Tumse Tum Tak: A Line That Shouldn’t Be Crossed - Page 2

Hi

I am new to this site, I’ve really enjoyed this beginning, it is different from the series, please continue.

When will you update the next chapter waiting

Originally posted by: suhaaniladki

When will you update the next chapter waiting

Will update soon. 😊

Chapter 2: Unspoken Rules

The next morning, Anu arrived at the office ten minutes early.

She always did—but today, it felt deliberate, as if punctuality could anchor her emotions, keep them from spiraling. She sat at her desk, laptop open, hands folded neatly, posture perfect.

From the outside, she looked the same.

Inside, everything ached.

She hadn’t slept. Every time she closed her eyes, Arya’s voice replayed in her head—controlled, restrained, distant. And beneath it, the unspoken words that had hovered between them like unfinished sentences.

You’re tired. Go home.

She swallowed and focused on her screen.

Across the floor, Aryavardhan Rathore stepped out of the elevator.

The office seemed to shift subtly when he entered—backs straightened, voices lowered, attention sharpened. He acknowledged no one, walking with his usual authority toward his cabin.

Except today, his eyes flicked—just once—to Anu’s desk.

She didn’t look up.

That hurt more than he expected.

He entered his cabin and closed the door a little harder than necessary.

Inside, Arya loosened his tie, exhaling slowly. He told himself the tension in his chest was exhaustion. That the heaviness had nothing to do with the way Anu had looked at him last night—open, wounded, brave.

He turned to his desk and froze.

A printed circular lay neatly at the center.

INTERNAL ETHICS & PROFESSIONAL CONDUCT POLICY

Strict Enforcement Effective Immediately

Arya’s jaw tightened as he skimmed the document.

No personal involvement between management and subordinates.

Zero tolerance for favoritism.

Mandatory disclosure of conflicts of interest.

He dropped the paper onto the desk.

Of course.

As if the universe had decided to mock him.

At exactly 10 a.m., the team assembled for the weekly briefing.

Anu took her seat, notebook ready, eyes downcast. She felt his presence before she saw him—commanding, unreadable.

Arya began the meeting with clipped efficiency.

No warmth. No pauses. No glances her way.

When Anu presented her analysis, her voice was steady—but her hands trembled slightly as she flipped the slide.

Arya listened silently.

Then—

“This is insufficient,” he said.

The room went still.

Anu looked up, startled. “Sir?”

“You’ve overlooked the cost-risk implications,” he continued coolly. “I expected better preparation.”

Her face flushed.

“I—I reviewed the data twice—”

“Review it again,” he said. “We don’t work on assumptions here.”

A murmur rippled across the table.

Anu nodded stiffly. “I’ll revise it.”

“Good,” Arya said, already moving on.

She stared down at her notes, throat tight.

He had never spoken to her like that before.

After the meeting, whispers followed her back to her desk.

“Did you see that?”

“He was unusually harsh.”

“I thought she was one of his favorites.”

The word favorite burned.

By lunchtime, Anu’s appetite was gone.

She sat alone in the cafeteria, stirring untouched food. Across the room, Arya stood with senior management, laughing softly at something someone said.

He didn’t look at her.

That hurt even more.

What Anu didn’t know was that every laugh cost him.

Arya felt it—the way her silence pressed into him, the way his own cruelty replayed in his mind. He had seen her expression in the meeting. Had hated himself for it.

But control demanded sacrifice.

And today, she was the sacrifice.

Later that afternoon, Anu was called into his cabin.

She stood across from him, arms crossed loosely, face carefully neutral.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes,” Arya said, gesturing for her to sit.

She remained standing.

That unsettled him.

“I wanted to discuss the presentation,” he continued.

“I’ll correct it,” she said quickly. “It won’t happen again.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” she asked quietly.

Arya looked at her—really looked at her.

She was composed, professional, distant.

Just like he wanted.

Just like he couldn’t bear.

“From now on,” he said slowly, “I expect absolute professionalism. No assumptions. No overstepping.”

Her lips curved into a small, sad smile. “I didn’t realize I had.”

“You did,” he replied. “Yesterday.”

Silence stretched between them.

“I see,” Anu said finally. “Thank you for clarifying.”

She turned to leave.

“Anu,” he said.

She paused, hand on the door.

“This distance,” he added, voice strained, “is necessary.”

“For whom?” she asked without turning around.

He didn’t answer.

She left.

The door clicked shut, and Arya sank into his chair.

His hand trembled slightly as he reached for his coffee.

Necessary.

That word felt hollow now.

The rest of the day passed in fragments.

Arya noticed everything—Anu leaving meetings early, keeping conversations brief, avoiding eye contact. She became efficient, invisible.

Exactly what he had forced her to be.

By evening, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He stepped out of his cabin just as another senior manager, Karan Mehta, approached Anu’s desk.

“Great work on the financial model,” Karan said warmly. “You have a sharp mind.”

Anu smiled politely. “Thank you, sir.”

“You should consider joining my project team,” Karan added. “We could use someone like you.”

Arya’s chest tightened.

He watched as Anu nodded. “I’d be happy to, if management approves.”

Karan glanced at Arya. “What do you think, Arya?”

Every instinct screamed no.

Instead, Arya said, “If it aligns with company interests.”

Anu didn’t look at him.

That night, alone in his cabin, Arya finally broke.

He loosened his tie, pacing the room, hand raking through his hair.

“This is for the best,” he told himself. “She’ll move on.”

But the image of her quiet smile—hurt masked as professionalism—refused to leave him.

For the first time in years, Aryavardhan Rathore felt the weight of his own rules crushing him.

