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आया तेरे दर पर दीवाना आया तेरे दर पर दीवाना(आया तेरे दर पर दीवाना आया तेरे दर पर दीवाना)
आया हूँ आया आया तेरा दीवाना
आया तेरे दर पर दीवाना आया तेरे दर पर दीवाना(आया तेरे दर पर दीवाना आया तेरे दर पर दीवाना)
तेरा दीवाना तेरा दीवाना तेरा दीवाना

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

The cafe was abuzz with the gentle hum of conversation and the clinking of cups. Amidst the crowd, a striking pair caught the eye. The man, with his chiseled features and piercing gaze, sat with a straight face, his emotions unreadable. His sharp jawline and prominent cheekbones framed his full lips, which were pressed into a subtle line. His eyes, a deep shade of brown, seemed to hold a thousand thoughts, but his expression remained neutral. A sprinkle of stubble on his chin added a touch of ruggedness to his otherwise polished demeanor. His dark hair was styled impeccably, framing his face with a hint of sophistication.

Across from him, the girl sat with a smirk playing on her lips. Her long, wavy hair cascaded down her back like a rich, dark waterfall. Her baggy jeans and crop top combo showcased her effortless style, and her bright smile hinted at a playful personality. Her eyes sparkled with amusement, as if she found the entire scene around her utterly entertaining. Her features were delicate yet striking, with high cheekbones and a petite nose. Her full lips curved into a sly smile, suggesting she was privy to a secret the world wasn't.

The contrast between their expressions was striking – his stoic demeanor against her playful smirk. The air around them seemed to vibrate with unspoken tension, leaving onlookers wondering about the story behind their encounter.

Megha's eyes sparkled with amusement as she gazed at Ekansh, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "So, Mr. Ekansh Seghal is sitting in front of me, what a royal presence I'm greeted with." Ekansh's expression twisted in annoyance, his eyes narrowing slightly as he snorted. "Just stop it, can you?" he gritted, his tone laced with frustration.

Megha's smirk only deepened, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Why, soon-to-be husband? You look so... ummm, forced into this. Kya hua apki Jitisha ka matlab uske hote merese milne aaye ho shaadi ki baat ke liye?" she teased, her words dripping with mock concern.

Ekansh's jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with irritation. "Can you just stop rubbing salt on my wounds? Anyways, I'm ready for this marriage. If you've any objection, just say it to your father and my grandmother," he stated flatly, his tone devoid of emotion.

Megha's smile grew wider, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Why would I have any objection? Didn't I say already, sooner or later, you'll be mine, Mr. Seghal," she purred, her voice husky and confident.

Ekansh rolled his eyes, a low growl rumbling in his throat. Just then, his phone buzzed, signaling an incoming call. Megha's eyes lit up with mischief as she smirked. "Pick it up, hubby, and put it on speaker."

With a heavy sigh, Ekansh picked up the call, his eyes never leaving Megha's face. "Ekansh, where are you? Please listen to my explanation, it's not like what you think. You've misunderstood me and Advik," a woman's voice pleaded from the other end.

Before Ekansh could respond, Megha snatched the phone from his hand, her fingers brushing against his. She tapped the screen, and a video began to play. Ekansh's eyes widened as he watched, his jaw clenched in anger. The video showed a woman lounging on a sofa in a bathrobe, a man sitting beside her, his arm draped casually over her shoulder.

Megha's eyes gleamed with triumph as she watched Ekansh's reaction, a smug smile spreading across her face. Ekansh's face darkened, his eyes blazing with anger, but he remained silent, his teeth gritted in frustration. The air was thick with tension, the silence between them heavy with unspoken emotions.

Megha's voice dripped with venom as she spoke into the phone, her words cutting through the air like a knife. "Sorry, Jitisha. Actually, Ekansh and I are going to get married, so can you just stop calling him. I feel sick hearing your voice."

Jitisha's response was immediate, her voice rising to a scream. "Stop doing this, Megha! You're just forcing him to marry you even after knowing we love each other. How cunning you are!" Her words were laced with desperation and anger, her emotions raw and exposed.

Megha's expression remained unimpressed, her eyes rolling in exasperation. "Ya ya, love isn't it?" she replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. She seemed unfazed by Jitisha's outburst, her demeanor calm and collected.

