Chris Zayden sat in the silence of his luxurious hotel suite, the dim lighting casting shadows across the room. Sundays were always a struggle for him. With no employees to manage, no meetings to attend, and no excuse to hover around the development block where Hema worked, he was left with a hollow void. It frustrated him to no end. The silence felt like a curse, amplifying the storm inside him.
He sprawled on the leather couch, dressed in a casual black T-shirt and grey sweatpants, a stark contrast to his usual sharp suits. Cold Coffee sat untouched on the table, condensation forming around its rim. He leaned his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling as if it held answers to the chaos in his mind. To distract himself, Chris picked up his tablet and began reviewing some pending work. His sharp, focused eyes scanned through the reports and figures, but nothing seemed to hold his attention for long. He glanced at the clock—it was only 10 a.m. “This day is going to drag on forever,” he thought. As he worked, his concentration was abruptly interrupted by the loud buzz of his phone. He looked at the caller ID, and his expression darkened instantly. His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing. It was his father. For a moment, he considered letting it ring out, but then, with a sharp sigh, he picked up the call. He didn’t say a word, holding the phone to his ear in silence. “Chris!” His father’s voice was sharp, authoritative, and filled with anger. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Chris remained quiet, his lips pressed into a thin line, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the phone tighter. “You humiliated Emily! Do you even realize the damage you’ve caused?” his father shouted. “She’s not just anyone—she’s the daughter of my best friend and business partner. And you dumped her like she meant nothing!” Chris finally spoke, his voice low but firm. “I’m not interested in her.” His father scoffed on the other end. “Not interested? Is that all you have to say? You’re an adult, Chris. Stop behaving like a rebellious teenager!” “I didn’t lead her on,” Chris replied, his tone growing colder. “You and her father arranged it without asking me. I don’t need to justify my choices to you.” His father’s frustration erupted like a volcano. “And what is this I hear about you staying in India for weeks, stalking some low-class Indian—” He paused for effect before spitting out the word, “bitch?” Chris froze, his grip tightening on the phone until his knuckles turned white. His other hand balled into a fist, the veins on his forearm bulging. “Don’t. Call. Her. That,” Chris said, his voice dangerously low, each word spoken with precise, quiet fury. “Watch your tone with me,” his father snapped back. “I’m doing this for your own good, Chris. Don’t make me take steps I’ll regret later. You think you’re untouchable, I can destroy everything you have, remember that.” Chris felt his entire body tense. The years of control, manipulation, and forced obedience boiled to the surface, threatening to erupt. But instead of shouting, he took a deep breath and said, “try doing it?” His father exhaled heavily, his tone slightly calmer now. “Just listen to me for once, Chris. Stop making decisions you’ll regret later. That’s all I’ll say. You are my son, whatever I do is only for your good.” Chris didn’t respond. He hung up without another word and tossed the phone onto the couch with a loud thud. For a moment, he sat still, staring at the floor, his jaw tight and his shoulders stiff. His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of anger and frustration coursing through him. The conversation replayed in his mind, each word his father had spoken fueling his rage. Suddenly, his phone buzzed again. His first instinct was to ignore it, but he noticed it wasn’t a call—it was a message from Mark. He picked up the phone and opened the message. It was a photo of Hema, standing on the balcony of her modest apartment. She was holding a coffee mug, her hair tied in a loose bun. She wore a simple salwar suit, the morning sunlight casting a golden glow on her face. She was smiling as she watched two children dancing playfully in the street below. Chris felt his anger dissolve almost instantly. His shoulders relaxed, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “What are you doing to me, Hema?” he murmured, his voice barely audible. Without a second thought, he grabbed his car keys and left the suite, still dressed in his casual attire—dark jeans and a white T-shirt that hugged his muscular frame. He ran a hand through his messy hair as he walked briskly to the parking lot. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he started the engine and gripped the steering wheel tightly. He didn’t know exactly what he was planning to do, but he knew one thing—he needed to see her. As he drove through the streets of the city, the tension from his conversation with his father seemed to melt away. His focus was entirely on reaching her. It was already noon, and the streets were bustling with life, but Chris barely noticed. All he could think about was the smile on Hema’s face in that photo.Zayden parked his sleek black car in front of Hema’s modest apartment building, drawing the attention of the neighborhood. His sharp appearance in casual jeans and a fitted white T-shirt, paired with his confident stride, made heads turn. Holding a fruit basket in one hand, he made his way to the door. As he approached, he noticed curious eyes peeking through windows and over balconies—a typical Indian thing, he thought with mild amusement.Reaching Hema’s door, he stood for a moment, unsure why he felt his heart race. Taking a breath to compose himself, he rang the doorbell.Inside, Hema had just finished her morning tea and was in her casual homewear—a simple cotton kurta with her hair tied into a messy bun. When she heard the bell, she opened the door, not expecting the sight in front of her.Her eyes widened in shock. “Mr. Zayden? What are you doing here?” she asked, perplexed.Zayden’s sharp gaze softened as he took her in. Even without makeup, with her hair in a messy bun and we
