Mariam

The silence in his office feels like a weight pressing down on my chest, heavier than anything I've ever carried before. I wander around, shuffling papers, straightening things that don't need straightening, anything to avoid the sound of my own thoughts or the possibility of speaking to him. It's not that I'm angry with him. Not at all.

I'm angry at myself. Enraged at the way my chest tightens when he looks at me, furious at the way my mind stumbles over words I wish I could say. Angry at the fluttering, irrational emotions I can't control, the way they rise and twist in my stomach, making me feel clumsy and foolish.

And yet... beneath all of it, beneath the confusion and the shame, there is only love. Quiet, stubborn love, the kind that makes your heart ache even when you try to be reasonable.

Ever since our confession, I've felt a kind of happiness I hadn't known in years. It's the quiet kind, the sort that settles into your bones and makes the world feel less heavy. Every time he looks at me, every time his hand brushes mine, it feels like breathing after holding my breath for far too long.

But ever since that day... ever since I heard those words spill from his father's mouth, that happiness has been tainted by fear. Fear that I might be the reason Shiv falters. Fear that I might become a setback in his life.

A woman is indeed the reason you refuse to leave and do as I say. Unbelievable.

Those words had cut deep, but it wasn't the words alone that haunted me. It was the way he had said them, with venom, with crude dismissal, as though love, or even attachment, was something dirty, something unworthy of his son. There had been no warmth in his tone, no fatherly concern, only bitterness sharpened into a weapon.

Working in the same company, under him, it already feels too close, too fragile. What if people start to think he favours me? What if his father's words are true, that I'm a distraction? That by standing beside him, I'm somehow pulling him away from the goals he's fought so hard for?

I don't want to be his weakness. I don't want to be the reason he bends under the weight of someone else's expectations. And yet, no matter how hard I try to distance myself, my heart refuses to let go.

The whirlwind of my thoughts slows, then quiets as his voice cuts through the haze.

"Mariam."

I freeze, my chest tightening, but not with fear this time. The sound of my name, soft and deliberate, carries a warmth that seeps into the corners of my anxious heart. I lift my eyes from the floor and see him, Shiv, standing there, his gaze gentle, unwavering, full of a quiet, patient love.

I'm curled up on the sofa, trying to make myself small, but he doesn't rush me, doesn't demand anything. His eyes simply hold mine, soft and steady, asking me to come back from wherever I've been lost. His voice, when it comes again, is barely more than a whisper, yet it shakes something loose inside me.

"Mari... look at me," he says, tender, almost hesitant, like he's afraid to frighten me, like he's afraid I'll pull away.

I finally meet his gaze fully, and in that moment, all the fear, all the weight of his father's words, and all my self-imposed distance seem to dissolve. His presence is calm, warm, and grounding. My heart aches, not with worry, but with love I've tried to contain.

"Hey," I say, as if it's the first time we've spoken today, which isn't true, because I've practically been in his office all day, pacing, fidgeting, finding small excuses to move around, anything to distract my heart from the raw, gnawing ache it's been carrying these past few days.

The ache had eased a little earlier, nestled somewhere between his explanation of the project he'd been working on and the small, quiet moments we'd shared. But it had returned, sharper this time, once silence fell again, silence enforced by the online meeting he had to attend.

Before I can retreat further into my thoughts, I feel the shift in the air as he moves. Shiv slides onto the sofa beside me, close enough that the warmth of his body seeps into my side, grounding me in a way nothing else can.

He looks at me then, really looks, and his voice, low and soft, threads through the tension in the room.

"Hey, sweetheart," he says, and the words feel like a caress, gentle enough to soothe the tight coil of anxiety in my chest.

I force a small smile, trying to ignore the glint of concern that flashes across his eyes, the worry he refuses to hide. It's the look that makes my heart ache with guilt and longing all at once. I want to tell him it's nothing, that I'm fine, that the heaviness I carry isn't his burden to bear.

Shiv reaches out almost instinctively, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. The touch is soft, deliberate, and it sends a shiver down my spine I can't quite explain. His eyes meet mine again, warm and steady, patient.

"Hey," he murmurs again, almost like he's anchoring me back to the present. Then, his voice softens further, careful, tender. "What's wrong?"

