CHAPTER 40
ISHIKA
I am not thinking about last night. I am absolutely not thinking about the way his mouth felt against mine.
Not the way it started—soft, careful, like he was asking without words—and definitely not the way I stopped thinking altogether after a few seconds.
Not the way my fingers curled into his shirt without permission.
Not the way I forgot every argument I had prepared.
No.
I am working.
That is what I am doing.
Working.
The pencil moves across the paper in front of me, but the line I draw is slightly uneven. I stare at it for a second, then erase it with more force than necessary.
Focus.
I lean closer, adjusting the angle of a panel, measuring again, rechecking proportions I have already checked three times.
This is familiar. Safe.
This is the version of me that makes sense.
Not the one who stood in the middle of a dimly lit office last night and let a man touch her like she mattered. My grip tightens around the pencil. It shouldn’t have happened. Or—it shouldn’t have happened like that. That easily. That…naturally.
My chest tightens slightly, and I sit back, pressing the eraser to the page even though there’s nothing left to fix.
I remember everything. The warmth of his hand around mine.
The way he said my name like it belonged somewhere softer than the life I’ve built.
The way he didn’t rush me. Didn’t take more than I gave. And that’s the problem.
If he had pushed—If he had assumed—If he had crossed a line—I would know exactly what to do. I would have walked away. Shut it down. Closed the door. But he didn’t. He stood there and waited. And I stepped forward.
My stomach flips. I don’t usually do this but it felt right. I don’t let someone close enough to blur the edges I’ve worked so hard to sharpen. And yet—I press my fingers to my lips before I can stop myself.
The memory is still there. “Ishika.” I freeze.
I don’t turn immediately. I don’t trust my face.
Or my thoughts. Or my pulse, which has suddenly decided to behave like it’s been waiting for this exact moment.
I inhale slowly, steadying myself, then turn.
And there he is. Standing in the doorway like he owns the morning.
Like nothing complicated happened last night.
Like he didn’t completely rearrange something inside me.
He’s smiling. Not his usual smirk. Not the teasing, half-annoying expression he wears when he’s about to say something ridiculous.
This is different. And for a second, I just look at him.
Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this.
Happy. Not just in the casual way. Not surface-level charm.
This looks…real. And it does something unsettling to my chest.
“What?” I say, because silence feels more dangerous.
He steps in. And I notice the flowers.
Of course.
Of course he would.
A bouquet in his hand—nothing overly extravagant, nothing dramatic—but still enough to make it very clear this is intentional.
“I come in peace,” he says lightly, lifting the flowers slightly. I stare at them. Then at him.
“You’re holding evidence to the contrary.” He huffs out a quiet laugh, stepping closer, placing the bouquet on my desk like it belongs there.
“Just hear me out.”
“That has never ended well for me.” I shake my head.
“Today might be different.”
“Unlikely.” I almost chuckle. He leans against the edge of my desk, closer now.
Too close. And suddenly, I am very aware of everything again.
The space between us. The memory of last night sitting right there, unspoken but impossible to ignore.
His gaze flickers briefly to my lips. Then back to my eyes.
He clears his throat slightly, like he’s pulling himself back.
“I want to ask you something.” My stomach tightens.
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It is,” he says easily. “For me.”
I narrow my eyes slightly. “You’re not making this reassuring.”
“Let me finish.” I cross my arms, bracing. He takes a breath and kneels on one knee, my eyes widen and I open my mouth in protest, “Can I be your boyfriend?” Just like that. No buildup. No dramatic speech. No attempt to dress it up.
“You…” I shake my head slightly. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’ve been called worse by you so I will take that.” He shrugs. “I like you,” he says, quieter now.
My chest tightens. “I know you’re going to overthink this. I know you’re going to list every possible reason why this is a bad idea. I’ve already thought of most of them.” He reaches for my hand and rubs his thumb across my palm, “But I meant every word I said yesterday.”
My heart beats wildly. I look away first. Because holding his gaze feels like standing too close to something that can burn me.
I’m not going anywhere just because it gets difficult.
My instinct is loud.
Run.
Deflect.
