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There are a few things Siya has earned in life. She has earned her scholarship with hard work and sleepless nights, earned her home with long hours and careful savings, and earned friendships that have weathered everything from heartbreak to hilarity.

She's earned her career, too, brick by brick, through meetings, presentations, and moments where walking away might've seemed easier, but she stayed.

But the thing Siya is most proud of earning—more than her degree, her home, or the respect of her peers—is trust.

And not just any trust. The kind that feels deep-rooted, like a tree that has grown quietly, steadily, over time.

The kind that doesn't shake in the face of challenges, but instead bends and sways, always coming back stronger.

As she steps into the office, there's an almost imperceptible shift in the atmosphere. It's not like anyone stops in their tracks or rushes to greet her—nothing that obvious.

But the energy changes, subtly. A few heads lift from behind their monitors, small smiles tugging at the corners of lips as people catch sight of her.

Siya's presence seems to smooth out the rough edges of the day, like everything just got a little bit easier now that she's here. It's the unspoken confidence that comes from knowing the person in charge has everything under control.

Siya glides through the open floor, offering nods and quick hellos, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor.

Her mind, however, is already ten steps ahead—she's thinking about the budget report she needs to finalize, the quarterly review meeting, the email from the board she hasn't answered yet.

But she doesn't rush. There's no need to. The calm in her step is deliberate, like she's telling the room, we've got this.

When Siya reaches her cabin, she stops in her tracks, eyebrows lifting at the sight before her. Dhruv, her PA, is lounging back in her chair, feet propped up on her desk, utterly absorbed in some racing game on his phone.

He's got that intense, competitive look on his face—tongue sticking out just slightly—that makes Siya want to laugh.

She leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, and watches him for a moment, biting back a smile. Leave it to Dhruv to make himself right at home.

"Ahem," she clears her throat, giving him a pointed look.

Dhruv glances up, eyes widening for a moment before breaking into a cheeky grin. "Arre, Siya ma'am! Aap kab aa gayi? Main bas thoda sa stress relief kar raha tha," [Oh, Siya ma'am! When did you arrive? I was just doing a little stress relief,]

Dhruv casually swings his legs off the desk but still making no move to vacate her chair. "Waise, yeh aapki chair toh kamaal ki comfy hai! Aap uth kaise jaati hain isme se?" [By the way, your chair is amazing! How do you even get up from it?]

Siya steps into the room, shaking her head as she sets her bag down on the desk. "Mujhe kaam hota hai na, Dhruv, isliye main uth jaati hoon. Tumhare jaise kaam se bhaagne ka shauk nahi hai mujhe." [I have work to do, Dhruv, that's why I get up. Unlike you, I don't enjoy running away from work.]

He waves a hand, clearly unbothered. "Arre, bas do minute aur, Siya ma'am!" [Oh, just two more minutes, Siya ma'am!] He holds up a finger, eyes glued back to the phone. "Main abhi finish line ke bilkul paas hoon. Aap agar yeh race jeetne do ge, toh aaj main bilkul bhi tang nahi karoonga. Pakka pinky promise!" [If you let me win this race, I promise I won't bother you at all today. Pinky promise!]

Siya raises an eyebrow, arms still crossed. "Dhruv, you said this the last time as well."

Dhruv, however, is in no mood to be discouraged. He leans forward, eyes wide with exaggerated innocence, his face twisted into that same over-the-top puppy-dog look Rudra gives her when he's caught sneaking cookies before dinner.

"Please, mom, please," he whines dramatically, drawing out each word like a child begging for one more episode before bed.

"Woh Richard hai na? Kal se hum sabko suna raha hai ki usne yeh wala level beat kar diya. Agar maine complete kar diya na, toh uss gore ko sunane ko milega. Aur jab main jeet jaaunga, tab dekho, main office ka hero ban jaaunga. Aapko toh mujh pe proud hoga, mom! Pure marketing team ke saamne meri wah-wah hogi!" [You know Richard, right? Since yesterday, he's been bragging to everyone that he beat this level. If I complete it, that white guy will hear it from me. And when I win, just watch—I'll become the office hero. You'll be proud of me, mom! The entire marketing team will be singing my praises!]

Siya narrows her eyes at him, but there's a smile she can't fully hide. "Ok fine, Dhruv! Lekin tumhe pata hai, hero ban-ne ke liye thoda kaam bhi karna padta hai. Yeh batao ki account reconciliation ka jo report pending hai, uska kya?" [Okay fine, Dhruv! But you know, to be a hero, you actually have to do some work. Now tell me, what's going on with that account reconciliation report that's still pending?]

