Page 77 of No Boss
Behind him, conversation resumed. Courtesies followed. Gravel crunched as the car left.
Silence stretched after.
Naina turned to her mother. Sarita lifted the teacup Abhinav had set down earlier, turning it in her hand. The thin crack along the rim caught the light.
She placed it back on the table and looked at her daughter.
Naina’s shoulders shook first. She pressed her lips together. Failed.
Sarita turned toward the garden, one hand rising to her mouth as laughter escaped, soft but unstoppable.
Naina covered her face.
When they recovered, Naina lifted her hand. Sarita met it. Their palms connected in a deeply satisfied clap.
Sarita’s gaze drifted toward the corridor where her son had disappeared.
The laughter faded, replaced by warmth.
“Finally,” she murmured.
Chapter 14
The file had been open for two hours.
Abhinav sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled, collar open. Everything sat in place except his focus. The green tea beside his laptop had gone cold.
The numbers were clean. Structured.Useless.
He pushed the file away.
Lakshya, in his courtyard. Standing there with ease. And Meera… embroidered silk, hair braided, laughing. Unfiltered. Easy.
He leaned back, jaw set, then pulled the file toward him again. Forced his eyes over the lines.
Nothing stayed.
When did this start?
The question had followed him through the night, refusing to settle.
He had come here with a purpose. Sell the Haveli. Close the deal. Leave.
Instead, his days had filled with a woman who did not defer, did not soften, did not hesitate to look him in the eye and say, No, Boss.
That had been the beginning.
Everything after had come too easily.
He had started noticing things he had no business noticing. Her voice. Her hazel eyes. The way her hands moved when she spoke. The way she moved through the Haveli like it lived inside her. And the warmth of her skin under his hand, something he hadn’t been able to forget.
He exhaled, dragging a hand down his face.
He couldn’t place the moment it had shifted. That was what unsettled him.
He was not a man who lost track of his own decisions. He knew where things began. Where they bent.
This had slipped past him.
