Love Me Tonight Chapter 34: A Game of Quiet Moves

The night before had shifted more than just plans. It had shifted the board.

And by morning, Vishakha Somani was no longer reacting – she was responding. Not impulsively, not emotionally… but with the quiet precision of someone who had understood the opening move and was now preparing her counter.

She had watched the first piece fall into place. Now it was her turn.

The garden outside the white bungalow was still wrapped in the soft quiet of early morning. The champa tree stood in full bloom, its pale flowers scattered across the ground, their faint fragrance lingering in the air. Beneath it, the old swing moved in a slow, familiar rhythm.

Jaiprakash Maheshwari sat there, newspaper in hand, though his attention drifted more than it read. This time of the day had always belonged to him. Uninterrupted. Peaceful.

Like a king resting before the game began around him.

Which was perhaps why the faint sound of approaching footsteps made him pause. He didn’t look up immediately. Instead, a small, almost amused smile touched his lips.

Kal Vivek. Aaj Vishakha. Do din lagatar… sabko subah-subah baat karni hai. Lagta hai sab apni apni chaal chalne lage hain.

 

“Papa…”

He lowered the newspaper just enough to look at her over his glasses. “Haan?”

Vishakha stepped closer, her saree perfectly draped, her expression composed – but her eyes sharp, focused. A player who knew exactly which piece she needed to protect… And which one she needed to position.

“Mujhe aapse baat karni thi…”

He gestured lightly to the space beside him. “Bolo.”

She sat down, smoothing the pleats of her saree as she gathered her thoughts.

“Rohan ke baare mein…” she began, her tone careful, almost concerned. “Woh abhi bhi seekh raha hai… itna experience nahi hai uske paas.”

Jaiprakash didn’t respond. The swing creaked softly beneath them.

“Kal office mein… Sameer usse kaafi sawal puch raha tha,” she continued. “Interrogate kar raha tha almost.” A pause. “Mujhe samajh nahi aata… kya zaroorat hai itna pressure daalne ki uspar.”

The breeze picked up slightly, rustling the newspaper in Jaiprakash’s hand. His expression remained unreadable.

“Business samajhne mein waqt lagta hai,” she pressed on. “Aap bhi jaante ho. Toh phir aise sawal karke usko nervous kyun karna?”

 

For a moment, neither spoke. Then, as if shifting naturally, she asked, “Aaj mandir jaana hai na aapko?”

Jaiprakash nodded once. “Haan. Thodi der mein nikalunga. Breakfast baad mein kar lunga.”

Vishakha registered it. Adjusted silently.

Then continued, her voice softer now.

“Aap jaante ho… Sameer aur meri kabhi bani hi nahi,” she said. “Woh hamesha se… mujhe aur Vivek ko respect nahi karta. Kabhi Vivek ko apnaneki koshish nahi ki.”

Jaiprakash’s fingers tightened slightly on the paper as he heard his daughter shift the entire blame on Sameer.

“Maine koshish ki thi,” she added. “Jab woh chhota tha… Delhi bhi leke gayi thi. Socha tha sab theek ho jayega…” A faint, tired smile crossed her lips. “Lekin woh… kabhi sudhar nahi sakta. Usko bas yahi chahiye tha ke main to sirf uske saath rahu. Vivek, Rohan, Deepika – sabko bhul jau. Lekin yeh sahi nahi tha… ”

She paused, then lowered her voice further.

“Ab mujhe darr lag raha hai, papa… woh phir se wahi karne ki koshish kar raha hai. Hume alag karne ki.”

The words hung between them. Carefully placed.

“Office mein bhi… Rohan ko alag se involve kar raha hai… usse alag baat kar raha hai…” She turned slightly toward him. “Main nahi chahti ke Rohan kisi situation mein fase. Sameer Rohan se nafrat karta hai… Woh kabhi uska bhala nahi soch sakta.”

Her hand rested lightly over his.

“Aap uska dhyaan rakhenge na?”

Jaiprakash didn’t answer immediately. His gaze drifted past the garden, beyond the boundary wall… As though he were looking at something far more complex than what was being said.

Then he nodded. “Haan,” he said calmly. “Main dhyaan rakhunga.”

His tone gave nothing away. And Vishakha didn’t look deeper. She didn’t need to. For now, that was enough.

 

By the time she stepped inside, her next move had already begun to take shape.

