, unable to fathom how the hell are they talking behind my back.
“She sent me three reels last night,” she winks at me, “about sons who are headaches.” She shrugs and I almost fall off my chair
What the hell? My mother and Ishika are at the reel sharing stage? Me, who has been trying to hold her attention for ten minutes since I met her, desperately finding reasons to talk to her while she’s always annoyed with me, and she’s easily getting reels from my mother and she finds it funny.
My chest softens. I am glad Ishika is letting someone in, but being jealous of your own mother is not a good look.
But I guess, it's better this way, because once my mother decides to like someone, she will always be there for them and Ishika needs that.
Besides if not closely, if I get to breathe the same air as her occasionally because of my mother, I would be forever grateful.
“She must be talking about Vedant.”
She laughs, “Aw, poor golden boy is hurt.”
I almost want to stick my tongue out but that would be too childish so it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “I need your signature on vendor release forms,” she says, the smile still intact on her face as she pushes the papers towards me.
I sign without reading, “You should at least skim before signing.”
“I trust you.” I shrug.
“That’s reckless.” She looks taken aback.
I smile softly, “Sunshine, You reek of goodness, it’s not in you to scam people,” I chuckle, “besides, we are friends.” I shrug.
“That’s still stupidity.” She whispers but I am glad she’s no longer fighting or regretting the friendship. I hand the papers back. She shakes her head, but there’s softness in it.
When the meeting ends, she begins collecting sheets into neat piles. I don’t move. “What now?” She raises an eyebrow.
“I think we need another meeting.” I say, fixing my tie.
“We just had one.” She frowns.
“A follow-up.”
“For what?”
I pretend to think deeply. “Your sudden beauty today has affected productivity.”
She freezes mid-paper stack. Then very slowly looks up. “You are unbelievable.”
“You’re matching your hair color, sunshine.” I smirk.
“I am angry.”
“You blush angrily. Fascinating.” She stands abruptly, gathering everything.
“I’m leaving.”
“Walking away from unresolved workplace chemistry?” She heads for the door faster.
“Ishika.” I call out. She pauses without turning.
“Yes?”
I soften my voice. “You really do look nice today, sunshine.”
Silence. Then she mutters, almost too low to hear—“You’re impossible.
” But she’s smiling. I know because I hear it.
She opens the door. Then stops again. Still facing away, she says, “The green tie looks good on you.” And walks out before I can respond.
I sit there stunned for a full second. Then grin like an idiot.