Dhruv doesn't even flinch, his thumbs still tapping furiously on his phone screen. "Woh report...?" [That report...?] he repeats, drawing out the words like he's hoping the right answer will magically appear.

"Haan, haan, ma'am, maine almost complete kar li thi. Bas uski final audit trail aur fund allocation mapping baaki hai. Bas das minute lagege aur fir main apko send kardoon ga." [Yes, yes, ma'am, I've almost completed it. Just need to finish the final audit trail and the fund allocation mapping. Give me ten more minutes, and I'll send it over.]

Siya isn't convinced. "Dhruv, agar tumhari final reconciliation mein ek bhi discrepancy mili, board ke saamne hum explain karte reh jayenge. Tum samajh rahe ho na, yeh quarterly review hai? Pichle quarter ka budget variance already ek issue ban chuka hai. Agar ab koi aur deviation dikha, toh we'll have to justify every number again." [Dhruv, if there's even one discrepancy in your final reconciliation, we'll be left explaining ourselves to the board. You do realize this is the quarterly review, right? The budget variance from last quarter has already become an issue. If there's another deviation now, we'll have to justify every number all over again.]

Dhruv straightens up in his chair, holding his phone close like a lifeline and whines. "Par Maa, pechli report toh accounting team ki galti thi na. Why do we have to explain ourselves all the time? Woh treasury waale hamesha late updates dete hain, phir bhi humko sab samjhaana padta hai. And by the time their files come, half the quarter's already gone. Seriously, aap ek baar treasury waalon ki class lo na! Sab hum se reports mangte hain, but unko koi kuch nahi bolta." [But mom, the last report issue was the accounting team's fault, right? Why do we always have to explain ourselves? Treasury is always late with updates, but we're the ones who have to answer for it. And by the time their files come in, half the quarter is already gone. Seriously, you should give the treasury team a talking-to! Everyone asks us for reports, but no one says anything to them.]

Siya's lips twitch into the hint of a smile. Dhruv can be infuriatingly nonchalant about these things, but there's a softness in her eyes that she reserves for him—a combination of affection and gentle reprimand, much like she'd use with Rudra when he tries to wiggle his way out of chores.

"I know, Dhruv," she says, her voice kind but firm. "It's frustrating, but it's part of the job. Hum jo bhi numbers dekhte hain, jo bhi reports sign off karte hain, we own them. It doesn't matter who made the mistake initially—once that report crosses our desks, it's on us." [I know, Dhruv," she says kindly but firmly. "It's frustrating, but it's part of the job. Whatever numbers we see, whatever reports we sign off on, we own them. It doesn't matter who made the mistake originally—once that report crosses our desks, it's on us.]

Dhruv grumbles under his breath, his shoulders slumping further. "Yeh teamwork wala angle kabhi mera strong point nahi raha," [This teamwork thing was never my strong suit] he mutters, half to himself.

He knows he's lost the battle, but Siya's gentle approach keeps him from feeling completely defeated. He looks at her through puppy-dog eyes again, hoping for even a slight reprieve.

Siya raises an eyebrow, reading him effortlessly. "Dhruv, tumhara ye innocent bacha wala look office mein kaam nahi karta," [Dhruv, that innocent baby face look doesn't work in the office,] she says, finally letting a small smile break through. "But nice try."

Dhruv perks up slightly, sensing an opening. He leans forward, eyes wide with exaggerated hopefulness. "Toh... ek aur game before I submit the report? Just, you know, to calm my nerves?" [So... one more game before I submit the report? You know, just to calm my nerves?]

His grin spreads, that mischievous glint returning as he waits for her response, already half knowing what she's going to say.

Siya sighs, shaking her head as she moves closer to the desk, leaning against it casually, arms crossed. "Stress relief karne keliye kuch aur try karo." [Find another way to relieve stress.]

Dhruv leaps out of her chair with the boundless energy that seems to follow him everywhere. "Haan! Main cricket laga leta hoon," [Yes! I'll put on the cricket match,] he announces, already scrolling through his phone.

"Maine kal ka match miss kar diya tha. Aapko pata hai, ma'am? Kal Shubman Gill ne kya century maari thi test match mein! Matlab... agar yeh banda aise hi khelta raha na, toh iss saal ka November wala World Cup apna hi samjho. Aur uski cover drives? Bhai, dil le jaata hai yeh banda." [I missed yesterday's game. Did you know, ma'am? Shubman Gill hit a century in the test match! I mean, if this guy keeps playing like this, we can count on winning the World Cup in November. And his cover drives? Man, this guy steals hearts.]