As Zayden started peeling the onions with careful, clumsy movements, he suddenly felt a sharp sting in his eyes. It caught him off guard, and instinctively, he brought his fingers—still coated with the pungent juice of the onions—closer to rub them.“Ah…” he muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening as his eyes began to water uncontrollably.Hema, who was stirring something on the stove, turned sharply at his discomfort. “Zayden, wait! Don’t touch your eyes!” she exclaimed, her voice urgent. She rushed to his side, quickly grabbing his arm to stop him.“Let me help,” she said, her tone softer now, guiding him by the wrist toward the washing area. Zayden followed without resistance, his vision blurry but focused on her voice, which had a soothing quality he hadn’t noticed before.When they reached the sink, Hema turned on the tap and held his hand under the water first, rinsing away the remnants of the onion juice from his fingers. Then, she gently tilted his face toward the runnin
As lunch carried on, Grandmother leaned back in her chair, her warm curiosity evident in her eyes. She had grown fond of Zayden in a short time and decided to ask him about his family, wanting to know more about the man who had entered their lives so unexpectedly.She got help from Hema to install translator app in her phone . “So, beta,” she began kindly, placing her glass of water back on the table and spoke to him with the help of translator , “tell me about your family. Who all are there at home?”Zayden paused, his fork hovering in mid-air for a moment. A flicker of emotion crossed his face, too brief to read, but Hema noticed it. He placed the fork down carefully and sat back, his expression composed yet distant.“My family is small,” he said simply, his deep voice calm but carrying a hint of restraint. “There’s just my father and my younger sister, Mia. We live in America.”Grandmother’s eyes lit up at the mention of America. “Oh, America! Such a big country, beta. And your si
On Monday, the results of the presentations were announced in the conference room. All the interns were called, their faces filled with nervous anticipation. Hema Kapoor sat toward the back, her hands clasped tightly on her lap. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her presentation. She replayed every word, every slide, and every look from Zayden as he reviewed her work.Zayden walked into the room, his commanding presence silencing the murmurs. Dressed sharply in his tailored navy suit, his eyes scanned the interns briefly before he sat at the head of the table. Mark followed behind him, holding a folder with the results.“Good afternoon, everyone,” Zayden began, his deep voice cutting through the tension in the air. “After careful review of all your projects, I’ve made a decision. We were looking for creativity, practicality, and, most importantly, something that adds value to the company. I must say, many of you presented solid ideas, and it was a tough choice.”Hema swallow
Holi had arrived, and all across the country, the festival of colors was in full swing.The streets of India transformed into a lively spectacle of joy. In the north, cities like Mathura and Vrindavan were overflowing with tourists and devotees playing Lathmar Holi, where women playfully chased men with sticks while colors filled the air. In Rajasthan, palace courtyards saw people celebrating with floral colors and folk music, while in Punjab, the festival took on a warrior-like spirit with Hola Mohalla, a display of martial arts and horse-riding. In the south, temple prayers and cultural performances brought a quieter but equally vibrant celebration.From Delhi to Mumbai, Kolkata to Chennai, people danced to dhol beats, smeared colors on each other, and laughed as they were drenched in water balloons and buckets of colored water. Children ran wild with water guns, spraying passersby with bright gulal. Sweets like gujiya, jalebi, and malpua were passed around, along with thandai, some
The skies over Mumbai rumbled ominously as dark clouds rolled in, casting a shadow over the bustling city. The streets were chaotic yet alive, with honking cars, street vendors shouting their wares, and umbrellas bobbing up and down in a sea of humanity. The first drops of rain began to fall, tentative at first, before the heavens opened in a relentless downpour.Hema Kapoor a young engineer darted through the crowded street, clutching a worn leather folder to her chest as if her life depended on it. Her pale peach salwar kameez was soaked, the soft fabric clinging to her slender figure, but she paid no mind. Her long black hair, loosely braided, was already dripping, and the rainwater trailed down her delicate face. Her skin, glowing with a golden hue, was flawless, as if kissed by the sun. Her almond-shaped eyes, outlined with eyeliner, held a quiet strength, though the panic in them was hard to miss.“Excuse me!” she called out, her voice soft but urgent, almost drowned out by the