With a swift motion, Megha pressed the video call option, and Jitisha's angry face appeared on the screen. Megha's smile grew wider as she gazed at Jitisha's image, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Hello, my ex-bestie. How are you? Wait, you look like you've been into great pleasure lately," she chimed, her words laced with mock concern.

Jitisha's face turned red with anger, her features twisted in rage. "Can you just stop slandering me? You've forced Ekansh into this marriage. He only loves me!" she spat, her voice venomous. Her eyes seemed to bore into Megha's soul, her anger and frustration palpable.

Megha raised an eyebrow, her expression challenging. "Is it?" she said, her tone laced with doubt. She seemed to be goading Jitisha, pushing her buttons with calculated precision.

Ekansh sat silently, his eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before him. He felt like a pawn in their game, a mere spectator to their emotional battle. He seemed torn between his feelings for Jitisha and the reality of his situation with Megha.

Without breaking eye contact with the screen, Megha stood up and sat on Ekansh's lap, her movements fluid and deliberate. She gazed at Jitisha's image with an evil smile, her eyes sparkling with triumph. Then, in a bold move, she pressed her lips onto Ekansh's, the kiss direct and possessive.

The kiss was a statement, a declaration of Megha's intentions. It was a show of power, a demonstration of her control over the situation. Ekansh's eyes widened in surprise, but he didn't push her away. Megha's lips were soft and warm, and for a moment, he forgot about Jitisha's angry face on the screen.

As they broke apart, Megha's smile grew wider, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. Jitisha's angry face still loomed on the screen, her expression twisted in rage. The tension between them was palpable, the air thick with unspoken emotions.

“As I told you, Ms. Verma—Ekansh is mine. So back off now and go enjoy with those so-called brothers of yours. Don’t worry, I’ll personally send you the wedding invitation,” she said sharply, her tone laced with mocking sweetness before cutting the call. With one swift movement, she blocked the contact, her chest rising and falling as though the words had reignited a fire inside her.

Still seated comfortably on his lap, she lifted her gaze to meet his. Her eyes, fierce and unyielding, locked with his dark ones. The air between them grew heavy, thick with an unspoken claim.

“Remember this, Mr. Sehgal—” she leaned closer, her lips almost brushing his ear as her voice dropped into a husky whisper, “—you’re not allowed to be near her. Because I don’t like sharing what’s mine.”

A smirk curved her lips, triumphant and teasing, before she tightened her grip on his collar and yanked him toward her. The sudden pull left him stunned for a heartbeat—then her mouth was on his, hot, demanding, desperate.

Her kiss burned with hunger, with the fiery need to mark him as hers. He sat frozen for a moment, dazed by the intensity, but as memories of Jitisha’s betrayal flashed in his mind—the lies, the sharp sting of broken trust—his hesitation dissolved.

Something inside him snapped. His arms encircled her, pulling her closer, and he kissed her back with equal fervor. Their lips moved against each other in a battle of passion and possession, a storm of pain and desire tangled into one.

Her fingers fisted in his shirt as though anchoring him to her, while his grip tightened at her waist, drawing her nearer until there was no space left between them. Every kiss was a claim, every breath stolen between them a promise that neither wanted to let go.

------------

It was almost midnight when Pratiksha finally reached home in Diya’s car, her arms carefully wrapped around the sleeping form of little Saanjh. The street outside was hushed, the only sound the faint hum of crickets and the occasional bark of a stray dog. Pratiksha stepped out, exhaustion visible in every movement, and murmured a tired “thank you” to her friend before walking slowly toward the house.

Inside, the faint glow of a single lamp revealed Keshavi sitting upright on the sofa, waiting. Her posture was stiff, worry etched across her face as her eyes darted immediately to Pratiksha.

Pratiksha looked pale, her expression lost, almost haunted. Without a word, she handed the little girl into Keshavi’s arms, her movements mechanical, before collapsing onto the couch with a heavy sigh. The way she slumped, shoulders sagging and eyes unfocused, made Keshavi’s heart clench.

“Kya hua, Prati?” Keshavi asked softly, her voice threaded with concern.

Pratiksha lifted her gaze for a brief moment, her tired eyes shimmering with something unsaid, then looked away with another sigh. Keshavi, growing impatient at her silence, shook her head in disbelief.

“Ab bolegi ki nahi?” she pressed, her tone sharper now, though worry still lingered.

