The day started on a tense note at ZN Corporations. Word had spread quickly in the company’s internal chat groups—Chris Zayden, the enigmatic and strict CEO, had arrived unusually early. Employees scrambled to make it to their desks on time, some hurrying through the doors, others quickly arranging their desks to appear busy.
Chris, however, had no interest in the frantic activity of his employees. He sat in his expansive office, leaning back in his chair, his sharp blue eyes fixed on the live CCTV feed from the lobby. His focus was not on the bustling workers but on one person—Hema Kapoor. He had been waiting, and as the minutes ticked by, his irritation grew. Half an hour late. For someone as punctual and controlled as Chris, it was a small but significant annoyance. He clenched his jaw as he finally saw her walking into the building. She was late, and worse—she was walking alongside another male employee, laughing casually. His grip on the edge of his desk tightened. “Who is he?” he muttered to himself. The sight of her with someone else sent a flicker of possessiveness through him, something he wasn’t accustomed to feeling. Hema Kapoor entered the office, calm and unbothered by the flurry of activity around her. Dressed in a stylish black kurta with intricate white embroidery, paired with casual blue jeans, she carried herself with grace. Her purse hung casually at her side, and her comfortable brown flats clicked lightly on the polished floor. Her long, wavy hair framed her face, and her radiant smile brightened her features, making her approachable yet commanding attention. Her colleagues greeted her with polite nods, some whispering among themselves about the CEO’s early arrival and his possible intentions. Hema remained unaffected, her posture upright, her focus sharp. Chris continued watching her on the screen, his irritation simmering just beneath the surface. Every movement she made—the way she adjusted her purse strap, the slight tilt of her head as she spoke to the male employee—fueled his restlessness. He didn’t like feeling out of control, and Hema Kapoor seemed to have a way of unsettling him without even trying. Picking up his phone, he dialed the extension of her department head. “Send Hema Kapoor to my office. Now,” Chris ordered, his voice clipped and firm. Hema’s department head approached her desk with a hesitant smile. “Hema, Mr. Zayden has asked to see you in his office immediately.” Hema raised an eyebrow, her expression calm but curious. “Did he mention why?” “No,” the department head replied, lowering his voice. “Just don’t keep him waiting. You know how he is.” Taking a deep breath, Hema stood up, adjusted her kurta, and walked toward the CEO’s office. Her stride was confident, her posture straight, and her expression neutral. She knocked lightly on the frosted glass door. “Come in,” came Chris’s deep, commanding voice. Chris sat behind his sleek desk, his chair slightly turned to the side as he watched her enter. His piercing blue eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Hema stood straight, her hands clasped loosely in front of her, her calm gaze meeting his intense one. “You called me, sir?” she asked, her voice steady. Chris leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “Aren’t you a bit too late to be starting as an intern?”. Hema blinked, but her composure didn’t waver. “I apologize, sir. There was heavy traffic on my way here.” “Traffic,” Chris repeated, his tone laced with mild mockery. His lips curved into a faint smirk. “That’s the excuse you’re going with?” “Yes, sir,” Hema replied plainly. “And it won’t happen again.” Chris leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “I expect it won’t. I don’t tolerate tardiness, Miss Kapoor. But since you’re here…” His voice turned sharper. “You mentioned during your interview that you could handle pressure. Let’s see if that’s true.” Hema’s brows furrowed slightly, a flicker of curiosity crossing her otherwise composed face. Chris’s smirk widened, his gaze unwavering. “I want you to submit a project idea by the end of the day.” Hema’s eyes widened briefly before she quickly masked her surprise. “By the end of the day?” “Yes,” Chris replied coolly. “Unless that’s too much for you.” Hema straightened her shoulders, her chin lifting slightly. “I’ll have it ready, sir.” “Good,” Chris said, waving a hand dismissively. “You may go.” Hema nodded and turned to leave. Chris’s gaze followed her, lingering on the way her kurta swayed as she walked. A faint smile tugged at his lips, though his expression remained otherwise impassive. Back at her desk, Hema exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening around the edge of her chair. She replayed the conversation in her mind, feeling a mix of frustration and determination. Meanwhile, Chris picked up his phone again. “Mark,” he said to his assistant, who answered on the first ring. “I need you to gather all the information you can on Hema Kapoor. Background, education, family—everything. I want it on my desk by tomorrow.” “Yes, sir,” Mark replied without hesitation. Chris hung up, his gaze drifting back to the screen that showed Hema working diligently at her desk. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest. He didn’t know why she intrigued him so much, but he intended to find out. Hema spent the rest of her day brainstorming ideas, her focus unwavering. Her posture remained upright, her movements deliberate. She jotted down notes, her pen flying across the pages of her notebook. Occasionally, she pushed her hair back from her face, her expression thoughtful. As the clock ticked closer to the deadline, Hema finished her proposal. She reviewed it one last time, printed it out, and neatly bound it before heading back to Chris’s office. Her steps were calm but purposeful, her confidence intact. Chris was waiting when she entered, holding the document in her hands. She placed it on his desk with a steady hand, her posture composed. “My project idea, sir,” she said simply. Chris picked up the file, flipping through it with a practiced eye. He didn’t say anything as he read, his expression remaining neutral. When he finally looked up, his gaze met hers with a glimmer