I blink at him, caught off guard by the quiet concern in his tone. It's not accusatory, not demanding, it's gentle, filled with a vulnerability that makes me want to melt into him and tell him everything. Yet, the walls I've built around my worry and guilt make me hesitate.

I manage a small shake of my head. I can feel him sensing the hesitation in my actions, the way his gaze lingers, not pushing, just holding.

"I'm... fine," I say softly, forcing the words out. "It's nothing."

Shiv's eyes don't leave mine. There's a flicker of doubt in their warmth, a gentle questioning, but he doesn't press. Instead, he gives the faintest nod, as if accepting my answer while silently telling me he's here, ready to listen whenever I'm ready.

For a moment, the tension in my chest eases just a little, simply from being near him, from feeling the quiet steadiness of his presence beside me. Even when I pretend I'm fine, just having him here makes everything feel lighter.

Shiv reaches out slowly, his hand brushing against mine. I stiffen for a moment, then relax as he holds it softly, his fingers warm and reassuring around mine. He doesn't look at me. Instead, his gaze drifts past the glass walls of his office, taking in the evening sky beyond.

The city stretches beneath us, a patchwork of glass and steel, lit by the fading glow of the sun. The sky is painted in streaks of rose and gold, melting into shades of violet and indigo, reflecting in the mirrored surfaces of the neighbouring buildings. The world outside moves in a quiet rhythm, unaware of the small, intimate bubble we've created in this office above it all.

I feel the weight of his hand against mine, grounding me, and for a brief moment, the tight knot in my chest loosens.

Then, still looking outward, he speaks, his voice soft, almost hesitant,

"You feel... distant."

He doesn't move his gaze from the skyline for a moment longer, his voice soft, thoughtful.

"I don't know... It's like you're here, but not really. Like something's... holding you back, keeping you somewhere else."

Then he finally turns to look at me, and in his eyes, there's a glint of sadness, quiet and unspoken, the kind that tugs at my chest. I stay still, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to fix the tiny ache I can see reflected in him.

I shake my head softly, my hair brushing against his shoulder as I lean closer. My heart beats a little faster, each thump echoing in the quiet space between us. I close the small gap and let my lips press against his cheek, a delicate, fleeting touch, almost hesitant, but filled with the warmth I can't put into words. The faintest brush of my skin against his feels grounding, as if I'm silently telling him, I'm here. I'm not gone.

"It's not like that," I whisper. Then, after a brief pause, I try to sound light, almost casual. "I guess... It's just the workload around here. It's a bit hectic."

He studies me for a moment longer, his fingers tightening around mine just slightly, but he doesn't push. Instead, he gives the faintest nod, as if silently accepting my words while still holding onto the unspoken truth he senses beneath them.

"Should I do your work for you then, Ms Khan?" he whispers, leaning closer, his warm breath grazing my ear. There's a teasing lilt in his voice, like he's trying to lighten the mood or maybe just provoke me.

I glance at him, raising an eyebrow, letting the silence speak for my disbelief.

"Really, Mr Khurana?" I murmur, my tone half-amused, half-exasperated. "So you want the entire office to know that you're breaking your own rules and dating an employee?"

"First of all," he begins, his voice firm but playful, "I never made this stupid rule; blame my father for it. And you bet, the second I get this company in my hold, this rule is the first thing I'm going to get rid of."

His exasperation makes me grin, and I can't help but study him. His eyebrows lift just slightly, arching in that way that always makes him look both mischievous and sincere. The corners of his lips tug upward, curling in that familiar, subtle smile that can melt any tension in the room. I notice the faint crease near his eyes when he does it, the little shift of his jaw as he exhales, and I feel warmth pooling in my chest just from watching him.

"And second," he continues, leaning closer, so close that our breaths mingle and his lips hover mere inches from mine, "I want the entire world to know that I'm dating Mariam Khan."

My breath catches, sharp and sudden, as if I've been punched lightly in the chest. A warmth spreads across my cheeks, creeping up my temples until it feels like my whole face is on fire. I can't bring myself to meet his eyes, not yet. There's something raw and vulnerable in their intensity that makes my chest tighten.