Pratiksha’s lips curved into a faint, weary smile as she whispered, “Pehle Jugnu ko sula de… phir baat karte hain.”

Keshavi nodded, understanding the weight in her voice. She carried little Saanjh—sleeping peacefully, unaware of the storm swirling in the room—into her bedroom.

Meanwhile, Pratiksha reached for her earrings and bangles, pulling them off one by one with slow, deliberate motions. The clink of metal against the table echoed in the quiet house, a sharp contrast to the heaviness in her chest. Finally, she let herself sink deeper into the cushions, stretching out and lying down comfortably, though her eyes betrayed a turmoil that no rest could easily erase.

.........

“So you’re saying… the person you kissed was none other than your new boss?” Keshavi’s voice rose an octave, disbelief plain in her wide eyes.

Pratiksha sat quietly on the couch, her hands nervously fidgeting with the corner of her dupatta. She lowered her gaze and gave a small, guilty nod.

“Like… how?!” Keshavi exclaimed, throwing her hands up, her expression caught between shock and exasperation.

Pratiksha bit her lip, searching for the right words, her cheeks heating with embarrassment. “To be honest, I was… I was dazed that time,” she began hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper. “The whole scene—it felt so unreal, so fictional, like I was in a dream. And I just… went with the flow.” She paused, her eyes unfocusing as the memory flashed in front of her. “He was standing there—so perfect, so handsome—that I couldn’t control myself. I thought… maybe this was the last time we’d ever meet. Mujhe kya pata tha,” she sighed, her tone heavy with regret, “ki mera yeh pagalpan mere hi upar itna bhaari pad jaayega.”

Keshavi stared at her in utter disbelief, her mouth hanging open. Then she let out a frustrated groan, leaning back against the chair. “Seriously, Pratiksha? Are you even listening to yourself?” she said, her words sharp, her tone incredulous. “You fucking kissed a random stranger. A STRANGER! And now you’re telling me he’s your new boss?”

Her voice echoed through the room, filled with the kind of frustration that only comes from caring too much.

Pratiksha flinched slightly at her words, her throat tightening as she hugged a cushion to her chest. She knew Keshavi wasn’t wrong. The weight of her impulsive mistake settled heavier on her shoulders, but at the same time, the memory of that kiss still burned vividly inside her, refusing to let her regret it completely.

Although it could hardly be called a proper kiss—just the faintest brush of her lips, a fleeting peck—Pratiksha knew deep down that even that small slip was enough to have offended him. Her heart still pounded when she recalled the way he had looked at her, his eyes widening with a strange, unreadable expression—somewhere between shock and disbelief.

That look had burned itself into her memory.

When she finally returned to the banquet hall, she forced a smile onto her face, hiding the turmoil swirling inside. Her friends and colleagues laughed and chatted around her, but she barely heard them. She clutched her clutch tighter, her steps measured, her lips still tingling faintly from that reckless moment.

Haaye, she thought to herself, a nervous chuckle bubbling inside her head, kahi kuch zyaada toh nahi kar diya na?

She sank into a chair, still smiling outwardly, though her heart twisted with unease. Chhodo yaar… kaun sa kabhi milne wale hain hum log phir se, she consoled herself silently, trying to brush away the guilt.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the image of him—his sharp features, his intense eyes, the way he had looked at her as if he’d caught her doing something forbidden.

Her smile faltered for a split second before she sighed, a dreamy glint sneaking into her eyes. Kya karu… he looked exactly like the man of my dreams. Main khud ko rok hi nahi paayi.

Her heart fluttered again at the thought. It was just a kiss, right? she reasoned, though her cheeks grew warm as the memory replayed. But deep inside, only she knew the truth—what her mind had conjured in those fleeting seconds was wilder, far more intoxicating, than that innocent little peck could ever show.

Pratiksha smoothed her dress and walked toward the stage where her boss, Vamika Dhawan, was standing among colleagues and well-wishers. The farewell party was in full swing—soft music in the background, laughter and clinking glasses filling the banquet hall—but a strange heaviness tugged at Pratiksha’s chest.

She managed a small smile. Despite the sadness, she told herself she should be happy—after all, her boss, her mentor, her dii, was finally stepping away from the pain that had shadowed her for so long. A new life awaited Vamika, and that thought gave Pratiksha comfort.

