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’ll leave once I’m done.” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you sure?” “Yes,” she replied, her tone gentle but firm. With a resigned sigh, Arvind straightened his posture and nodded. “Fine. But call me if you need anything, okay?” “I will. Thank you.” Reluctantly, Arvind left, throwing one last glance at her before walking away. Meanwhile, in his private office, Chris Zayden was working intently on his tablet. His sleek shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and his blazer rested on the back of his chair. His sharp gray eyes were focused on approving various reports and transactions. The faint glow of the tablet screen reflected on his face as he authorized a significant transfer of funds. When he finally leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples, he glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 8 PM. He paused, realizing that Hema was still working. Chris grabbed his blazer and stepped out of his office, his assistant Mark following closely behind. As they passed the development block, Chris halted abruptly, his sharp gaze falling on Hema, who was still typing away. Her head was slightly bent, her hair falling over one shoulder. the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her fingers moved tirelessly over the keyboard, her brows furrowed in concentration. Chris turned to Mark and said in a low voice, “Tell her to stop working and leave. It’s late.” Mark nodded and walked into the department. Clearing his throat, he said, “Miss Hema, Mr. Zayden says you can stop working now. You may leave.” Hema barely glanced at him, her fingers still moving over the keyboard. “Thank you, but I still have a lot to finish. I’ll leave once I’m done.” Mark hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at Chris, who was watching from the hallway. When Chris heard Hema’s refusal, his jaw tightened briefly, but he maintained his composed demeanor. “Let her be,” Chris said curtly to Mark, his voice low and firm. He walked away without another word, his footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. Mark hurried to keep up with him. As they exited the building, Chris glanced back at the lit windows of the development block. A part of him admired Hema’s determination, but another part of him bristled at her refusal to listen. “Stubborn,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. Yet, as he got into his car, he couldn’t shake the image of her working tirelessly, her posture radiating quiet strength despite her exhaustion. …… The development block was eerily silent when Hema finally leaned back in her chair, her fingers trembling slightly as she hit save on the final document. The clock on the wall showed 11:15 PM. She stretched her arms above her head, her shoulders stiff and aching from sitting in the same position for hours. Her light blue kurta was slightly crumpled, her hair falling messily over her face. Hema rubbed her eyes, her body screaming for rest. She hadn’t eaten all day, and now even the simple act of standing up felt like a monumental task. She gathered her bag and slung it over her shoulder, her movements sluggish. The lights in the department flickered slightly as she turned them off, the soft glow of the corridor lights guiding her way out. As she stepped outside the company gates, the chill of the night air hit her. The streets were unusually quiet, the pitch darkness of the area amplifying her unease. Her tired legs wobbled slightly as she walked toward the main road, hoping to find an auto. She pulled her phone out of her bag to check for missed calls and found several from her grandmother and Arvind. The concern in their voices earlier still lingered in her mind. Hema dialed her grandmother’s number, her voice steady despite her exhaustion. “Dadi, I’m leaving now. Don’t worry, I’ll be home soon,” she said, forcing a calm tone. “Hema, it’s so late! How will you get home? I’ll send Arvind to pick you up!” her grandmother exclaimed, her worry evident. “I’m fine, Dadi. There’s no need to worry,” Hema reassured her . “I am in taxi and be home soon. You should rest. I’ll reach in 10 min.” At least this lie will give her peace. Her grandmother hesitated before replying. “Okay, beta. Please be careful.” As Hema ended the call, her phone vibrated again. This time it was Arvind. “Hema, where are you? Did you leave yet?” he asked anxiously. “I’m heading home, Arvind. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” she replied, leaning against a lamppost as she spoke. “Are you sure? I can come pick you up,” he insisted. “I’m sure. I am on the way , coming in Taxi. Go to sleep,” she lied again, her tone firm but gentle. After ending the call, Hema tried to book Taxi. When she was about to book a cab. “Oh…shit!!” Phone switched off !!!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
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
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