Turn this into a joke. Shut it down before it becomes something I can’t control. But there’s another feeling beneath it. Quieter. Stronger than I want to admit.
I like him.
Not just because he looks like he walked out of someone’s fantasy.
Not just because he smiles like he knows something I don’t.
It’s the way he shows up. The way he listens.
The way he doesn’t disappear when things get uncomfortable.
The way he sees through me and stays anyway. That’s the dangerous part.
I exhale slowly.
“This is a bad idea.”
“Probably.”
“You’re too…much.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He beams, his eyes softening.
“You’re annoying.”
“I’ve heard that before.” He scoffs, “too many times.”
“You don’t listen.”
“I’m listening right now.”
I glare at him. He doesn’t look away.
“Fine,” I say finally. “If—if I even consider this—there are conditions.”
His eyes light up. “Of course there are.”
I hold up a finger. “One. Till I am working here you don’t get to show up randomly and disrupt my work.”
He winces slightly. “Define disrupt.”
“Exactly what you usually do.”
“I can try.”
“That’s not confidence-inspiring.”
“Okay. I will try very hard.” I narrow my eyes, but continue.
“Two. No cheesy lines.”
He scoffs, looking offended. “I don’t do cheesy lines.”
“You absolutely do.”
“Those are thoughtful statements.”
“They’re not.”
He sighs. “Fine. Reduced cheese.”
“Zero cheese.”
“That feels restrictive.”
“Deal with it.”
He nods reluctantly. “Three,” I continue, “If I say I’m fine, you are allowed to question it only twice. After that, you back off or…” I inhale deeply, thinking of something that would actually work on him, “Or I will block you for twenty-four hours.”
He gasps and clutches his chest as if I twisted a knife in him, I roll my eyes, “Sunshine, that’s not fair.”
“Does it look like I care?”
He pouts a bit but nods and I almost want to laugh at how endearing he looks but shake my head because what the hell, I don’t find people endearing.
“Four. You don’t get to remember every small thing about me.” I scowl, “It’s unfair considering I don’t remember much.”
He chuckles, “I don’t intentionally do it, Sunshine.” He kisses the back of my hand, “It comes naturally to me, as naturally as breathing.” He shrugs so casually as if he hasn’t just made my heart skip a beat.
There’s one more. The one that sits heavier than the rest. My voice drops slightly. “And…” I look away from him, “Don’t make me get used to you…if you’re going to leave.” The words come out softer than I intend. Barely above a whisper. For a second, he doesn’t respond.
And that silence—it scares me more than anything else. His fingers brush my cheek, warm and steady. “You better get used to me, Sunshine,” he says quietly with a voice so steady as if he’s promising me that he’s going to be right beside me. And somehow, that feels safer.
My chest tightens.
My instincts are still screaming.
This is risky.
This is stupid.
This is everything you’ve avoided.
So why—Why am I not walking away? Why am I still standing here?
Why does the thought of saying no feel worse than saying yes?
Because he makes me feel seen. Because he makes things quieter inside my head.
Because for the first time in years, I don’t feel like I’m carrying everything alone.
And because I like him. I really like him.
I exhale slowly. “Fine.”
His eyes widen slightly. “Fine?” he repeats.
“Don’t make it a big deal.”
“I’m trying not to.”
“You’re failing.”
“I’m very happy right now.”
“I can see that.”
“And you said yes.”
“Don’t remind me.”
He laughs softly. His hand finds mine. “You’re sure?” he asks quietly.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” His smile softens.
And then he leans in. Our lips meet again. And this time—it’s different. Less hesitant. More certain.
My hand tightens in his. His other hand rests lightly at my waist. And for a moment—every thought in my brain vanishes.
His tongue twirls against mine as if we are in a heated dance as he teases me.
A loud, unexpected noise startles me as I jump back.
He frowns and glances at his wrist. I follow his gaze.
His heart rate.
Elevated.
I stare at him for a moment and I can’t help the laughter bubbling inside me and he joins me, his lips still swollen but his laugh is carefree. He steps closer to me again and rests his forehead against mine, “You see the things you do to me, Sunshine?”