CHAPTER SEVEN : FROM DESK TO DINNER
A week passed like a wave to her, so quick, almost as if time itself wanted to reward her dedication. Every day she worked with full focus and discipline, and her efforts did not go unnoticed, Aryan himself, though never vocal about emotions, had started to feel impressed by the way she carried herself.
That afternoon, as usual, Priya was sitting at her desk, neatly arranging some files, when the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor. She immediately straightened, knowing who it was even before the door opened.
Aryan entered the cabin, his presence calm yet commanding. Without missing a beat, she looked up at him with a polite smile and said warmly, “Good afternoon Mr. Aryan.”
Her greeting carried respect, soft yet clear, but Aryan only hummed in response, a habit of his. It wasn’t cold, just his usual way of acknowledging without words. Priya had grown used to it, and yet, every time, she wished he would say the words back.
It was around his usual time between one and two o’clock. He never rushed to the office in the mornings; unless there was a meeting, he preferred to arrive later in the day. Sitting down casually in her place as though it was natural, he leaned back and said in his deep, steady tone, “Order a coffee for me.”
Priya nodded quickly, adjusting her chair. “Okay sir,” she replied, her voice professional but gentle. She picked up the landline phone and pressed the extension for the cafeteria. As soon as the line connected, she spoke clearly, “One coffee for Aryan sir.”
Before she could hang up, she heard his voice again. His tone this time was lighter, almost thoughtful: “Order for yourself too, if you want.”
Priya froze for half a second, surprised. This was the very first time since she had joined the office that he had shown such consideration. Usually, she fetched her own coffee quietly, never expecting him to notice or care. The sudden gesture warmed her heart, though she tried to hide her reaction behind calmness.
“Okay,” she said softly, and ordered two coffees. Her voice was simple, but inside, she felt a small spark of happiness, an unspoken acknowledgment that maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to see her as more than just an assistant.
A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. A boy from the cafeteria walked in carefully, carrying the tray with two steaming cups. He placed them gently on Priya’s desk, nodded, and left without a word.
Priya reached for the cups, ready to take one to Aryan. But just as she was about to stand, the sharp ring of the landline phone cut through the air. The sudden sound startled her slightly. She quickly put the cups back down and picked up the receiver, pressing it against her ear.
The phone pressed against her ear crackled faintly before a deep, unfamiliar voice came through.
“Hello, can I talk to Mr. Khanna?” someone asked politely from the other side.
Priya’s professional tone slipped in automatically, though her fingers tightened slightly around the receiver. “Sure, sir,” she replied, then turned to Aryan, her voice calm on the outside but careful inside, “Sir, someone wants to talk to you.”
Aryan, busy glancing through a file, lifted his head. His brows knitted faintly as he asked, “Who?” His voice carried that usual sharp authority.
Priya quickly returned to the caller. “Sir, may I know your name?” she asked.
The man’s reply froze her where she sat. “Priya?” the person said. Her breath hitched, her grip on the phone tightening until her knuckles turned pale.
Before she could speak, the man quickly corrected himself. “Oh, sorry miss, I’m Mr. Oberoi.”
The name hit her like a thunderbolt. Dad. Her heart pounded so loudly she thought Aryan might hear it. For a moment, her lips parted but no words came out. He hadn’t recognized her voice completely, yet he had felt it. Her father’s instinct had whispered her presence, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud. And she, his daughter, sat there paralyzed, unable to reveal herself.
“Riya, who’s?” Aryan’s steady voice suddenly cut through her fog, snapping her back to the present. His tone was questioning, his eyes slightly narrowed, waiting for her response.
She stammered, her throat dry, “D… D… Mr. Oberoi is calling, sir.” Her voice trembled, betraying her inner storm.
Aryan extended his hand calmly, unaware of the whirlwind inside her. “Oh, give me the call,” he said, and she quickly transferred the line to his desk phone.
Priya leaned back slowly in her chair, her heartbeat racing. Her mind spun with questions. Why is Dad calling Aryan? How do they know each other? Does he suspect? Anxiety coiled tightly in her chest.
