Tumse Tum Tak: A Line That Shouldn’t Be Crossed

Since all are waiting. I am here with the prologue.

Prologue

Anu Sharma had always believed in rules—boundaries she could see, policies she could follow, lines she would never cross. The corporate world, with its hierarchy and discipline, felt safe. Predictable. Contained.

Until Aryavardhan Rathore arrived.

Arya was everything she wasn’t—intense, commanding, unyielding. A man who could make a room silent with a single glance, whose presence demanded attention, respect, even fear. He was a force of nature disguised as a corporate executive, and the moment he stepped into her world, nothing would ever be the same.

From the first project meeting, the tension was undeniable. Their interactions were polite, professional on the surface, but charged with something neither of them could name. A spark that was dangerous, electric, and forbidden.

Anu tried to resist it. She reminded herself of the rules, of the consequences, of what she could lose. Arya did the same, masking his longing with distance, his protectiveness with control. Yet every stolen glance, every unexpected brush of hands, every shared silence pulled them closer.

They were drawn together by more than work. By desire, by emotion, by a gravity that no HR policy or office rule could contain.

And so began a game they could not win—love that was forbidden, a bond that was undeniable, and hearts that were slowly being claimed, against all reason, against all rules.

This is their story. A story of restraint and recklessness, longing and betrayal, jealousy and confession. A story where boundaries are tested, hearts are broken, and love burns quietly, dangerously, Tumse Tum Tak.

this is for index.

Chapter 1: The Distance Between Us

Aryavardhan Rathore believed distance was safety.

Distance from emotions.

Distance from people.

Distance from anything that could make him weak.

It was the reason he had built an empire instead of a family. The reason he was respected, feared, and unquestioned in the corridors of Rathore Enterprises. He didn’t linger. He didn’t soften. He didn’t feel—at least not where anyone could see.

And yet, at 9:47 p.m., he stood outside the elevator, checking his watch for the third time.

The office floor was silent now. The kind of silence that settled only after ambition went home. Only one cabin still glowed with light at the far end.

Anu.

Arya’s jaw tightened.

He had told her to leave by eight. He was certain of it. Clear instructions, precise tone. She had nodded like she always did—earnest, attentive, obedient.

And still, she stayed.

He told himself it was irritation. A manager’s responsibility. Nothing more.

But the truth pressed uncomfortably against his ribs.

He was worried.

The elevator dinged softly.

Arya looked up just as the doors slid open.

Anu stepped out, laptop bag slung over one shoulder, hair escaping its neat tie, faint exhaustion etched into her face. Her kurti sleeves were rolled up, ink smudged on her fingers—signs of someone who gave too much of herself without realizing the cost.

For a second, she didn’t see him.

Then she did.

“Oh—sir?” Surprise flickered across her face. “You’re still here?”

So casual. So unaware of the storm she caused simply by existing.

“You should be asking yourself that,” Arya replied, voice controlled, eyes sharp.

“I was finishing the presentation for tomorrow,” she said quickly, adjusting her bag. “Time just… slipped.”

“It always does when people forget limits,” he said.

Her brows knitted slightly. “I sent you a mail.”

“I saw it.”

“Then—”

“I didn’t approve it.”

The words came out harsher than intended.

Anu stiffened. “I’m sorry. I thought—”

“You shouldn’t think in these matters,” Arya interrupted. “You should follow instructions.”

The silence that followed was brittle.

“Yes, sir,” she said quietly.

That one word—sir—hit harder than it should have.

They walked toward the parking lot, footsteps echoing in the emptiness. Arya kept his pace deliberately even, resisting the instinct to slow down so she wouldn’t struggle to keep up.

This was the problem.

He noticed everything about her.

Her quiet sighs.

Her hesitation before speaking.

The way she swallowed emotions like apologies.

At her scooter, Anu stopped.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “For waiting.”

“I wasn’t waiting,” Arya replied immediately.

A lie.

She nodded anyway, fingers tightening around the handle.

“You shouldn’t stay back alone,” he added, tone softer now. “This isn’t safe.”

“I can take care of myself,” she said, a trace of hurt seeping in. “I always have.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about?” she asked, lifting her gaze to meet his.

There it was again.

That quiet courage.

Arya looked away.

“This conversation is over,” he said.

Anu inhaled sharply.

“May I ask you something? Just once?” she said.

He hesitated. “Go ahead.”

“Does it ever bother you,” she asked slowly, “that some feelings are considered wrong not because they are… but because of where they exist?”

The world seemed to stop.

Arya turned to her.

“Anu,” he said carefully, “that question doesn’t belong here.”

“Why?” she whispered. “Because I’m your employee? Or because you feel it too?”

The accusation wasn’t loud.

It didn’t need to be.

His control cracked—just slightly—but enough.

“You’re tired,” he said coldly. “Go home.”

She flinched.

“I am tired,” she agreed. “Of pretending that I don’t notice things. Of pretending that your silence doesn’t hurt.”

“That silence is necessary,” he snapped.

“For you,” she said. “Or for me?”

That was when it happened.

The mask slipped.

“Do you think this is easy for me?” Arya said, voice low, strained. “Do you think I don’t see what this looks like? What it means?”

Anu’s eyes glistened. “Then why don’t you just say it?”

Because if he did, there would be no turning back.

“You deserve someone uncomplicated,” he said. “Someone who doesn’t measure every word before speaking to you.”

“And you?” she asked. “What do you deserve?”

He didn’t answer.

Because the truth was cruel.

He deserved nothing.

Anu looked at him for a long moment, then nodded.

“I understand,” she said, even though she clearly didn’t. “Good night, sir.”

She rode away.

Arya stood there long after her scooter disappeared into the traffic, chest tight, breath shallow.

He pressed a hand against his sternum.

Control.

He had chosen control.

But as the city lights blurred before his eyes, one thought refused to leave him—

Distance had never felt this painful before.