“You look very beautiful, dii,” Pratiksha said warmly.

Vamika’s eyes softened as she hugged her. “Thank you, Prati. And thank you for staying with me through everything… you were a greater friend than I could’ve ever asked for.”

Her words filled Pratiksha’s heart with warmth. The two women stood together for a while, talking softly, until Vamika suddenly tilted her head and asked, “By the way… tum Parth se mili?”

Pratiksha frowned slightly. “Woh kaun hai?”

“Your new boss,” Vamika replied casually.

“Oh… sorry, I was in the restroom so I didn’t meet him yet,” Pratiksha lied smoothly, though her voice carried an edge of nervousness.

“Then let me introduce you.” With an affectionate smile, Vamika turned and waved someone over.

Pratiksha stood rooted in place, her palms suddenly clammy. As the man walked toward them through the crowd, her heart dropped to her stomach. Her face drained of color.

“Dii… y-yeh…” she stammered, her voice cracking with disbelief.

Vamika’s expression was calm, oblivious to the storm brewing inside Pratiksha. “That’s my cousin, Parth Sehgal—also your new boss. And Parth, this is my secretary, Pratiksha. She’s also one of my closest friends.”

Pratiksha’s mind screamed in panic. The man I kissed… is my new boss?! Her thoughts spiraled, her chest tightening. Why? Out of all people, why does it have to be him?

Parth’s sharp eyes studied her keenly, lingering just a second longer than necessary, as if silently acknowledging the memory they shared. Then, slowly, his lips curved into a sly, knowing smile.

“Nice to meet you,” he said smoothly, extending his hand.

Pratiksha’s pulse raced. Though dazed and trembling inside, she forced a polite smile, reaching out to place her hand in his. His grip was firm, deliberate. For a fleeting second, she felt as though the entire room had disappeared, leaving only the two of them caught in a silent battle of memories and unspoken words.

As soon as Vamika was pulled away by another colleague, the atmosphere shifted. The background chatter of the banquet hall faded into a distant hum for Pratiksha. She stood awkwardly, her fingers still tingling from the handshake, avoiding Parth’s eyes as if that might undo the memory of her impulsive mistake.

But Parth wasn’t one to let it slide so easily.

He stepped a little closer, his presence commanding, his gaze fixed on her. “So…” he began casually, his tone carrying the faintest edge of amusement, “you’re Pratiksha.”

Her throat went dry. “Y-yes… secretary to Ms. Dhawan,” she managed, forcing a professional smile.

He tilted his head, studying her as though she were a puzzle he enjoyed solving. “Hmm. Secretary. Interesting.” A smirk played at his lips, but his eyes betrayed something sharper—an unspoken recognition that made her heart lurch.

Pratiksha quickly looked away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Does he remember? Or… is he just testing me?

Parth leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping just enough for her to hear over the music. “You know… I feel like we’ve already met somewhere.”

Her chest tightened. For a split second, her breath hitched, and she nearly gave herself away. But gathering every ounce of composure, she forced a small laugh. “I… I don’t think so, sir. I would’ve remembered meeting my boss earlier.”

His smirk deepened. “Maybe you’re right. Still…” His eyes lingered on her lips for a fraction of a second before meeting her gaze again. “You seem… familiar.”

Pratiksha’s pulse thundered in her ears. She wrapped her arms around herself instinctively, as if to shield against the weight of his stare. God, why is he saying it like that? Does he know?

Before she could reply, Vamika returned, slipping her arm through Parth’s. “Parth, come meet a few others,” she said cheerfully. “Prati, I’ll steal him for a while.”

Pratiksha nodded quickly, relief flooding her face, but her mind screamed louder than ever.

As Parth was led away, he cast one last look over his shoulder. That same sly smile curved his lips—calm, knowing, almost mischievous—leaving Pratiksha frozen in place.

He knows.

______________________

“Abhi, wake up now… school ka time ho gaya hai,” Bhavika said softly, brushing her fingers through her son’s messy hair. On the bed, little Abhimanyu lay curled up tightly in his blanket, a tiny caterpillar wrapped snugly in its cocoon, refusing to move.

“Mumma… five minutes, please,” he whined, his voice muffled against the pillow.

Bhavika sighed and shook her head with a playful smile. “Abhimanyu Sehgal, wake up now… or no breakfast for you today.”