Aryan, meanwhile, placed the receiver to his ear with composed ease. “Hello, Mr. Oberoi!!!” His greeting was polite, though brief.
On the other side, her father’s tone carried hesitation. “Is Mr. Khanna not there?”
Aryan’s answer was simple. “No, he’s still in India.”
Priya blinked in confusion. Still in India? Then why… why does Dad want to meet him?
Mr. Oberoi sighed. “Okay. I just want to meet him, so I thought it’s better to ask first.” His words were calm, but she could feel a faint thread of longing.
Aryan hummed lightly, flipping a pen between his fingers. “Hmm.”
A pause. Then Mr. Oberoi’s voice came again, a little hesitant. “If you don’t mind, can I ask something?”
Aryan leaned forward slightly. “Sure.”
“Who was the girl I talked to before?”
At that, Priya’s chest tightened. Her fingers curled around her skirt, nervousness washing over her.
Aryan replied in a matter-of-fact tone, not catching the undertone. “She’s my assistant.”
There was silence for a second before her father asked cautiously, “Her name?”
Priya’s breath caught in her throat. Aryan glanced at her briefly before answering. “Riya. But why are you asking about her, is everything okay?”
The weight in her chest grew heavier. She could almost feel her father searching through her voice, trying to pull his missing daughter out of this new identity.
“Yaa… Yaa… she just sounded like my daughter, so…” Mr. Oberoi trailed off. His words cracked faintly with a mixture of hope and sorrow.
Aryan frowned slightly, sitting straighter in his chair. “Mr. Oberoi, please don’t tell me that she’s still not come home.” His tone held a quiet seriousness. Clearly, he knew of the matter, but not the whole truth, that the girl he was addressing right now was the very one Mr. Oberoi longed for.
Priya lowered her gaze to her lap, her heart heavy. She was silently pleading, Please, Dad, don’t say too much… not now.
Her father’s voice came, softer this time, defeated. “Yaa, she’s not.”
Priya’s chest ached at his honesty. For the first time since she left, she realized how deeply her absence had carved a wound in his heart.
Aryan leaned back, thoughtful, his expression unreadable. “Then are you still finding her?” His voice was calm, but there was curiosity hidden within it.
Mr. Oberoi exhaled heavily. “No, now I drop it. If she has to come back, she will come herself.” His resignation was heavy, weighted with both pain and acceptance.
Priya’s eyes welled faintly, though she blinked them back. Inside, she was screaming silently: I’m here, Dad. Right here. But her lips stayed sealed, trapped between fear and love.
Priya carefully picked up the mug of coffee. She was supposed to just place it on Aryan’s desk, but her plan twisted with her steps. As she reached him, she intentionally bent her ankle as if she had slipped, and in an instant…
The coffee spilled.
She stumbled right into Aryan, and the phone in his hand slipped, crashing to the ground, breaking apart.
Aryan’s sharp voice rose immediately, “What the…” but his words stopped midway when his eyes fell on her hand. The steaming coffee had splashed over her skin, leaving it flushed and angry red.
His eyes softened, worry clouding his stern face. He leaned forward quickly. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice lower now, urgent.
Priya bit her lip, hiding her hand behind her. “Hmm,” she replied, pretending it wasn’t a big deal. Her face showed stubbornness, but her trembling fingers betrayed the pain.
Aryan’s jaw tightened as his gaze flicked to her hidden hand. “Your hand?” he asked again, this time pointing with his eyes, forcing her to show it.
“It’s nothing,” she said quickly, shaking her head. But Aryan was not convinced.
Without another word, he stood and gently but firmly made her sit on the nearby chair. He pulled open the drawer, took out the first-aid box, and sat across from her. Carefully, he applied ointment and wrapped her hand with a bandage. His hands were steady, though his brows stayed drawn in concentration.
Priya winced. “Carefully, it’s hurting,” she said with a sad, childlike face.
Aryan’s lips curved faintly, not in amusement but in irony. Mimicking her tone, he said, “Now your attention is coming… it’s hurting…” His eyes narrowed at her. “And where were you lost when you fell?” His voice softened, but the question carried curiosity, as if he wanted to read her hidden thoughts.
