I text Jayesh:
Signed.
He calls immediately. Of course he does. I stare at the screen for a good five seconds before answering.
“Ishika!” he says, relief flooding his voice. “I knew you’d do amazing. Thank you, really.”
“It’s fine,” I say, keeping my tone neutral. Compliments make me uncomfortable. Gratitude makes me uncomfortable. Feelings in general are not my domain. “I reviewed everything.”
“You did? Good. Great. And Aryan didn’t scare you?”
I blink. “No,” The lie slips out naturally.
“Well, you’re tougher than you think,” he chuckles.
I don’t answer. Tough is not the word I’d use for myself. Tough implies resilience. Strength. The ability to let things break against you without letting it inside. That’s not me. I am mostly just surviving. One day at a time. One person away from shutting down entirely.
“I’ll be available for questions anytime,” he continues. “Just call or text.”
“Okay,” I say, then add a quick “Thank you” before hanging up.
The moment the call ends, the silence around me feels heavier again. I put my head back against the wall and stare at the sky. Jaipur is blindingly bright today. Maybe too bright. I squint and blow out a breath through my nose.
The day feels long. And yet, I know it hasn’t even begun.
When I reach home, I drop my bag on the chair, tie my hair up in a messy knot, and open my laptop. Work usually helps me forget. Usually. Today it mostly distracts my hands while my brain continues to mutter nonsense in the background.
I pull up reference boards, fabric swatches, and building layouts. I sketch out rough ideas—open seating areas, organic textures, suspended lights, lots of plants. I lose myself in arranging and rearranging shapes, trying to force my brain into the quiet zone I usually live in while designing. Normally it works. Today it’s a battlefield.
Because every time I start focusing, I hear his voice.
People don’t complain while working with him.
Aryan Khanna. The said CEO.
Sunshine.
I bury my face in my hands. Why does he talk like that? Why does he laugh like that? Why does he have to be…whatever he is? I shake my head hard and turn back to my work.
I can do this. I can keep this professional. I have worked with worse people before. People who pretended to be kind, only to twist it later. People who promised me things and then left without explanation. I have lived with them, I have grown up with such people.
Aryan Khanna is just a boss. A CEO. A man I will never interact with outside of work.
I will not get flustered again. I refuse to. But then I remember the sticky note.
Don’t be hangry tomorrow, Sunshine.
My stomach twists in a way I don’t want to analyze. I close my laptop harder than necessary.
It’s fine. Everything is fine. I will show up tomorrow, early, before he gets there. I will hand over the signed contract to whoever needs it. I will dive into work. I will not let him get under my skin. I am not fragile. I am not easily swayed. And I am definitely not someone who falls for smiles or sarcasm or stupidly kind eyes.
Tomorrow I’ll be professional. Calm. Collected. Unbothered. And obviously not hangry.
He won’t call me Sunshine again.
…Right?
I don’t believe myself. Not completely. But I also know this: no matter what he says, no matter what he does, no matter how he looks at me with those wild green eyes, I will keep my distance. I’ll put walls between us, higher than before, because letting someone get close has only ever led to one ending.