And somewhere across the city, Anu sat by her window, staring into the dark, wondering how something unspoken could hurt so deeply.

_______________

Very well written

Hey you updated after a long time and such a small update

You are an amazing writer dear I love how the story is unfolding so far , it feels like they already are in love with each other but may be not acknowledging it.

Already Wait for the next part , please update soon

Chapter 3: The Weight of Silence

Silence had never frightened Anu before.

She had grown up learning how to exist quietly—how to listen more than she spoke, how to absorb disappointment without complaint, how to make space for others even when no one made space for her.

But this silence—

this silence—

was unbearable.

It followed her everywhere.

In meetings, where Arya’s voice addressed everyone but her.

In corridors, where his presence passed by without acknowledgment.

In emails, where her carefully worded updates received curt, one-line responses.

Not disappointed.

Not angry.

Just… empty.

And to Anu, emptiness felt worse than rejection.

Because disappointment meant she could fix something.

Silence meant she had already failed.

She stared at her laptop screen, numbers blurring as her mind replayed the meeting from earlier that day.

“Your analysis lacks depth.”

The words echoed again and again.

She had triple-checked those figures. She knew the work was solid. Arya himself had praised her attention to detail once—once—back when his eyes still softened when he spoke to her.

Now, they didn’t even linger.

Anu clenched her fists under the table.

He thinks I’m not good enough anymore.

The thought settled heavily in her chest.

Across the floor, Arya sat in his cabin, staring at the same presentation Anu had worked on until midnight.

It was flawless.

He knew it.

That knowledge made his chest ache.

He closed the file and leaned back, eyes shutting briefly as guilt crept in. He remembered her face during the meeting—how her shoulders had stiffened, how her voice had wavered just slightly.

He had done that.

He had chosen distance over honesty.

And now, it was costing her.

This is necessary, he reminded himself. This is protection.

But the justification sounded weaker with every passing hour.

The afternoon meeting was worse.

Senior management. Long table. Glass walls that reflected tension like a mirror.

Anu took her seat at the far end, deliberately placing distance between herself and Arya. She focused on her notebook, pen poised, breathing carefully.

Arya entered last.

The room straightened instantly.

“Let’s begin,” he said.

The discussion moved quickly—deadlines, budgets, projections.

When it was Anu’s turn to speak, she cleared her throat.

“The revised model accounts for—”

“Move to the next point,” Arya interrupted.

Anu froze.

“I—I haven’t finished explaining—”

“We’re short on time,” he said flatly. “Summarize.”

Something inside her cracked.

She nodded and condensed weeks of work into three rushed sentences. Her voice stayed calm, but inside, humiliation burned.

When the meeting ended, no one met her eyes.

She gathered her things slowly, hands trembling.

Arya stood, speaking to the board members, posture composed.

Not once did he look at her.

That was the moment Anu understood.

He wasn’t distancing himself from feelings.

He was distancing himself from her.

She left the conference room before the tears could fall.

Later, Arya found himself standing outside the pantry, coffee untouched in his hand.

He had seen it.

The way she had stopped mid-sentence.

The way her confidence had folded in on itself.

The way she had left without a word.

His silence had spoken louder than anger ever could.

He set the cup aside, fingers curling into a fist.

“Get it together,” he muttered to himself.

But his body refused to listen.

That evening, Anu stayed back again—not because she wanted to, but because she didn’t know where else to go.

Home felt empty lately.

Her desk lamp cast a small pool of light as she worked mechanically, correcting things that didn’t need correction, chasing perfection like an apology.

She didn’t hear Arya approach.

“Anu.”

She flinched.

“Yes, sir?” she said immediately, standing up.

Arya paused.

The formality hurt more than he expected.

“You don’t need to stay back,” he said.

“I know,” she replied. “I just want to finish this.”

“You’ve already submitted it.”

“I want to make sure it’s… acceptable.”

That word struck him.

Acceptable.

“Look at me,” Arya said quietly.

She hesitated, then lifted her eyes.

They were tired. Questioning. Hurt.

“Do you think your work isn’t acceptable?” he asked.

Anu swallowed.

“I think,” she said slowly, choosing each word with care, “that if someone like you finds it lacking, then maybe I’ve overestimated my abilities.”

Arya felt the floor shift beneath him.

“That’s not true,” he said immediately.

“Then why does it feel like I’m constantly falling short lately?” she asked.

Because I’m terrified of wanting you.

But he couldn’t say that.

“This is about professionalism,” he said instead. “Not personal feelings.”

Anu smiled faintly.

“That’s the problem,” she said. “I don’t know where I went wrong professionally.”

“You didn’t,” he said.

Her eyes searched his face.

“Then why won’t you tell me what changed?”

The question hung between them—raw, unguarded.

Arya looked away.

“That’s not something I can discuss.”

Silence settled again.

Heavy. Crushing.

“I understand,” Anu said softly.

But she didn’t.

And he knew it.

She gathered her bag and turned to leave.

At the door, she stopped.

“I just want you to know,” she said without looking back, “that I never expected special treatment. I only wanted honesty.”

The door closed.

Arya stood alone in the dim cabin, her words echoing off the walls.

Honesty.

That was the one thing he hadn’t given her.

He sank into his chair, head falling into his hands.

For the first time in years, the control he prided himself on felt like cowardice.

And somewhere down the road, Anu walked toward the bus stop, the city lights blurring through unshed tears.

She had come to Rathore Enterprises believing hard work would be enough.

Tonight, she realized—

Sometimes, effort wasn’t the problem.

Silence was.

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Hope you like it. I have this office romance and also the concept same as in the serial of age gap. Since everyone know the age cap concept i didn't mention it here. if you want i will update the age gap in the next part.