Siya's heart stumbles, just for a beat, like a misstep on uneven ground, a glitch in the rhythm she's worked so hard to perfect. It's so small, barely noticeable even to her, but it sends a ripple through her mind, loosening thoughts she'd kept tightly bound.

She blinks, forcing herself to focus on the present, but something shifts beneath her skin—something heavy and familiar, stirring in the spaces she's tried to keep sealed shut.

The words hang in the air, Dhruv's voice still buzzing with the excitement of the match, but she feels herself withdrawing, pulling back just an inch, as if by doing so she can avoid brushing too close to memories she has no intention of confronting.

It's not fear exactly—more like a reflex, the way your hand pulls away from a flame before it burns. She doesn't allow herself to think his name, doesn't even let the syllables form in her mind.

She's spent years making sure it holds no place in her world, no weight in her heart. And yet, here it is again, slipping through the cracks without permission, pulling at her in ways she refuses to acknowledge.

Her fingers tap lightly against the edge of the desk, a grounding gesture she's unaware of, as if the steady rhythm can keep her tethered to the present.

Dhruv's voice is still going, cheerful and carefree, oblivious to the tension threading through the room. "Test match mein kya kamaal khela, ma'am! Aise lagta hai jaise time uske liye ruk gaya ho. Bina ek bhi shot miss kiye poora game control mein rakh liya. Matlab, bas dekhte jao aur... wow." [The way he played that test match, ma'am! It's like time stood still for him. He controlled the whole game without missing a single shot. Just watch and... wow.]

Siya breathes slowly, counting the seconds between each inhale and exhale, the way she did when Rudra was a newborn and her nights were filled with exhaustion and worry.

She lets Dhruv's chatter wash over her, treating it like background noise, a distant hum that won't touch the walls she's built.

The mention of the match—it's harmless on its own, just idle talk, the way people discuss weather or traffic. But for her, it's not harmless. It's never harmless.

She clenches her jaw briefly, tasting the bitterness at the back of her throat, but it's gone as quickly as it comes.

This is how it's always been—small things taking her by surprise, like a crack in a sidewalk you trip over because you weren't looking closely enough.

She's careful, always careful, but some things slip through no matter how tightly you guard yourself.

"Waise, Rudra aur maine socha hai ki iss saal ka World Cup stadium mein live dekhne jayenge," [Actually, Rudra and I are thinking of going to see this year's World Cup live in the stadium,] Dhruv continues, grinning wide like the idea is already set in stone.

"World Cup toh India mein hai na, iss baar?" [The World Cup is in India this time, right?] The words slip out of Siya's mouth before she can stop them, unspooling from somewhere deep within her, a place she thought was carefully sealed off.

It catches her off guard—this small lapse, this flicker of curiosity—and for a brief moment, it feels like the air shifts, like she's stepped too close to a boundary she swore she'd never cross again.

It's such a simple thing, really, a casual question with no weight to anyone but her. But the moment it leaves her lips, she can feel the thread tightening, stretching thin between the present and the past, ready to snap if she pulls even the slightest bit harder.

Dhruv's face lights up, his grin widening at her unexpected interest, the way a child beams when an adult finally indulges in their enthusiasm. "Haan! Finals Mumbai mein hain!" [Yes! The finals are in Mumbai!] he exclaims, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, almost buzzing with excitement.

"Imagine, ma'am—me and Rudra, live in the stadium! Pura crowd chanting karega, har side se dhol aur taaliyon ka shor. Maza aa jayega! Pure vibes, ma'am, ekdum!" [Imagine, ma'am—Rudra and me, live in the stadium! The whole crowd chanting, drums and clapping from every side. It'll be epic! Total vibes, ma'am!]

He spreads his arms wide as if painting a picture too vivid to ignore. "Aur Rudra? Uska toh excitement peak par hai! Aapko pata hai? Usne already players ki autograph list bana li hai! Kohli, Rohit, aur—arre, jerseys bhi le li humne—one each, ek Kohli wali aur ek Rohit wali." [And Rudra? He's beyond excited! You know, he's already made a list of autographs he wants—Kohli, Rohit, and we've even got jerseys—one for each of us. A Kohli one and a Rohit one.]

Siya feels the corners of her lips lift, the smallest, involuntary curve—more out of affection for Rudra than anything else.

She can't help it. The thought of her little boy in the stands, eyes wide with wonder, cheering until his voice goes hoarse, is enough to make her heart swell with a warmth that sneaks past the walls she's built.