The hum of the central air conditioning was the only sound in the otherwise silent building of ZN Corporations, Mumbai. A handful of employees moved briskly through the corridors, their movements precise, almost mechanical, as though the very presence of the building demanded perfection.And then, the world seemed to still.A sleek black limousine rolled up to the front of the office building, glistening under the sunlight. The door opened, and a polished black Oxford shoe emerged, followed by a tall, imposing figure. Chris Zayden , the enigmatic CEO of ZN Corporations, stepped out of the car.Dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, Zayden exuded power with every step he took. His broad shoulders, sharp jawline, and piercing gray eyes made him look more like a monarch than a businessman. His posture was upright, his every movement calculated and deliberate. There was no need for words; his aura commanded silence and respect.The staff froze. Some lowered their heads instinctive
The orange hues of the setting sun cast a warm glow over the modest but neatly maintained apartment complex where Hema lived. Located a little away from the city’s bustling heart, the area was quiet and filled with the sounds of everyday life—a barking dog, children playing in the distance, and the occasional chime of a bicycle bell. It was the perfect haven for someone like Hema, who valued simplicity and peace.As she walked through the narrow alley that led to her apartment, her heart raced with excitement. The crisp confirmation message on her phone that she had been hired at ZN Corporations felt surreal. She couldn’t stop glancing at it, the words “Welcome to ZN Corporations” lighting up her entire being.Hema adjusted her bag over her shoulder, her steps quick and lively despite the long day. The slight ache in her feet from walking in heels all day didn’t matter anymore. She paused briefly at the entrance of the three-story apartment building, her eyes automatically drifting to
Holi had arrived, and all across the country, the festival of colors was in full swing.The streets of India transformed into a lively spectacle of joy. In the north, cities like Mathura and Vrindavan were overflowing with tourists and devotees playing Lathmar Holi, where women playfully chased men with sticks while colors filled the air. In Rajasthan, palace courtyards saw people celebrating with floral colors and folk music, while in Punjab, the festival took on a warrior-like spirit with Hola Mohalla, a display of martial arts and horse-riding. In the south, temple prayers and cultural performances brought a quieter but equally vibrant celebration.From Delhi to Mumbai, Kolkata to Chennai, people danced to dhol beats, smeared colors on each other, and laughed as they were drenched in water balloons and buckets of colored water. Children ran wild with water guns, spraying passersby with bright gulal. Sweets like gujiya, jalebi, and malpua were passed around, along with thandai, some
On Monday, the results of the presentations were announced in the conference room. All the interns were called, their faces filled with nervous anticipation. Hema Kapoor sat toward the back, her hands clasped tightly on her lap. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her presentation. She replayed every word, every slide, and every look from Zayden as he reviewed her work.Zayden walked into the room, his commanding presence silencing the murmurs. Dressed sharply in his tailored navy suit, his eyes scanned the interns briefly before he sat at the head of the table. Mark followed behind him, holding a folder with the results.“Good afternoon, everyone,” Zayden began, his deep voice cutting through the tension in the air. “After careful review of all your projects, I’ve made a decision. We were looking for creativity, practicality, and, most importantly, something that adds value to the company. I must say, many of you presented solid ideas, and it was a tough choice.”Hema swallow
As lunch carried on, Grandmother leaned back in her chair, her warm curiosity evident in her eyes. She had grown fond of Zayden in a short time and decided to ask him about his family, wanting to know more about the man who had entered their lives so unexpectedly.She got help from Hema to install translator app in her phone . “So, beta,” she began kindly, placing her glass of water back on the table and spoke to him with the help of translator , “tell me about your family. Who all are there at home?”Zayden paused, his fork hovering in mid-air for a moment. A flicker of emotion crossed his face, too brief to read, but Hema noticed it. He placed the fork down carefully and sat back, his expression composed yet distant.“My family is small,” he said simply, his deep voice calm but carrying a hint of restraint. “There’s just my father and my younger sister, Mia. We live in America.”Grandmother’s eyes lit up at the mention of America. “Oh, America! Such a big country, beta. And your si
