CHAPTER 34
ARYAN
I don’t regret shit. I walk into my office with coffee—exactly the one she hates—in hand, tie half done, mind already on her.
I may have gone a little overboard on the balcony.
Fine.
Maybe more than a little.
Maybe most sane men do not corner a woman they like under moonlight, tell her they’re not going anywhere, nearly kiss her, then kiss her forehead like some lovestruck idiot trying to be noble.
But I still don’t regret it.
Because someone had to say those things to her. Someone had to tell her that surviving isn’t the same as living. Someone had to look at all those walls she wears like armor and say I see them, and I’m still here.
And if that someone had to be me, then so be it.
The problem is, Ishika apparently disagrees.
Because for the last four days, she has been avoiding me like I personally caused inflation. No weekly update meetings. No walking into my office with files clutched to her chest and irritation already loaded on her tongue. No dry comments. No eye rolls. No muttered Golden boy under her breath.
Instead, every update arrives through Ajay. A file placed on my desk. A typed summary. Measurements, material costs, timelines, vendor approvals.
Exactly like work should be. Exactly unlike anything involving her ever feels. “She left this ten minutes ago, sir.” Ajay places another folder in front of me and tries very hard not to look amused.
I stare at the file like it insulted my family. “She was here?”
“Yes.”
“And didn’t come in?”
“No.”
I look up slowly. He coughs into his fist to hide a smile. “I see.”
“She seemed busy.”
“Sure,” I mutter.
Ajay’s mouth twitches. I glare at him and bark out, irritated that he finds this funny, “Get out.” He leaves laughing. Traitor. I open the file and scan the pages, but every line reminds me of her. Her handwriting in the margins. Sharp, slanted notes.
Wrong shade.
No.
Why would anyone approve this?
Fix your color choices before I lose respect for humanity.
I smile before I can stop myself because I strangely feel so proud that she still doesn’t back down from being herself.
Then immediately stop. This is what she has reduced me to.
A grown man smiling at aggressive stationery.
I lean back in my chair and glance through the glass partition toward her office.
Empty. Again.
She has become suspiciously mobile this week.
Suddenly she is personally inspecting marble samples, lighting fixtures, upholstery fabric, hardware fittings, wood finishes, decorative panels, and whatever else people in design say dramatically while holding catalogs. She is never in one place long enough for me to catch her.
At first I thought she was busy. Then I thought she was committed.
Then yesterday I realized the truth. She’s running.
And annoyingly fast. The one time I managed to find her, she was in her office bent over blueprints, pencil tucked behind her ear, glasses sliding down her nose.
I had barely stepped inside before she looked up like prey sensing danger.
“Aryan.”
“Sunshine.”
Her eyes narrowed instantly. “What do you want?”
I leaned against the door like I had all day. “Weekly update.”
“I sent the file.”
“I prefer the live version.”
“I don’t.”
I almost laughed then. God, she’s adorable when defensive. “Too bad.” She had opened her mouth to reply when her phone rang. She glanced at the screen and stood so quickly the chair rolled back.
“I have to go.”
“To where?”
“Urgent pickup.”
“I’ll come.”
“No.” The answer came too fast. Too sharp. Then she seemed to realize it and cleared her throat. “I mean… no need. Kamlesh is already accompanying me.”
Kamlesh. The contractor. A man old enough to complain about his knees before lunch. I folded my arms. “You’d rather spend time with Kamlesh than me?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. Not even guilt.
I placed a hand over my heart. “Cruel.”
She had already grabbed her bag. “Just being professional.” Then she left so fast the air moved with her. That was when it clicked. This isn’t scheduling. This is strategy. She is avoiding me because I shook something loose that night.
Good.
Because she shook something loose in me too.
Only difference is I’m not hiding from it.
I drum my fingers on the desk and stare again at the empty office space.
She thinks distance will solve this. That if she doesn’t see me, she won’t think of me.
Cute theory. Deeply flawed though. My phone buzzes with market alerts.
I ignore them. Emails stack up. I ignore them.
A client calls. I reject it. There are moments in business when numbers matter. This is not one of them.
This is personal. And I am alarmingly invested. I get up and walk to the window overlooking the work floor. Laborers moving materials. Electricians crouched near panels. Painters arguing over shades. Kamlesh shouting at everyone equally. No Ishika. I exhale slowly.
This woman has somehow become the loudest silence in my day. The office runs. Deals close. Meetings happen. But everything feels slightly off-center when she isn’t storming through a room looking offended by incompetence.
I miss her.
There. The ugly truth. I miss her voice.
I miss the way she pretends my jokes aren’t funny while visibly trying not to laugh.
I miss irritating her into color. I miss being looked at like I am both a problem and entertainment.
This cannot be healthy. I return to my desk and sit down, opening the project cost sheet.
Rows of numbers stare back. Then a thought slips in. It’s slow, bright but mostly terrible. I grin. No. Absolutely not. I grin wider.
That is an evil idea.
Immature.
Manipulative.
Financially irresponsible.
Perfect.
Because if Ishika Vyas wants to hide behind professionalism, then I will attack the one thing she cannot ignore. A project. I buzz Ajay in. I know this is stupid, but if I get to see my Sunshine everyday, if she can’t avoid me anymore then everything is worth it.