At first I thought she was busy. Then I thought she was committed. Then yesterday I realized the truth. She’s running. And annoyingly fast. The one time I managed to find her, she was in her office bent over blueprints, pencil tucked behind her ear, glasses sliding down her nose. I had barely stepped inside before she looked up like prey sensing danger.
“Aryan.”
“Sunshine.”
Her eyes narrowed instantly. “What do you want?”
I leaned against the door like I had all day. “Weekly update.”
“I sent the file.”
“I prefer the live version.”
“I don’t.”
I almost laughed then. God, she’s adorable when defensive. “Too bad.” She had opened her mouth to reply when her phone rang. She glanced at the screen and stood so quickly the chair rolled back.
“I have to go.”
“To where?”
“Urgent pickup.”
“I’ll come.”
“No.” The answer came too fast. Too sharp. Then she seemed to realize it and cleared her throat. “I mean… no need. Kamlesh is already accompanying me.”
Kamlesh. The contractor. A man old enough to complain about his knees before lunch. I folded my arms. “You’d rather spend time with Kamlesh than me?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. Not even guilt.
I placed a hand over my heart. “Cruel.”
She had already grabbed her bag. “Just being professional.” Then she left so fast the air moved with her. That was when it clicked. This isn’t scheduling. This is strategy. She is avoiding me because I shook something loose that night.
Good.
Because she shook something loose in me too. Only difference is I’m not hiding from it. I drum my fingers on the desk andstare again at the empty office space. She thinks distance will solve this. That if she doesn’t see me, she won’t think of me. Cute theory. Deeply flawed though. My phone buzzes with market alerts. I ignore them. Emails stack up. I ignore them. A client calls. I reject it. There are moments in business when numbers matter. This is not one of them.
This is personal. And I am alarmingly invested. I get up and walk to the window overlooking the work floor. Laborers moving materials. Electricians crouched near panels. Painters arguing over shades. Kamlesh shouting at everyone equally. No Ishika. I exhale slowly.
This woman has somehow become the loudest silence in my day. The office runs. Deals close. Meetings happen. But everything feels slightly off-center when she isn’t storming through a room looking offended by incompetence.
I miss her.
There. The ugly truth. I miss her voice. I miss the way she pretends my jokes aren’t funny while visibly trying not to laugh. I miss irritating her into color. I miss being looked at like I am both a problem and entertainment. This cannot be healthy. I return to my desk and sit down, opening the project cost sheet.
Rows of numbers stare back. Then a thought slips in. It’s slow, bright but mostly terrible. I grin. No. Absolutely not. I grin wider.
That is an evil idea.
Immature.
Manipulative.
Financially irresponsible.
Perfect.