of approval. “Impressive,” he said, his tone neutral. “Thank you, sir,” Hema replied, her voice steady. Chris leaned back, tapping the file lightly against the desk. “Let’s see if your execution matches your planning.” Hema gave a small nod. “It will, sir.” As she left the office, Chris’s gaze lingered on her retreating figure. For the first time in a long while, he felt intrigued. Hema Kapoor was different, and he intended to learn everything about her. This was just the beginning. After an hour Mark came with the information he collected. Chris leaned back in his leather chair, his expression unreadable as he was looking at the monitor seeing her working and hearing to the information Mark has collected the same time. Mark stood to the side, his hands folded behind him, started telling him. “Living with her grandmother in a modest apartment. Mother and brother deceased. Father works as a laborer in South India, heavy drinker, no contact with daughter.” “She doesn’t speak to her father?” Chris asked, his voice calm but inquisitive. Mark nodded. “Yes, sir. It seems she has no communication with him due to his behavior. She’s entirely self-reliant.” For someone so young, Hema Kapoor carried an extraordinary burden. Yet, she hadn’t let it show. In the short time he’d observed her, she radiated a quiet confidence and resilience. It made him wonder how she managed to appear so composed. “Anything else?” Chris asked, his tone now sharper. “Not much more of note, sir. She seems to maintain a simple life—no boyfriend ,no indulgences, no significant social circle apart from her grandmother and a childhood friend named Arvind, who lives in the same apartment complex.” Chris’s jaw clenched slightly. The mention of Arvind—the man she’d walked in with earlier—rekindled the flicker of possessiveness he’d felt that morning. “That’s all for now, Mark,” Chris said, waving a hand dismissively. “You may go” “Yes, sir,” Mark replied, retreating from the office.Chris Zayden had always been a man of focus. His sharp mind, calculated decisions, and unmatched charm made him a legend in the corporate world. Yet, over the past few weeks, his unwavering concentration had been fractured by something—or rather, someone.Hema.She wasn’t like the women Chris was used to. Hema was modest, quiet, and radiated a natural grace that didn’t demand attention but effortlessly captured it. She wasn’t clad in designer gowns or towering heels like the socialites who hovered around him. Her presence was subtle, understated, and completely irresistible.Chris found himself gravitating towards her every chance he got. Her black kurta—a simple yet elegantly embroidered outfit—floated gracefully as she walked, each movement soft yet deliberate. Her hair, dark and glossy, curled naturally around her face, catching the light and framing her radiant smile. But it wasn’t just her beauty that consumed him. It was her energy—the way she laughed with her trainees, the easy
Chris Zayden stood by the large glass windows of his penthouse office, sipping his coffee. He was restless. Chris decided to do something he rarely did—visit the departments personally. He wanted to see how she was doing , but he justified it to himself as a random check on the development block. Dressed impeccably in a dark grey tailored suit, his hair slicked back neatly, Chris exuded authority as he walked through the corridors. His posture was upright, his long strides confident and purposeful. The sound of his polished black shoes echoed, announcing his presence. Employees froze or straightened in their chairs as he passed, their expressions turning tense and alert. As he entered the development block, the air seemed heavier. The employees were all alert, stealing glances at him while pretending to work. His presence always had this effect, like a storm cloud entering a calm sky. At the far end of the room, Chris noticed a heated argument. Mr. Kumar, the department leader, wa
It was 7 PM, and the office was almost empty. The other departments had long since packed up for the day, leaving the development block eerily quiet. The only sound was the steady clatter of Hema’s fingers on the keyboard as she worked tirelessly. Her face was focused, her posture rigid as she leaned slightly toward the monitor, typing with determination.Arvind, who had returned to check on her, stood beside her desk, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his trousers. “Hema, it’s getting late. Let me wait for you. I’ll drop you home.”Hema stopped typing briefly, her hands resting on the desk as she looked up at him. Her expression was calm but firm. “Arvind, I appreciate it, but I’m fine. You should go home. Your family must be waiting.”Arvind frowned, his posture slumping slightly as he leaned one hand on the back of her chair. “You know I don’t mind waiting. You’re pushing yourself too much.”Hema smiled faintly, her tired eyes softening. “I’ll manage, Arvind. Please, just go. I
Hema tightened her grip on her bag, feeling the worn leather dig into her palm. She glanced around once more, her heartbeat accelerating as the shadows seemed to grow taller with every step she took. The junction still felt so far away, like an oasis just out of reach. The faint glow of a distant streetlight was the only comfort she had in the oppressive darkness of the road. Every sound seemed amplified: the rustling leaves, the faint hum of insects, and her own hurried footsteps, which she swore were being echoed.Her thoughts were a jumbled mess of exhaustion and unease. She hadn’t eaten all day, her legs felt like lead, and her head throbbed faintly from the stress of the day. “Just get to the junction,” she muttered under her breath, willing herself to stay calm. “There’ll be autos there. You’ll be home soon.”But the unsettling feeling of being followed refused to leave her. It wasn’t loud—just the faintest shuffle of feet behind her, stopping whenever she stopped. She whipped
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
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 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 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
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