I roll my eyes. “What are we, five?”
He grins. “My mother does say I behave like one. And by the tantrums you throw, you might be too.”
I look down at his hand. Then back at him. His green eyes are softer now. No teasing. No ego. Just belief. “Don’t regret it,” I whisper, sliding my hand into his. “Because I am 100% sure you will leave. And I will burn down your office.”
He chuckles and steps closer, our hands still clasped.
“We’ll see,” he says, with so much certainty that for one dangerous second—
I almost believe him.
CHAPTER 19
ISHIKA
I am already regretting it.
The moment I step into my office and see him there—leaning against my desk like he owns the oxygen in the room—I know I have made a mistake. Agreeing to “friends” sounded reasonable in the warmth of fever and vulnerability. It sounded safe. Harmless.
It is not harmless.
He looks up from his phone and beams like the sun personally chose him as its ambassador. “Good morning, Sunshine,” he says, and actually winks.
I have to physically stop myself from slapping him. A bit dramatic, I know. But this early in the morning? I haven’t even had proper coffee. My tolerance for his dramatics is dangerously low.
“Good morning, Golden boy,” I reply, stretching my lips into a fake smile so tight it almost hurts.
He chuckles, like that was exact the response he expected.
I walk past him and place my bag on the table, avoiding looking at him too long because that’s a dangerous game. He’s leaning casually, one ankle crossed over the other, arms loose, that one stupid strand of hair falling across his forehead in a way that shouldn’t be attractive but somehow is.
“Why are you here, Aryan?” I sigh, pulling out my notebook and pretending to be busy.
“Wow,” he says lightly. “No ‘how are you’? No ‘missed you’?”
I give him a deadpan look.
“Okay, okay,” he laughs, straightening up. The teasing melts away so quickly it’s almost impressive. He folds his arms across his chest, posture shifting subtly. His shoulders square. His expression sharpens.
Business mode.
It fascinates me how easily he flips that switch. One second he’s joking, the next he looks like he’s about to close a multi-crore deal.
“Alright,” he says calmly. “I do have a reason to come here today.”
My stomach tightens slightly.
“Oh.” He reaches into his pocket. I watch his hand move. Slow. Deliberate. And then he places something on my desk. It makes a soft metallic sound against the wood. I stare at it. For so long it feels like the room has gone silent around us. A key. Not just any key. A car key.
“What’s that?” I ask, even though I already know.
He chuckles softly. “I’m sure you know how car keys look like, Ishika.” He says my name softly.
I roll my eyes, refusing to let him see how unsettled I feel. “What do I do with it, Aryan?”
“Use it,” he says simply. Like he’s telling me the weather forecast.
“Excuse me?” I tilt my head slightly, studying his face for a sign of a joke. There is none.