So I let my gaze fall to the floor, tracing the faint pattern of the carpet beneath us, pretending to busy myself with it, though I know perfectly well there's nothing to look at. My heart hammers painfully, each beat echoing in my ears, and a strange shiver runs down my spine, stirring every nerve in my body awake. My fingers fidget in my lap, toes curl slightly inside my shoes, and even my breath feels uneven.

"You're silly," I whisper finally, my voice barely above a breath, unable to find anything else to say. Deep down, I know I want the same thing he does, to claim him, openly, without hesitation, in front of the entire world.

I can almost hear the grin in his quiet laughter, the subtle shake of the sofa beneath us as he lets it slip. A soft sigh follows, and before I can react, he gently pulls my hand, the one he's been holding, closer, and my body instinctively melts into his.

He wraps an arm around my waist with ease, the warmth of him pressing against me. His other hand absentmindedly plays with the edge of my dupatta, twisting the fabric softly between his fingers. His head rests lightly atop mine, a comforting weight, and together we sit in quiet companionship, our eyes drifting to the city outside the glass walls.

The evening sky stretches endlessly before us, streaked with rose, gold, and violet, mirrored in the glass of surrounding buildings. The world feels distant, hushed, as if it's paused just for this moment, just for us. And there, wrapped in his arms, I finally feel a fragile sense of peace.

He shifts just slightly, enough that I can feel the warmth of his chest against mine, and his fingers never leave my hand. "You know," he murmurs softly, almost teasing, "if everyone could see us like this... they'd probably think I'm completely hopeless."

I glance up at him, catching the corner of his mouth twitching in that familiar, knowing smile. "Hopeless?" I echo, my voice light but laced with amusement, though my heart is doing somersaults.

"Absolutely," he whispers, leaning just a fraction closer so our noses nearly touch. "Hopelessly in love with you."

I feel a flutter in my chest, an involuntary shiver running down my spine. My lips press together to keep from smiling too widely, but I can't hide the warmth spreading across my face. "You're ridiculous," I murmur, trying to sound stern, though it comes out soft and breathless.

He chuckles quietly, the sound vibrating through his chest into mine, and I close my eyes for a moment, letting the sensation wash over me. "Maybe," he says, voice low and teasing, "but at least I'm yours."

He leans back just slightly, still holding my hand, his fingers brushing mine in a rhythm that feels like home. I rest my head against his shoulder, letting the quiet intimacy settle around us, the soft weight of his presence grounding me. His laughter, soft and low, fades into the hum of the city below, and I realise I could stay like this forever, just us, suspended in a fragile bubble of warmth and safety.

After a while, my gaze drifts to the window in front of us. The evening sky has deepened, colours melting into one another. The city lights begin to flicker on, tiny sparks in the sprawling grid of buildings, reflecting off the glass towers like a thousand stars scattered across the earth. I stare at it intently, letting it seep into me.

I love this view from his office. I love how the sky changes, almost imperceptibly, from the soft warmth of sunset to the quiet hush of twilight. From up here, I can see everything: the rhythm of the city, the pulse of nightlife beginning below, the way the light bends around each building. It's alive and yet calm, chaotic and yet strangely peaceful.

And somehow, being up here, seeing it all with him, it mirrors the way he makes me feel. The same sense of calm, of belonging, of quiet joy that fills me when he's near, it spreads through me when I watch the city from his office. It's like the world slows down, just a little, and I can breathe again. And just like that view, he brings me peace.

I lean back slightly against him, my gaze still fixed on the city beyond the glass. My voice is soft, almost a whisper.

"I really love the view from here," I murmur. "Seeing the world from these windows... it feels... different. Peaceful. Like everything below is moving, but we're... suspended, just for a moment."

He doesn't say anything at first, just lets me talk, letting the quiet stretch between us, warm and steady. Then, slowly, he leans closer, a teasing glint in his eyes. His lips curl into that familiar, mischievous smile.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, voice low, playful. "And I'd like the view of you... leaning against that glass, moaning my name."

Heat floods my cheeks, creeping up my neck, and my breath stutters, catching in my chest as his teasing words hang between us. My fingers fidget in his, twisting the fabric of my dupatta without thinking. I glance away toward the city outside, trying to steady my racing heart, but the view blurs; I can't focus.

