Or worse—did that creep follow her again? The thought lands heavy in my stomach. What if he waited outside? What if he—
No.
Don’t spiral. There’s no reason to assume the worst. Ajay walks in quietly, as he always does, placing a stack of files on my desk. “Sir, these need your review before the meeting at twelve.”
I nod absentmindedly.
He doesn’t leave.
“Sir?” he says again, a little more carefully this time.
I look up. He studies my face for a second. He’s worked with me long enough to notice shifts. “Ms. Vyas has sent an email,” he adds.
My heart skips.
“She’s ill. She won’t be coming in today.” He adds. Relief hits me first. It’s physical. Like someone loosened a rope around my chest. She’s safe.
The relief dissolves for a moment then comes back with full force. She’s ill? How ill? Why didn’t she tell me? Why would she tell me, I am just a client. Why did that thought even cross my mind?
I wave Ajay off, barely hearing myself say, “That’s fine. I’ll look at these later.”
He hesitates like he wants to say something else, then nods and leaves. The moment the door shuts, I grab my phone and call her.
It rings. Once. Twice. Three times. The call ends. She didn’t pick up. I stare at the screen.
Call again?
No. Don’t be dramatic. She’s ill. She’s probably sleeping. Or ignoring me. The second option annoys me more than it should. I call again anyway but the call ends soon after a few rings. A strange, urgent need starts blooming in my chest.
It’s not loud or dramatic. It’s quiet and steady and impossible to ignore. I need to see if she’s okay. Not through a call. Not through a message.
In person.
Before my rational brain can stand up and argue about boundaries and professionalism, I’m already on my feet. I grab my car keys, my phone, my wallet and step out of my office.
“Sir?” Ajay looks up from his desk.
“I might be out of office today,” I say casually, as if I haven’t just made a completely impulsive decision.
He studies me for a moment. Then he smiles softly. He doesn’t ask why and just nods. And that somehow makes it worse. Because now it feels obvious.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
She’s supposed to be a contractual employee. Temporary. Professional. And here I am leaving work in the middle of a weekday because she didn’t pick up my call.
This is insane, but there’s nothing stopping me now. I get into my car and sit there for a second before starting the engine.
Think. Be logical. She said she’s ill. People fall sick. It happens. You don’t need to personally verify it.
And yet my hands tighten on the steering wheel. Because if Siddhant texts saying he’s sick, I send him memes and tell him to drink water. If Raksh says he has fever which is almost never, I tell him to stop being dramatic. If Vedant complains about a headache, I tell him to sleep.
I don’t get in my car. I don’t feel this restless. I don’t feel like something is pulling me forward. So what is this?
“I’ve been able to do that since I was fifteen.”
Her voice from yesterday lingers in my head, not angry now but weighted. I can still see the way her jaw tightened when she said it, the way her eyes dared me to challenge her strength. That was someone who learned too early that protection is a luxury.
Maybe that’s what this is. Not pity. I know the difference. Pity looks down. This doesn’t. This stands beside. It presses forward because it can’t bear the thought of her standing alone again if she doesn’t have to.