At once, the five-year-old shot up, eyes wide, and stood on the bed with a toothy grin. “I’m up, Mumma!” he declared proudly, before extending his tiny arms toward her, silently demanding to be carried.

Bhavika’s heart melted. She chuckled, scooping him up into her arms with practiced ease. Abhi giggled, wrapping his little arms around her neck and snuggling closer, his laughter echoing in the quiet morning. For her, this was the sweetest part of every day—the warmth of his small body nestled against her, his scent of baby soap and innocence clinging to her.

Fifteen minutes later, she had managed to wrangle him into his crisp school uniform, his tie a little crooked and his hair sticking up despite her repeated attempts to smooth it down. Scooping him up once more, she carried him toward the dining table where the rest of the family was already waiting.

The clatter of dishes and the aroma of hot parathas filled the air. Abhi’s eyes lit up immediately at the sight, and he wriggled in her arms, eager to get down and run to his spot.

Bhavika smiled to herself as she set him down, her heart swelling with the simple, everyday happiness of watching her son’s world revolve around such little joys.

“Good morning, Dadi, Dadu, Chachu… and Buddy!” little Abhimanyu sang cheerfully as he ran into the dining room, his tiny shoes clicking against the marble floor.

Rukmini, his dadi, instantly chuckled at his antics and opened her arms wide. “Good morning, mera baccha!” she said lovingly, pulling him onto her lap. She kissed his cheek, making him giggle. “Ab batao, kya khaoge aap?”

Abhi tapped a finger to his chin, pretending to think hard before declaring with sparkling eyes, “Ummm… sandwich!”

“Haan ji, bilkul,” Rukmini smiled, signaling to the servant.

Meanwhile, Devansh Sehgal—his dadu—handed him a glass of fresh orange juice. “Pehle juice pi lo, champion,” he said warmly. Abhi grabbed the glass with both hands and drank happily, his legs swinging off Rukmini’s lap.

Just then, Bhavika entered the dining hall, adjusting her dupatta neatly. Devansh looked up. “Bhavika, Aditya kaha hai?”

“Papa, unko kal raat urgently hospital jaana pada tha. Ek case tha… isliye,” she explained gently.

Devansh nodded in understanding. “Hmmm.”

Bhavika then glanced toward the other side of the table, where Parth and Ekansh were seated. “Parth, Ekansh—agar tum dono mein se koi free ho aaj toh… Abhi ko school se le aana, please. Mujhe thoda kaam hai aur driver uncle chhutti pe hain.”

“I will, bhabhi. Don’t worry,” Parth immediately offered with an easy smile.

Ekansh shifted in his seat, guilt flickering across his face. “Actually… mujhe Megha ko mandir le jaana hai aaj. Sorry, bhabhi.”

Bhavika gave him a small, knowing smile. “It’s okay, Ekansh. And… Megha is a very sensible girl. I think she’s perfect for you.”

The words hit him harder than she perhaps realized. Ekansh’s shoulders slumped as he let out a quiet sigh. His family had warned him about Jitisha countless times, but he had turned a blind eye. Now, after everything, he was left miserable and regretful. He could only nod faintly, silently agreeing with Bhavika’s gentle reminder.

Before the conversation could soften, Rukmini turned toward her  son. “Parth—” she began cautiously.

But Parth immediately cut her off with a groan. “Mom, please… not again.”

“But beta—”

“I said I’m done.” His voice was firm, though his jaw tightened ever so slightly. Turning toward Bhavika, he added in a calmer tone, “Bhabhi, don’t worry. I’ll fetch Abhi today.”

Without waiting for anyone’s reply, he pushed his chair back and walked out of the dining hall, his tall frame disappearing down the corridor.

Rukmini watched him leave, her heart heavy. She placed her hand on little Abhi’s shoulder and sighed inwardly. Kya karu iska?

The room felt quieter in his absence, though the warmth of family lingered around the table, woven with unspoken worries.

................
XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

“Keshu… bahut darr lag raha hai. Kya hoga mera?” Pratiksha whispered, her voice trembling as she paced the room, biting her lip nervously.

Keshavi, arms crossed, raised a brow. “Jab nautanki kar rahi thi tab socha tha? Ab kya fayda…” she said dryly, shrugging her shoulders.