There was a pause. Priya lowered her lashes, her puppy eyes lifting to him innocently. “I was just thinking about something,” she replied.
Aryan sighed faintly, shaking his head. “Focus on only one at a time.” His words were stern, but his tone carried a quiet care.
“Hmm,” she nodded gently.
He packed away the ointment and pointed at her desk. “Now go and sit in your place. And don’t write or type anything for a while. Okay?” His voice sounded like an order, but his eyes softened as they lingered on her.
“Hmm,” she said obediently, rising slowly and returning to her seat.
Hours later, the calm was broken when Karan entered the cabin, a file in his hand. He walked to Priya’s desk and smiled warmly. “Riya, can you please write a letter for me?” His tone was casual but expectant. He always admired her beautiful handwriting.
Before she could answer, Aryan’s firm voice cut across the room. “No, she can’t.”
Karan turned to look at him, slightly annoyed but still respectful. “Leader, I know she’s your assistant, but at least she can do my one work.” His voice carried a playful complaint.
Priya, caught between them, smiled softly and said, “Yaa, I can, but…” She raised her bandaged hand, revealing the redness still visible beneath the ointment.
Karan’s playful smile faded, replaced with concern. “What happened?” he asked quickly.
Aryan’s tone was clipped, but his eyes flicked to Priya’s hand. “She burnt her hand,” he explained.
“How?” Karan asked, his brows furrowed.
Priya lowered her gaze and admitted softly, “Coffee fell on my hand.”
Karan sighed. His voice softened into a gentle scold. “You have to be careful.”
“Hmm,” she responded quietly, like a child being reminded.
Karan shook his head and crossed his arms. “So what are you doing here now? You should go home and rest.”
Priya looked up quickly, determination flashing. “No, I’m okay.”
But Aryan’s calm, commanding voice overpowered hers. “Karan is right. You should go home.”
Priya hesitated, then gave in with a soft sigh. “If you say so.”
Karan leaned closer, concern still on his face. “Are you sure you can drive?”
Priya nodded firmly.
Before she could insist further, Aryan spoke again, his voice leaving no room for refusal. “Wait… I’m also going home. Let me drop you.”
Surprised, Priya quickly shook her head. “It’s okay, I’ll go by myself.” Her words were polite but hesitant, as if unsure whether to accept his care.
Aryan didn’t argue. Instead, he silently stood, picked up her bag from her desk, and while walking toward the door, said simply, “Come…” His voice carried authority, but underneath it was quiet concern.
Priya blinked, stunned by the gesture. Before she could react, Karan leaned close to her and whispered with a mischievous smile, “Go… he does not behave like this with everyone, you’re lucky.”
Her lips curved into a small smile, warmth blooming inside her chest. She stood and followed, her steps lighter than before.
They sat in Aryan’s sleek black car, the silence wrapping around them like an invisible thread. Aryan started the engine, his jaw set as his eyes focused on the road ahead. The soft hum of the car filled the air, but the atmosphere was heavy, as if both were lost in their own thoughts.
Suddenly, Aryan’s phone rang. The sharp sound cut through the silence, making Priya flinch slightly. He glanced at the screen, then steered the car to the side of the road before answering.
“Hello!!!” His tone was firm, professional, but tinged with fatigue.
On the other end, Mr. Khanna’s voice came through, full of authority.
“Where are you?”
Aryan exhaled and leaned back slightly. “On the way of my house,” he replied, trying to keep his tone even.
“Ok, carefully go home, and call me when you reach. I want to talk to you about something.”
Aryan’s grip on the phone tightened. His voice dropped an octave. “About what?”
His father’s words came sharp and certain. “You know very well, about what.”
Aryan’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “Dad, how much time I have to tell you, that I don’t want to get married.” His voice cracked with frustration.
There was a pause before Mr. Khanna’s stern tone replied, “But why? What’s the problem in it?”
Aryan’s chest rose and fell heavily. His voice shook with the weight of suppressed anger. “Once, listening to you, I was ready for marriage. But if that girl run away from marriage, then I can’t do anything in it.” His words were bitten off, each one carrying resentment.