As Zayden started peeling the onions with careful, clumsy movements, he suddenly felt a sharp sting in his eyes. It caught him off guard, and instinctively, he brought his fingers—still coated with the pungent juice of the onions—closer to rub them.“Ah…” he muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening as his eyes began to water uncontrollably.Hema, who was stirring something on the stove, turned sharply at his discomfort. “Zayden, wait! Don’t touch your eyes!” she exclaimed, her voice urgent. She rushed to his side, quickly grabbing his arm to stop him.“Let me help,” she said, her tone softer now, guiding him by the wrist toward the washing area. Zayden followed without resistance, his vision blurry but focused on her voice, which had a soothing quality he hadn’t noticed before.When they reached the sink, Hema turned on the tap and held his hand under the water first, rinsing away the remnants of the onion juice from his fingers. Then, she gently tilted his face toward the runnin
Zayden parked his sleek black car in front of Hema’s modest apartment building, drawing the attention of the neighborhood. His sharp appearance in casual jeans and a fitted white T-shirt, paired with his confident stride, made heads turn. Holding a fruit basket in one hand, he made his way to the door. As he approached, he noticed curious eyes peeking through windows and over balconies—a typical Indian thing, he thought with mild amusement.Reaching Hema’s door, he stood for a moment, unsure why he felt his heart race. Taking a breath to compose himself, he rang the doorbell.Inside, Hema had just finished her morning tea and was in her casual homewear—a simple cotton kurta with her hair tied into a messy bun. When she heard the bell, she opened the door, not expecting the sight in front of her.Her eyes widened in shock. “Mr. Zayden? What are you doing here?” she asked, perplexed.Zayden’s sharp gaze softened as he took her in. Even without makeup, with her hair in a messy bun and we
Chris Zayden sat in the silence of his luxurious hotel suite, the dim lighting casting shadows across the room. Sundays were always a struggle for him. With no employees to manage, no meetings to attend, and no excuse to hover around the development block where Hema worked, he was left with a hollow void. It frustrated him to no end. The silence felt like a curse, amplifying the storm inside him.He sprawled on the leather couch, dressed in a casual black T-shirt and grey sweatpants, a stark contrast to his usual sharp suits. Cold Coffee sat untouched on the table, condensation forming around its rim. He leaned his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling as if it held answers to the chaos in his mind.To distract himself, Chris picked up his tablet and began reviewing some pending work. His sharp, focused eyes scanned through the reports and figures, but nothing seemed to hold his attention for long. He glanced at the clock—it was only 10 a.m. “This day is going to drag on
Hema was ready for another busy day at the office. She stood at the entrance of their apartment, wearing a simple yet elegant mint-green salwar kameez with white embroidery. Her dupatta was loosely draped over her shoulders, and her long braid rested neatly against her back. Her grandmother followed her with a plate of freshly made parathas.“Beta, eat something before you leave. You’re always in a hurry,” her grandmother said, trying to feed her a bite at the doorstep.“Dhadhi, I’ll eat in the office canteen. I can’t be late,” Hema replied softly, adjusting her dupatta while glancing at the time on her phone.As they stood there, both of them noticed a sleek black cab waiting outside the apartment gate with the ZN Corporations logo clearly displayed on the side. The sight of it caught her grandmother’s attention immediately.“Hema, look at that! They sent a car for you? Your boss must really care for his employees,” her grandmother exclaimed, her face lighting up with admiration.Hem
Chris was about to start the engine when Hema’s grandmother stepped closer to the car. Clad in her modest cotton sari, she folded her hands together in a gesture of gratitude and leaned slightly toward the window. Her kind yet tired eyes looked up at him as she began to speak in Hindi.Chris hesitated, quickly realizing he didn’t understand a word she was saying. He tilted his head slightly, his brows knitting in confusion, but the warmth in her tone and the way her hands moved indicated gratitude.“Uh… I’m sorry, I don’t—” Chris began, but Hema, standing beside her grandmother, quickly stepped in.“She’s thanking you,” Hema said softly, glancing at Chris before turning to her grandmother. “Dhadhi is saying thank you for helping me get home safely.”Chris nodded respectfully after stepping out of the car despite the ache in his hand. He opened the door carefully, his tall frame unfolding as he stood. The soft moonlight highlighted the sharp lines of his jaw and the faint streaks of bl
Hema closed her eyes tightly, bracing for the sharp, agonizing pain she expected any moment. Her heart was pounding in her chest like a drum, and her knees threatened to give way. Suddenly, she heard a loud crashing sound, the glass bottle shattering against something solid instead of her.She opened her eyes slowly, her vision blurry with unshed tears. And there he was—Chris Zayden, her boss. The cold, no-nonsense man she knew only from the corporate world stood in front of her like a shield.Chris’s arm was raised, his hand blocking the bottle that would have hit her head. The jagged shards of glass had dug into his skin, creating a deep cut from which blood was dripping down his wrist, staining the ground. Yet he didn’t seem to care about his injury. His piercing eyes, sharp as daggers, were locked on hers. His expression was a mix of fury and… something softer, something that Hema couldn’t quite place.“Are you okay?” he asked in a voice that was low but urgent, snapping her out o