“Arrey bola na… galti ho gayi mujhse!” Pratiksha defended herself, her eyes wide with desperation. But Keshavi, unfazed, simply rolled her eyes and continued scrolling through her phone, royally ignoring her.

After a pause, Keshavi stood up, picking up Saanjh’s school bag. “I’m taking Saanjh to school today. Don’t forget to pick her up later.” Her tone was brisk, matter-of-fact, before she walked out of the room, leaving Pratiksha pouting like a scolded child.

Turning back toward the mirror, Pratiksha caught her own reflection and sighed. She adjusted the black high-waist pants she’d paired with a crisp white crop top, layered neatly with a jacket. Her hair was tied up into a sleek ponytail, every strand in place, yet the nervous glint in her eyes betrayed her composure.

“Bas, ab toh ready hoon…” she murmured to herself, tugging the jacket’s sleeve down anxiously. She folded her hands, looking skyward with a mix of guilt and pleading hope.

“Bhagwan ji, iss baar bacha lijiye… agle baar yeh galti nahi hogi, promise.”

Her voice wavered, as if trying to convince both herself and the heavens above. For a moment, she lingered there, eyes shut tightly, praying that the day ahead wouldn’t throw her into more trouble.

Pratiksha lingered a moment longer in front of the mirror, her hands fiddling with the chain around her neck. Her heart wouldn’t stop drumming in her chest, each beat louder than the last. The silence of the room only made it worse—it left her alone with her thoughts, her fears, and the memory of that one reckless moment.

She grabbed her handbag and phone, slipping on her watch as if it might somehow give her the confidence she lacked. But the moment she stepped out of her room, her legs felt heavier, as though they were dragging her toward the inevitable.

Outside, the morning sun was bright, too cheerful for the storm brewing inside her. The honking cars, the chatter of schoolchildren, the vendor calling out “chai-garam-chai”—all of it blurred into background noise as her mind replayed the way he had looked at her the night before. That strange, unreadable expression… followed by that sly smile.

Sliding into the cab, she exhaled shakily. The driver asked for her destination and she answered in a low voice, “Seghal Enterprises.” The name itself felt like a challenge thrown at her.

Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. “Bas aaj sambhal lo, Pratiksha,” she whispered to herself. “Professional bano… seedhe aankhon mein mat dekhna… aur please… koi nautanki nahi.”

As the city flew past her window, she clasped her hands together in her lap, whispering under her breath once again, “Bhagwan ji, ek aur chance… please.”

Every passing minute brought her closer to the tall glass building waiting ahead—and the man inside who already knew more about her than he should.

Parth had barely been in the company for a day, yet the authority in his voice left no room for argument. The announcement had spread like wildfire across the floors—“Everyone, to the meeting room. Now.”

Within minutes, the large conference hall was packed. Chairs scraped against the floor, files shuffled nervously in hands, and the low hum of murmurs filled the air. People exchanged anxious glances, whispers of “Kya hone wala hai?” and “Sunaa hai staff cut hoga” rippled through the crowd.

Pratiksha slipped in quietly, clutching her notepad like a shield. Her heart hammered in her chest as she tucked herself into the farthest corner, trying to blend into the crowd. If she could just disappear in plain sight, maybe—just maybe—his eyes wouldn’t find her.

But destiny, as usual, had other plans.

The heavy doors opened again, and Parth Sehgal strode in. His presence alone silenced the entire room. Dressed in a tailored black suit, his sharp eyes scanned the gathering with an intensity that made several employees squirm in their seats. The air grew heavier, charged with unspoken fear.

Pratiksha’s breath hitched. She lowered her gaze instantly, praying he wouldn’t notice her. But even in a crowd of dozens, she felt his attention slice through, like a spotlight on her hidden corner.

“Good morning,” Parth began, his voice smooth but laced with steel. “Since today is the beginning of a new chapter for this company, it’s important to decide who belongs here… and who doesn’t.”

Gasps and nervous shifts followed. Some people sat straighter, others tried to look invisible.

Pratiksha pressed her palms against her notepad, her knuckles white. Oh God, please don’t… just don’t look at me.

But as Parth’s gaze swept across the room, it lingered—just a fraction too long—when it fell on her. His lips curved ever so slightly, a knowing, sly smile flickering before he moved on.

Her stomach dropped.

Of all the people here… why does it feel like this meeting is about me?