 

After Jaiprakash Maheshwari left for his scheduled weekly temple visit, Vishakha entered the kitchen, asking Ramdhari to help her. The dining table was set differently that morning. Not routine. Intentional.

Vivek sat reading the newspaper at the table, sipping on a cup of warm water. Rohan and Deepika came downstairs, talking in low voices, when Vishakha entered, carrying a plate herself.

“Good morning,” she said, her tone unusually warm as she began placing food on their plates. “Aaj maine khud banaya hai… tum dono ka favourite.”

Vegetable-cheese sandwiches. Toasted crisp. Still warm.

 

Deepika blinked, surprised. Rohan didn’t react immediately.

But as they sat down, his eyes moved – briefly – toward the side.

Ramdhari stood near the kitchen entrance, wiping his hands on the cloth slung over his shoulder. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second. And then… A barely perceptible nod. Casual. Almost invisible.

Rohan’s expression didn’t change, but the message landed.

“Eat properly,” Vishakha said, placing another piece on Deepika’s plate. “Kal tum logo ka breakfast miss ho gaya tha.”

Vivek joined them, his energy forced but trying to match Vishakha’s tone. “Haan, haan… aaj achche se khaana.”

Vishakha continued as she sat down, her voice now threaded with concern. “Aur ek baat… Sameer ke saath thoda distance maintain karna.”

The words came gently. But deliberately.

“Mujhe lagta hai woh sirf help karne nahi aaya,” she added. “Uska intention kuch aur hai.”

Vivek nodded quickly. “Haan… woh business dekhne ke naam pe control lena chahta hai.”

Deepika’s hand stilled for a moment. Rohan continued eating.

“Isiliye,” Vishakha said, looking directly at Rohan now, “tumhe careful rehna hoga. Woh tumhe apni taraf karne ki koshish karega.”

“Aur agar kuch bhi bole… ya pooche…” Vivek added, “seedha hume bata dena.”

Vishakha’s voice softened again. “Tum dono ko usse door rehna hai. Kisi bhi tarah ke… plan mein mat padna.”

A pause followed. Deepika lowered her gaze. Rohan gave a small nod.

Not agreement. Not refusal. Just enough.

As the meal continued, Vishakha leaned back slightly, watching them with quiet satisfaction.

“Waise,” she added casually after a moment, “aaj lunch ghar se nahi bhejenge.” She smiled. “Tum dono canteen mein kha lena. Change mil jayega.”

Deepika looked up instantly, a small spark of excitement lighting her face. “Sach?”

“Haan,” Vishakha said, almost indulgently. “Jo khana ho, woh kha lena.”

Rohan picked up his glass of water, taking a slow sip. On the surface, everything felt lighter. Easier. Almost… normal.

But beneath it… Moves were being made. Quietly. Carefully.

 

And somewhere… The game had already begun to shift.

 

The car moved steadily through the morning traffic, the city gradually coming into motion around him. Shutters rolled up with a metallic clang, vendors arranged their carts with practiced ease, and the early rush began to gather rhythm. Sameer sat in the backseat, one arm resting lightly against the window, his gaze fixed outside, though his thoughts were no longer on the road ahead.

They had drifted back to the morning. To Naina.

There had been a quiet ease in those moments that lingered even now – the soft clink of cups as she poured tea, the way she had moved around the kitchen with unhurried certainty, insisting he sit while she brought him breakfast, as though that small act could anchor everything that lay ahead. And then that moment before he left, when he had pulled her close and said the words without thinking.

“I love you.”

A faint smile touched his lips as he exhaled slowly, the memory settling in with quiet warmth. He could still see her expression – caught off guard for just a second, her brows knitting slightly as if questioning the suddenness of it, and then… softening. Not dramatically. Not overwhelmingly. Just enough to feel real. To feel certain.

She had risen lightly on her toes then, closing the small distance between them, her lips brushing against his jaw in a slow, lingering kiss. And just before stepping away, she had leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear as she whispered, almost playfully, “shaam ko aao… phir proper wali kiss dungi.”

A promise. A quiet reward waiting at the end of a difficult day. And for that… Sameer knew he would walk through anything.

There was something about her… about the way she trusted him so completely, so effortlessly, that steadied him in ways nothing else could. In the middle of plans, risks, and carefully calculated moves, she remained the one constant that didn’t need to be thought through. She didn’t pull him into the chaos – she anchored him away from it.

