Part 10
The ETF office was quieter than usual that afternoon, the rhythmic clatter of keyboards and the low murmur of occasional conversations serving as a steady backdrop. Outside the glass windows, the golden light of the late afternoon sun slanted across the skyline, painting the city with a warmth that Riya barely registered.
She sat at her desk, a case file open in front of her, but her eyes weren’t focused on the words. Her gaze was fixed absently on the edge of the page, her fingers lightly tracing the corner, as though she were trying to steady herself through the simple, repetitive motion.
Her mind was still tangled in the aftershocks of the previous night—the raw, stripped-down vulnerability she had let slip in front of Arjun.
The darkness she had always hidden away.
The weight she had always carried alone.
And the way he had simply… held her.
Without judgment.
Without asking her to be strong.
Just holding her.
“Tum theek ho…”
His voice still echoed in her mind—soft and steady, anchoring her even now.
She exhaled shakily and shifted slightly in her chair, pushing the memories aside.
But the tension lingered.
***
Across the room, Shree’s gaze flickered toward her for what must have been the twentieth time in the last hour. His fingers stilled on the keyboard, and his lips pressed together faintly.
He knew.
Chotu knew.
Sameer sir knew.
They all knew.
But they didn’t ask.
They didn’t push.
And somehow, that made her throat tighten more.
“Riya…”
Her head snapped up at the sound of Shree’s voice. She blinked, momentarily disoriented, her fingers stilling over the page she had been absently tracing.
Shree offered her a small, hesitant smile, but there was a warmth in his eyes—a gentleness that made her chest ache faintly.
“Coffee?” he asked softly, his voice low and careful, as though afraid of shattering her.
“Maine naye flavor ka packet laaya hai… mocha caramel.”
For a moment, she simply stared at him.
And then, without warning, her lips twitched faintly.
“Mocha caramel?” she repeated softly, her voice hoarse with disuse.
“Shree… yeh combination kisne banaya?”
His eyes brightened slightly at her teasing tone, and he smirked faintly, tilting his head.
“Jisne bhi banaya… usse medal milna chahiye.”
Riya let out a faint, breathless laugh. It was small—a quiet, hesitant sound—but it was real.
And Shree’s heart squeezed faintly at the sound.
“Toh chalein?” he prompted softly, gesturing toward the pantry.
“Tumhari favorite coffee ready hai, Madam Riya Mukherjee.”
Her lips curved faintly, and she slowly rose from her chair.
She felt Chotu’s eyes on her as she walked across the room, the warmth of his silent gaze offering quiet reassurance.
And from behind the glass door of his cabin, Sameer’s sharp eyes softened slightly.
But it was Arjun she felt the most.
As she walked past him, she didn’t need to look at him to know his eyes were following her.
Steady.
Protective.
Silent.
***
The pantry was dimly lit, but warm. The faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, curling around the room.
Riya sat at the small table, her hands loosely curled around the warm ceramic mug. She stared at the steam rising from the surface of the coffee, watching it dissipate into the stillness.
Shree sat across from her, his fingers lightly tapping the side of his cup, occasionally glancing at her from beneath his lashes.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke.
And then, without warning, Riya exhaled shakily and whispered, “Thank you.”
Her voice was hoarse—barely above a murmur—but thick with sincerity.
Shree stilled.
His eyes lifted to hers, and he blinked slowly.
She didn’t look at him.
Her gaze was still fixed on her coffee, her fingers tightening slightly around the mug.
“Pichle kuch dinon se tum log…” her voice caught slightly, and she exhaled softly before continuing, “… mere saath ho.”
Her throat bobbed faintly.
Her voice grew smaller.
“Bina kuch pooche… bina kuch kahe.”
Her eyes burned faintly, but she smiled weakly.
“Main nahi jaanti ki main bina tumhare kya karti.”
Shree’s throat tightened faintly.
For a moment, he said nothing.
And then, slowly, he reached across the table and covered her hand with his.
“Riya…” his voice was barely above a whisper.
“Tere bina hum kya karte?”
Her breath caught violently in her throat.
And the next thing she knew, her hand was trembling beneath his.
Shree didn’t pull away.
He simply held on.
Quietly. Steadily.
And Riya clung to his hand like a lifeline.
***
That evening, the sun had dipped lower, casting long, copper-toned shadows across the ETF corridor.
Riya stood by the window, her arms loosely wrapped around herself, watching the sky darken.
Sameer found her there.
He didn’t say anything at first.
He simply stood beside her, his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the same darkening sky.
And then, without preamble, he murmured softly, “Kabhi kabhi lagta hai ki bas… thak gaye hain, hai na?”
Her breath hitched slightly.
Her fingers clenched faintly against her sleeves.
And then, after a moment, she nodded.
She exhaled softly.
Her voice was barely above a whisper when she replied, “Haan, sir… bohot thak gayi hoon.”
Her voice cracked slightly on the last word.
Sameer turned his head slightly, his eyes narrowing faintly as he studied her.
And then, slowly, he reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder.
Firm. Steady. Unyielding.
“Riya…” his voice was low but deliberate, filled with quiet conviction.
“Tum kamzor nahi ho.”
Her throat tightened violently, but she didn’t speak.
“Tumhare andar bohot taqat hai,” he continued softly, his grip tightening slightly on her shoulder.
“Aur jab tak hum hain… tumhe kabhi akele ladne ki zaroorat nahi padegi.”
Her lips parted faintly.
Her vision blurred slightly.
And before she could stop herself, she turned to him.
Her arms wound around him, gripping the fabric of his jacket.
For a moment, she just held on.
And Sameer didn’t hesitate.
He wrapped his arms around her.
Strong. Protective. Unwavering.
“Tum theek ho, Riya,” he murmured softly, his voice steady against her temple.
“Tum hum sab ke saath ho. Hamesha.”
And for the first time in years, she allowed herself to believe it.
Cricket
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