Morning Light... and a Strange Comfort
The morning spilled in softly — golden light filtering through gauzy curtains, touching everything with hush and heat.
Maholi stirred first.
Her head was resting on something warm. Steady. Alive.
Slowly, her lashes lifted.And there it was — the curve of Abir's jaw, just inches away.His arm draped loosely around her waist.Her fingers curled against his chest.
She didn't panic.
Not right away.
Instead, for one quiet breath, she listened — to the rhythm of his heartbeat, to the silence between them, to the way his brow furrowed slightly even in sleep, like he was fighting shadows only he could see.
And she felt...safe.
The realization hit her like a wave.
Then the memories flooded in — the fever, the kiss, the way he had held her like she mattered.
Her body jolted upright, breaking the warmth.Cheeks burning. Pulse racing.
Abir stirred beside her, voice still laced with sleep.
"Are you running again?"
She turned to him, cautious. Confused.
"You… you kissed me."
One eye opened. A slow smirk curved his lips.
"You kissed back."
Her mouth parted, ready to protest — but nothing came out.Because he wasn't wrong.
He sat up lazily, tousled hair falling across his forehead, that maddening calm still intact.
"Relax. I won't bring it up again. Unless you want me to."
"I don't," she said quickly, already standing.
He watched her as she moved toward the door, voice softer now.
"But you stayed."
She froze mid-step.Didn't turn. Just answered.
"Only because I was sick."
He chuckled behind her.
"Of course."
But neither of them believed it.
In the Studio Office — Changed Air
By noon, they were back in the world again.
No whispers.No warmth.Just the cold clarity of fluorescent lights and meeting rooms.
Abir wore his usual armor — tailored shirt, blank expression, sharp words.Maholi walked three steps behind, in black high-waisted jeans and a tucked tee, hair in a low ponytail, lips bare but steady.
But something in the air had changed.
She didn't flinch when Abir passed too close.He didn't bark orders at her like he did with others.Their eye contact lingered a second too long.And when she dropped a pen, he picked it up.
Silence followed.Not from them — from everyone else watching.
Ruchika arrived just after lunch.
In stilettos worth more than rent, holding a tray of homemade brownies, she waltzed in with a model's grace and a socialite's scent.
"Abir," she said sweetly. "Brought your favorite."
He didn't even look up.
Ruchika's smile faltered only a millimeter — but Maholi noticed.Noticed how the tray was placed near Abir's desk like a warning.Noticed how Ruchika's eyes slid across the room and stopped —on her.
Like a red dot on a target.
Maholi didn't move.Didn't smile.
But her spine straightened.
A Pause in the Corridor
Later, during a break, Maholi stood alone on the office balcony, sipping lukewarm coffee and breathing the hot city air.
A few moments later, Abir joined her.Two steps away. Silent.
He didn't look at her.Didn't speak.Just sipped his black coffee like he hadn't shared a bed with her last night — like he hadn't kissed her like a man losing his control.
She broke the silence.
"I didn't thank you."
He glanced sideways.
"For what?"
"Last night. For… not letting me fall apart alone."
His expression didn't change.But something in his voice dropped, thickened.
"Don't thank me. I didn't do it to be kind."
She looked up at him, startled.
"I did it because I can't help it.With you."
It wasn't loud.It wasn't rehearsed.It was honest — and dangerous in its simplicity.
Before she could respond, he stepped away.Back inside. Back into the performance.
Leaving her outside in the heat, heart stammering, coffee forgotten, words caught between breath and bewilderment.
And for the first time, Maholi didn't know what scared her more—his distance… or his closeness.