When I finally meet his gaze again, the pause between us stretches, electric and heavy. His eyes are fixed on my lips, dark, intent, and impossibly warm, and I feel a tremble of anticipation ripple through me. My lips part slightly, betraying my thoughts, a whisper of sound lingering in the space between us.

"You're... impossible," I murmur, barely audible, the words barely leaving my mouth before his movement closes the distance.

His hand lifts slowly, deliberately, and cups my jaw, his fingers warm against the delicate curve of my face. His thumb brushes along my cheek in the lightest, most feathered touch, tracing a path that makes my breath hitch. The soft press of his lips against mine follows, careful and deliberate, lingering just long enough to ground me, to make the world outside dissolve into nothing but the press of his body and the warmth of his touch.

A shiver runs through me at the contact, a tremor that travels from my lips to the tips of my fingers. My hand moves instinctively to his chest, pressing against the steady, solid warmth beneath his shirt, feeling the quiet, grounding rhythm of his heartbeat. My other hand curls lightly around his arm, as if holding onto him could anchor me to this moment, to this feeling, to him.

The subtle weight of his body leaning toward mine, the faint brush of his shoulder, the warmth radiating from his chest, all blend into a heady, dizzying sensation. Each exhale, each barely-there movement of his lips, sends sparks through me, a quiet fire that spreads slowly, consuming all the hesitation I thought I'd held onto. My pulse hammers in my ears, my breath comes shallow, uneven, yet entirely willing, entirely caught in the gravity of him.

The world outside, the city, the skyline, the fading evening light, slips away, leaving only the weight of him, the warmth of his lips, the quiet rhythm of our breaths mingling. His body shifts closer, just enough that the subtle press of him against me anchors me to this moment. Every tiny brush of skin, every soft sigh, every gentle pull of his hand makes my heart thrum faster, caught somewhere between awe and desire.

And then, after a long heartbeat, we pull slightly apart, the echo of the kiss lingering, and I can only stare at him, cheeks flushed, breaths uneven, caught in the gravity of just being this close to him.

We linger like that, suspended in the quiet between breaths, eyes locked. His gaze is unwavering, warm, and full of something that makes my chest ache in the best way, while mine flits nervously yet cannot tear itself away. For a moment, it feels like the entire city outside the glass walls has vanished, there's only him, only us, only this fragile, perfect stillness.

And then, slowly, a smile tugs at my lips, shy at first, then spreading, soft and bright, warming the space between us.

He notices my smile immediately, and his own spreads in response, soft and knowing. Without breaking the gaze, he leans in again, and my breath hitches at the nearness. His lips meet mine slowly, deliberately, a gentle press that lingers longer than it should, as if savouring the moment. The kiss deepens just enough to feel intimate, careful and warm, without haste, each movement threaded with unspoken emotion.

When he pulls back just slightly, his forehead resting gently against mine, his lips hover near mine, and he whispers, low and husky, "You're beautiful."

The words hit me like a soft wave, and I close my eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of him, the tenderness in his voice, and the lingering press of his lips imprint on me. My cheeks burn, my heart races, and I press closer, needing to feel him, needing to hold onto this moment where nothing else exists but us.

I breathe him in, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the quiet hum of the city below. His hand tightens around mine ever so slightly, grounding me, while the other rests lightly against my back, holding me close without words.

For a long moment, we simply stay like that, two hearts aligned in quiet understanding, two bodies pressed close, suspended in a world that seems to have slowed just for us. The city outside twinkles and hums, a thousand lights reflected in the glass, but here, in this office above it all, there is only warmth, only closeness, only the steady, comforting rhythm of him.

Slowly, reluctantly, I pull back just enough to rest my head against his shoulder, eyelids heavy but heart light. His presence is a soft anchor in the storm of everything else, and for the first time in days, I feel a fragile, unshakable peace.

I let out a quiet sigh, and he presses a gentle kiss to the top of my head, soft enough to be tender and unspoken, but strong enough to remind me that he is here.

And in that silence, that perfect, fleeting stillness, I realise that some moments don't need words. Some moments just need to be felt.

The city glimmers, the evening sky deepens outside, and I close my eyes fully, letting it all, the warmth, the closeness, the quiet love, wash over me.

For now, this is enough.

For now, this reassures any doubt in my mind.

For now, we're happy.