CHAPTER 39
ISHIKA
The office is quieter at night. Not silent—never completely silent—but softer in a way that makes everything feel more…
honest. The hum of machines fades into the background, footsteps disappear, conversations dissolve, and what’s left is just work and thought and whatever you’ve been trying to avoid all day.
I prefer this version of the world. It doesn’t ask questions. It doesn’t look at you too closely. It lets you exist without needing to explain anything.
I sit at my desk, shoulders slightly hunched, pencil moving over paper with the kind of focus that only comes when I’ve been at it for hours. Lines, textures, placements—I refine everything again and again, adjusting things that most people wouldn’t even notice.
But I would. And that’s enough reason. This office—his office—is almost done in my head now.
The way the light will fall across the walls.
The way the space will open up instead of closing in.
The way it will feel less like a place people sit in and more like a place people stay in.
For some reason, I want his office to be warm and inciting, like he is.
I pause, tapping the pencil lightly against the edge of the page, scanning the layout one last time.
Something still feels off. I shift in my chair, tucking one leg beneath me, leaning closer.
Maybe the seating needs to move slightly.
Maybe the color needs a softer transition. Maybe—I erase a line and redraw it.
Better. A small breath escapes me.
I didn’t even realize I was holding it. When I finally sit back, stretching my arms above my head, my spine protests quietly. I glance at the clock.
It’s late. Very late. Of course it is. Time disappears when I work like this. I gather the sheets, stacking them neatly, sliding them into the folder with a quiet sense of completion settling somewhere inside me. Not perfect. It will never be perfect. But close enough to feel right.
I shut down the lights in my area, locking up carefully, double-checking everything out of habit.
Then I step out into the corridor. And that’s when I notice. The faint light spilling out from his office. My steps falter. For a second, I just stand there, staring at that soft glow slipping through the glass.
He’s still here. Something in my chest tightens unexpectedly.
Why?
He didn’t have to stay. He had meetings. Calls. A life outside this place. But somewhere inside my heart I know he’s here for me. People don’t stay late for me. People don’t rearrange their day around me. People don’t…I exhale slowly, annoyed at the direction my thoughts are taking.
It’s probably work. He’s the CEO. He stays late.
That’s normal. Still…my feet move before I can convince myself otherwise.
I walk toward his office, steps quieter than usual, like I’m trying not to disturb something fragile.
The door is slightly open. I push it gently.
And then I stop at the sight. He’s asleep.
Head resting on his folded arms, shoulders slightly slumped forward, the table lamp casting a warm, soft light across his face.
Everything about him looks…different. Not the sharp, confident man who walks into rooms like he owns them.
Not the one who teases me until I want to throw something at him or punch him square in the face.
Not the one who always has something to say.
Just…him. Still and so unaware. Peaceful in a way I’ve rarely seen before.
My chest tightens again, this time in a way that feels heavier.
He stayed. For what? Work? Or—No. I shake the thought away immediately.
Don’t go there. Don’t assume things. Don’t make this something it isn’t.
And yet…No one stays this late for no reason, especially if they’re sleepy.
I step inside quietly, closing the door behind me without a sound.
The room feels warmer than the hallway. More… intimate.
I walk toward the desk slowly, like I’m afraid of breaking something just by being here. Up close, he looks even more unfair.
The soft light traces the line of his jaw, the slight curve of his lips, the way his hair has fallen messily across his forehead.
He looks younger like this. Less guarded.
More real. I shouldn’t be looking at him like this.
I know that. But I don’t stop. I pull the chair beside him and sit down quietly, my movements slow, careful.
For a moment, I just watch as if I am some painter and he’s my muse.
It feels wrong. It feels…too personal. Like I’ve stepped into a space I wasn’t invited into.
And yet, I don’t want to leave. Because there’s something about this version of him that makes me stay. Something that feels…Safe.
His eyes flutter open. Slowly. Like he’s waking from a deep slumber. And for a second, he just looks at me. There’s no confusion on his face. Just…recognition.
“Ishika,” he whispers. The way he says my name is softer than I’ve ever heard it. My chest loosens a bit.
“I’m right here, Golden boy,” I whisper back, before I can stop myself. I don’t even know why I say it. It just…comes out. His gaze lingers on my face.
“You’re not,” he murmurs, voice still thick with sleep. “You keep disappearing.”