“You can. You can marry with some other girl.”
Aryan’s self control snapped. His voice thundered, filled with raw anger and pain. “Dad, please, just stop this sh*t!”
The call ended abruptly. Aryan tossed his phone back on the passenger seat. For a moment, only his heavy breathing echoed in the confined space.
Priya, sitting quietly, turned her face toward him. She hadn’t moved during the entire conversation. Her wide eyes studied the storm on his face, the tight jaw, the hard set of his brows, the way his hands gripped the wheel as if trying to crush the leather. She could almost feel the heat of his anger radiating in the car.
Breaking the silence, Aryan’s voice came low, edged with frustration but also carrying an odd vulnerability. “Did your parents also force you like this?” He started driving again, his eyes fixed firmly on the road, though his question hung heavy in the air.
Priya froze, her lips parting slightly. For a moment, her heart clenched. Inside her mind, the truth screamed: ‘If they were not, then I would not be here.’ But her tongue stayed still. She swallowed hard, keeping her silence, hiding behind her thoughts.
Aryan’s voice hardened again, his anger redirecting. “But more than my parents, I’m angry at that shameless girl. Who back off from the marriage at the last moment.”
Priya flinched at the words. Shame crawled up her spine, but she forced her voice out softly, hesitantly. “Maybe she has some compulsion.” She didn’t know the girl personally, but her heart couldn’t stop defending her—because somewhere, she was that girl.
Aryan let out a sharp, humorless laugh. His eyes narrowed at the road. “Oh really, if this were the case, then why would she say yes for the marriage?” His tone carried disbelief, irritation lacing each word.
Priya lowered her eyes, her voice gentle but firm. “If it, then she’s wrong. She didn’t want to say yes.” Her agreement with him was reluctant but real, because deep inside she knew—saying yes without meaning it was a sin in itself.
Aryan’s hands gripped the wheel tighter. “And I really hate that kind of person who goes back on their words.” His words were final, filled with bitterness, echoing in the small space of the car.
Priya’s chest ached. She turned her face toward the window, silently sending her prayer into the dark night. ‘God, please help that girl. I don’t know who she is, but I want to pray for her.’ Her heart whispered with guilt and hope, carrying the weight of her hidden truth.
After some time, Aryan slowed the car and stopped outside her apartment building. His voice was calmer now, more controlled.
Priya unbuckled her seatbelt and softly said, “Thank you.”
Aryan’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before he nodded. “No problem. Now go and get some rest.”
She stepped out of the car, but as she turned away, her thoughts whispered, ‘There is no food in the house, and with this hand, I cannot cook anything myself. It’s good to buy something from outside.’
She began walking toward a nearby shop, her injured hand carefully cradled against her. But behind her, Aryan’s voice called out, sharp but tinged with sarcasm.
“Wait… where are you going? Your apartment is this way.” His tone sounded like he was scolding her for being careless, as if the injury wasn’t just on her hand but also on her mind, making her forget the direction of her own home.
She froze mid-step, turning back toward him. His eyes locked on her, full of quiet disapproval, but beneath it, a flicker of concern shone.
“At food shop.”
Her voice was hesitant, as if she feared it sounded silly.
Aryan narrowed his eyes slightly, puzzled. “Why?” His tone wasn’t harsh, but it carried the weight of a man who demanded explanations.
Priya sighed, lowering her gaze to her bandaged hand. “I can’t cook in this condition so…” She trailed off, embarrassed that something so small could expose her helplessness.
Aryan tilted his head, studying her carefully. Then, with calm authority, he said: “There is no need of it.”
His voice was firm, almost commanding, but his eyes softened—revealing that it wasn’t an order, but care hidden beneath his roughness.
Priya blinked, confused. “Why?” she asked, tilting her head like a curious child.
Without answering immediately, Aryan leaned into his car, pulled out a box, and held it up with a small, almost smug smile. “Now let’s go inside.” His words carried a quiet certainty, like someone who always had a solution ready.
Her lips curved in disbelief. She followed him inside, her curiosity growing.
❁𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑❁
❀𝕴𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖎𝖙!❀
♡ 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎 ♡
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Wowwww!!