Parth took his seat at the head of the long conference table, his posture straight, his expression unreadable. The silence in the room was suffocating; even the hum of the air-conditioner seemed too loud in the stillness.

He placed a file in front of him, opened it deliberately, and let his eyes roam over the gathered faces. Nobody dared to move.

“Today,” he began, his voice calm yet razor-sharp, “this company begins a new journey. And on that journey, there is no place for those who are unworthy of being here.”

The words sliced through the room like a blade. Murmurs erupted, faint gasps could be heard. Someone shifted uncomfortably, while another stared down at their hands, trembling.

Parth’s gaze didn’t waver. He read out the first name.

“Rohit mehra.”

A collective intake of breath followed. Rohit’s face turned pale, his throat bobbing as he stood shakily. For a second, it looked like he might protest, but one glance at Parth’s expression—stern, unwavering—was enough to silence him. He left the room, his footsteps echoing in the stillness.

Parth continued, his voice steady. “Anita Roy.”

A woman in her late thirties blinked rapidly, clutching her file close to her chest as she got up. Tears glistened in her eyes, but she walked out quietly, without a word.

One by one, names fell from his lips, each announcement sending another ripple of fear through the employees. With every dismissal, the tension mounted; people sat stiffly, praying their name wouldn’t be next.

At the far end of the room, Pratiksha’s heart thudded so loudly she was sure it could be heard. Her palms were damp, her breath shallow. She tried to keep her head low, hiding behind the person sitting in front of her. Please, God, not me… not today.

Then suddenly, the papers in Parth’s hands stilled. His eyes lifted, scanning the room slowly, deliberately, until they landed on her.

For a heartbeat, he said nothing. The silence was unbearable.

Parth leaned back in his chair, fingers loosely interlaced, his sharp eyes sweeping across the crowded meeting room. The employees sat stiff, anticipation thick in the air. Then, with measured calm, he spoke:

“Also…” his voice was smooth, commanding, “I’ve decided to appoint one of you as my secretary. For that, I’ve observed everyone’s performance, and I’ve considered the conclusions drawn by others… but still, I want to hear from you all. Who do you think is suitable for the role?”

The silence lasted only a few seconds before a woman toward the front raised her hand. “I think Pratiksha will be good for that position, sir. She has experience—she worked as Mrs. Dhawan’s secretary.”

The room stirred instantly.

“I agree,” someone else chimed in. “She’s capable and organized.”

But murmurs of dissent quickly followed.

“Why her? Why can’t anyone else be considered?” a man argued, his tone laced with bitterness.

“There are plenty of talented employees here!” another added, frustration tightening his voice.

“Of course, there should be fairness in this decision,” a third employee protested. “She can’t be given this position just because she was Mrs. Dhawan’s secretary.”

The room grew louder with back-and-forth arguments, voices rising. Some were openly against her, while others defended her with equal conviction.

“She deserves that position!” a young woman shot back, glaring at the naysayers. “You people are just jealous.”

“Exactly,” another agreed. “She’s hardworking, unlike you all sitting here complaining.”

The noise swelled, a cacophony of accusations and defenses, filling the space with tension.

In the middle of it all, Pratiksha sat frozen, her pulse racing. Her throat was dry, her palms slick with sweat. She hadn’t dared to raise her head since her name was first spoken, but now every eye in the room seemed to burn holes into her.

Why me? she thought desperately. Bhagwan ji, yeh sab kya ho raha hai…

Amid the chaos, Parth remained silent. His expression unreadable, his eyes fixed steadily on her. There was no judgment, no outright approval—just that maddening, calculating gaze, as though he was enjoying watching her squirm under the weight of the entire room’s attention.

The arguments clashed like waves—accusations, defenses, frustration spilling into the room. Pratiksha sat stiff in her chair, wishing she could melt into the walls. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure the whole table could hear it.

“Bas.”

The single word, spoken in Parth’s low but commanding tone, cut through the chaos like a blade. Instantly, silence fell. All eyes snapped to him.

Parth leaned forward slightly, his fingers drumming once on the table before stilling. His gaze swept across the room—piercing, unreadable—before finally settling on Pratiksha.

“I’ve heard enough,” he said evenly. “The decision is mine. And I’ve made it.”

The room collectively held its breath.

“My new secretary will be…” he paused, letting the suspense stretch just a moment longer, “Pratiksha.”