A small breath leaves me. “I’m not disappearing.”
“You are,” he says quietly. “Every time I get close, you take ten steps back.”
I try to smile. It doesn’t quite work. “That’s because you don’t know when to stop.”
“And you don’t know when to stay.” The words land somewhere deeper than they should.
His hand moves very slowly. Like he’s giving me time to pull away.
It rests over mine. I don’t move. I should.
I know I should. But I don’t. He shifts slightly, pulling me just a little closer.
Not enough to force. Just enough to close the space. My breath catches. He looks so dreamy.
Our faces are too close now. My nose brushes his.
And for a second, everything goes quiet…
inside me. My thoughts stall. My body stills.
And all I can see is him. His green eyes.
Soft yet focused. Looking at me like I’m something he’s been waiting for.
I should move. I should say something. I should—“I can’t do this,” I whisper, the words coming out shaky.
My voice feels too loud in the quiet. “This will ruin everything.”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away. “Then let it ruin things,” he murmurs.
“You don’t understand,” I shake my head slightly, my voice trembling despite myself. “I don’t let people in. I don’t…do this. I don’t depend on anyone. I don’t want to need someone and then—”
I stop. Because I’ve said this before. Different words. Same meaning. Same fear. It hits me all at once. I sound like a broken record. Repeating the same thing. Over and over. Like if I say it enough times, it will protect me. “I sound stupid,” I mutter.
His expression softens. “No,” he says gently.
“You sound scared.” That word lands heavier than anything else.
“You pushing me away isn’t a surprise, sunshine.
” His lips curls up, “It’s a part of you and I am not scared of it.
” I swallow. His hand lifts slowly, fingers brushing my cheek. Like he’s handling something fragile.
I shake my head, “I will push you away, I will overthink…” I whisper, my heart aching.
“You can overthink,” He whispers, “You can spiral, you can shut down for days, weeks…I’m not keeping scores, baby.” Tears blur my vision before I can stop them. I hate this. I hate crying. I hate losing control like this. But I can’t stop it.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper.
“You don’t have to,” His voice is so soft, it makes me want to cry more, “We can always figure it out together.” His thumb brushes away a tear.
“I don’t know how to feel…wanted. I haven’t felt I belong somewhere in ages, Golden boy.” I sniffle, “And…And you scare me because you make me feel things. I don’t…I can’t be a burden on you.” I shake my head vigorously.
“You keep talking like you are someone that needs to be managed, baby…” He frowns, “You’re not a burden, you’re someone who has been carrying too much alone,” his voice steadier now.
“You’re not scary to me, sunshine.” He chuckles, “I mean yes, your death glares are scary…” A chuckle escapes me despite all these feelings and he smiles, “But the idea of losing you scares me more, Ishika.” He whispers, his smile sad now.
My chest tightens painfully. “You’ll get tired,” I whisper.
His lips curve slightly. “Look at me,” he tilts my chin up.
“That would be a very disappointing way to live.” He smiles, “besides, I want you. I don’t want you to perform for me.
” He tucks a strand behind my ear, “You don’t have to be less, if anything, I want all of it—the overthinking, the sharp edges, the mean comments, the quiet days and everything else. ”
A small, broken laugh escapes me. “I’m not easy.”
“I know,” he says.
“And you still—”
“Yes.” The certainty in that one word makes something inside me go still.
“I am not asking you to be fearless. I am sorry for…what you went through in your past and if I could I would change things, Sunshine…” He inhales deeply, “But please stay. You’re not going to ruin this, the only way we lose is if you convince yourself that you don’t deserve it which by the way is bullshit,” he beams. “Because you deserve the world.”
His forehead rests against mine. “I’m not going anywhere just because it gets difficult,” My breath trembles, “If I wanted easy, I wouldn’t be standing here with you,” he chuckles, his breath mingling with mine now, “because let’s be honest, you have not been easy on me.” He pouts.
I open my eyes and glare at him which only makes him chuckle.
His gaze drops. Just for a second. To my lips.
Then back to my eyes. Like he’s asking. Not taking.
Not assuming. Just…waiting. My heart is racing now.
I don’t move away this time. I am still scared but for once, I don’t want to move away.
For once, I want to know what happens if I don’t stop it.
His hand slides to the side of my face, holding me there gently.
And then—He kisses me slowly. Like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he moves too fast. And something inside me—finally—stops fighting.