But beneath that fleeting smile, there's a weight, sharp and unrelenting. The idea of Rudra sitting in that stadium—so close to a man who doesn't even know he exists—sends a wave of unease rippling through her chest, tightening like a knot she can't quite untangle.

It's irrational, she tells herself. Just a stadium. Just a match. Nothing more. And yet, the thought lingers, sticky and persistent, clinging to the edges of her mind.

Rudra, surrounded by cheers and chaos, while he plays not too far away, oblivious to the boy who shares his dimples, his crooked smile, and the same restless energy that feels like sunshine bottled in human form.

Shifting her weight slightly, and pressing her palms flat against the cool surface of the desk, she grounds herself in the present before the memories gain too much momentum.

She's come too far to let them take root now. She cannot—will not—let her mind wander down paths she burned to ashes years ago.

Siya blinks hard, her throat tightening, but she keeps her expression carefully neutral. He—always at the edges of her life, a shadow she's spent years outrunning.

And now, even without meaning to, even without knowing, Dhruv has dragged that shadow right into the center of the room, making it impossible to ignore.

She clears her throat, shifting slightly to break the moment. "Dhruv, report kab bhej rahe ho?" [Dhruv, when are you sending that report?] she asks, her voice steady, though it feels like she's holding her breath beneath the surface of every word.

Dhruv jolts, momentarily disoriented by the sudden change in tone, but quickly recovers. "Haan, haan, dus minute mein bhejta hoon, ma'am! Last check kar ke bas send kar deta hoon. Stress nahin lena, aapka Dhruv hai na!" [Yes, yes, ma'am! Just give me ten minutes for the last check, and I'll send it right over. No stress—you've got Dhruv on the case!]

He flashes her one last grin before ducking out of the office, phone still in hand, no doubt already planning his next excuse to escape work.

As the door clicks shut, the room falls quiet, the kind of silence that feels thick and restless, settling around her like an unwelcome visitor.

Siya lets out a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing just slightly as she leans against the desk, fingers grazing the smooth wood like it's enough to keep her anchored in the present moment.

But her thoughts, like always, have a mind of their own. No matter how tightly she tries to hold them in place, they slip through the cracks, drifting into spaces she doesn't want to explore, pulling at threads she's kept deliberately frayed for years.

She stays still for a moment, trying to regain the calm she walked in with, but it's already slipping. The weight in the room feels heavier now, not because anything has changed, but because of what's creeping into her mind, slow and stubborn, like a fog rolling in from the edges, soft but impossible to ignore.

Her green eyes fall to her desk, tracing the faint lines in the grain of the wood, focusing on the small details she can control.

Dhruv's voice still echoes in the back of her mind, the casual mention of that name—his name—cutting through the barriers she's built so carefully.

It's been years, but the way it lingers, the way it pulls at her focus without her permission, reminds her that some things aren't as buried as she thought.

She doesn't allow herself to dwell on it, doesn't even let the memory form properly, but the shadow of it is there, a quiet presence she's never fully escaped.

Her fingers drum lightly against the desk, a slow, deliberate rhythm that matches her measured breaths.

Inhale, exhale, count the seconds.

She's done this before—stayed ahead of her thoughts, kept them at bay, refused to let them shape her day.

It's routine by now, a skill she's honed over years of perfecting the art of staying unbothered. But today, something feels different.

Maybe it's the timing, the way Dhruv's carefree excitement reminds her of moments that belong to a different life, one she doesn't let herself visit anymore.

Or maybe it's the way the mention of that name feels like a crack in the surface, something that could spread if she lets it.

Siya closes her eyes for a beat, willing the thoughts to pass, reminding herself where she is, who she is now. She's worked too hard to let her focus slip because of something so trivial, so distant.

But even as she steadies herself, there's a part of her that knows it's not that simple, that some things—some names—carry more weight than she's willing to admit.

The ticking of the clock fills the room, slow and steady, matching the pace of her heartbeat as she straightens up, pushing off the desk with a quiet sigh.

There's work to be done, emails to answer, reports to review. She doesn't have time for this, not today, not ever. So she forces herself to move, to pick up her bag, pull out her laptop, and focus on the tasks in front of her.

But even as she does, the silence lingers, thick and heavy, carrying with it the ghost of something she thought she'd left behind.

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Hello, I hope you guys like the chapter. Yeh batana ki Dhruv kaisa laga tum logon ko. And Shub bhi aayega, don't worry.

Aur koi bhi garden main mat ghoomna, warna maa cho-

Milte hai, prem se bolo

Radhe Radhe🙏🏻