A ripple of gasps, murmurs, and stunned silence filled the hall. Some faces fell in disappointment, others in irritation. A few exchanged glances, muttering under their breath. But there were also quiet smiles from those who had defended her, satisfaction flickering in their eyes.

Pratiksha, however, sat frozen. Her mind went blank, her breath caught in her throat. Me? He chose… me?

Her fingers clutched her notepad tightly, knuckles white. She forced herself to look up, only to find Parth’s eyes already on her. They held hers steadily, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips, as though daring her to react.

“Meeting adjourned,” he announced curtly, rising to his feet. Chairs scraped as the employees stood, still buzzing with murmurs, their eyes darting toward Pratiksha—some with resentment, others with curiosity.

She lowered her gaze, wishing she could vanish into the floor. But even through the noise, her thoughts screamed.

Pratiksha lingered outside his cabin, clutching her notepad like a lifeline. The murmurs from the meeting room still echoed in her ears—whispers of favoritism, disbelief, jealousy. She swallowed hard, staring at the polished wooden door as though it were a wall between her and her sanity.

You can do this, Pratiksha. Just keep it professional. Don’t think about… that night.

“Come in.”

His voice carried easily through the door, smooth and commanding. She flinched, realizing he must have noticed her hesitation outside.

With trembling hands, she pushed the door open.

Parth was seated behind his sleek desk, his jacket off, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked entirely at ease, yet there was something unnervingly sharp in his stillness. His eyes lifted the moment she entered, catching her like a spotlight.

“Close the door,” he said.

Her fingers fumbled with the handle, and she obeyed, the soft click of the door sealing them in together making her pulse spike.

“Sit.” He gestured toward the chair across from him.

She perched on the edge, her posture stiff, notepad pressed tightly against her lap. “Y-yes, sir.”

For a moment, he simply watched her. That silence was more suffocating than any words. Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin.

“So…” his voice carried a deliberate pause, “how does it feel to be my secretary?”

Her throat tightened. “I… I’ll do my best, sir.”

His lips twitched, almost amused. “I don’t doubt that.” His eyes lingered on her face, then dipped for the briefest second before returning to her eyes. “You’re… very passionate about your work, aren’t you, Pratiksha?”

Her stomach knotted. She couldn’t miss the weight in his tone, the unspoken double meaning that made her ears burn.

“Yes, sir,” she managed, forcing her voice steady.

Parth tilted his head slightly, as if studying her discomfort. Then his lips curved into that infuriating sly smile. “Good. I like passion.”

Her grip tightened on the notepad. Her heart raced, yet she forced herself to meet his gaze, even though every nerve in her body screamed to look away.

In that moment, she knew—this job wasn’t going to be just about paperwork or schedules. Not when her boss was Parth Sehgal.

Parth’s gaze followed her as she stood, clutching her notepad like it was armor. Her eyes never met his fully—darting down, avoiding him—as though she feared what she might find there. Or perhaps feared that he already knew too much.

“Vivan,” he called without looking away from her, his voice calm but commanding.

His efficient junior secretary entered promptly. “Yes, sir?”

“Assign her the necessary tasks. Walk her through everything she needs to know. I want her ready for work by tomorrow without excuses.”

“Yes, sir.” Vivan turned to Pratiksha with a polite smile. “Come with me.”

Pratiksha gave a stiff nod, murmured a soft, “Ji, sir,” in Parth’s direction, and then followed Vivan out of the cabin. The door closed softly behind her.

For a moment, the silence in the room was absolute. Then, Parth leaned back in his chair, a faint exhale slipping through his lips.

Pratiksha.

Her name echoed in his mind. The memory of that night returned with startling clarity—the unexpected softness of her lips, the unguarded way she had leaned into him, the dazed innocence in her eyes before realization struck.

It hadn’t been a kiss worth remembering. And yet… here he was, unable to forget it.

His jaw tightened as he tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling. That moment had been reckless on her part, foolish even, but it had left an imprint he couldn’t deny.

And now fate had delivered her into his world again, not just as an employee, but as his secretary.

A humorless smirk tugged at his lips. She’s nervous, scared even. Good. Let her squirm a little. After all, she thinks she can pretend nothing happened… but I don’t forget so easily.

He tapped his fingers on the desk rhythmically, his sharp eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and intrigue.

This is going to be… interesting.

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