And that, more than anything else, was what kept him steady at the edge of everything he was about to do. 

For a few seconds longer, he allowed himself that memory. Then the car turned. And Maheshwari Industries came into view. The shift in him was immediate.

His posture straightened slightly, his gaze sharpening as the familiar structure rose ahead – glass, concrete, order. The stillness of the morning receded, replaced by a different kind of focus. The chess board was no longer abstract. It was here. Active. Responsive.

Yesterday had not been just observation. It had been a move – deliberate, measured, just enough to disturb the existing balance without revealing intent too early. And the responses had already begun to surface. Vivek had shown signs of panic, visible even through his attempts to mask it. Vishakha, on the other hand, would not react so openly. She would recalibrate quietly, influence rather than confront, choosing her moments with care. Nanu was safe and had begun to watch more closely than before, and Rohan… Rohan had held his ground exactly as expected.

Sameer leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping once against his knee as his thoughts aligned. If yesterday had been the opening move, today was about positioning. Not one decisive action, but a sequence. Finance first, then procurement, followed by HR – each discussion separate, each interaction contained. No room for coordination, no opportunity for prepared narratives. Every answer would be tested not in isolation, but against the larger pattern that was already beginning to form.

Vivek would try to regain control. That was inevitable. He would push for urgency, attempt to close gaps quickly, rely on confidence where clarity was lacking. Vishakha’s approach would be different. Quieter. More layered. She would not try to overpower the board – she would try to influence it.

Sameer acknowledged that without resistance. Underestimating her would be a mistake. But that didn’t change what he was building.

Because while others were reacting to what had already been set in motion, he was working ahead of it – thinking not in isolated moves, but in sequence, in structure, in inevitability.

The car came to a halt near the entrance.

Sameer stepped out, the morning light sharper now, reflecting faintly off the glass panels. A few employees glanced up as he entered, curiosity flickering briefly before being tucked away. He didn’t acknowledge it. His focus remained steady, directed forward, already moving through the day ahead.

The game was no longer about who would make the next move. It was about who understood the board better. And today, Sameer intended to make that difference clear.

 

The finance cabin was smaller than Sameer’s, functional rather than imposing. Steel cupboards lined one wall, their edges worn from years of use. Files were stacked in careful piles – too careful. The kind of neatness that often tried to hide more than it revealed. A pedestal fan whirred in the corner, its oscillation uneven, pushing warm air across the room.

Mr. Mehta, the Finance Head, stood up the moment Sameer entered.

“Sir…” he greeted, a little too quickly, adjusting his glasses as he gestured toward the chair. “Please… baithiye.”

Sameer acknowledged him with a slight nod but didn’t sit immediately. His gaze moved across the room first – the files, the ledger open on the desk, the calculator placed slightly off-center, as though it had been used recently and then carefully repositioned.

Only then did he sit.

“Relax, Mr. Mehta,” he said calmly. “Yeh koi formal audit nahi hai.”

The words should have been reassuring. They didn’t.

Sameer leaned back slightly, crossing one leg over the other, his tone conversational.

“Aap yahan kitne saal se hain?”

“Sir… lagbhag pandrah saal,” Mr. Mehta replied, his voice steadying just a little. Experience was something he could rely on.

“Achha,” Sameer nodded. “Toh company ke growth phases bhi dekhe honge… aur downturns bhi.”

“Ji…,” Mr. Mehta said, more confidently now. “Sab dekha hai.”

Sameer smiled faintly.

“Toh phir yeh jo current situation hai…” he said, placing a blue file he had brought on the table, but not opening it yet, “aapke hisaab se… temporary hai?”

A simple question. But not really. Mr. Mehta hesitated.

“Sir… market conditions bhi…” he began, choosing the safest route, “aur kuch internal challenges…”

Sameer opened the file then, flipping a few pages casually.

“Internal challenges,” he repeated, as though considering the phrase. “Interesting term hai.”

The fan creaked as it rotated. A page rustled.

“Yeh jo approvals hain,” Sameer said, tapping lightly on one entry, “yeh kis basis pe pass hue the?”

Mr. Mehta leaned forward slightly, adjusting his glasses again. “Sir… woh… uss time urgency thi… toh management approval pe…”

“Management,” Sameer repeated softly, looking up now. “Kaunsa management?”

The question landed differently this time.

“Sir… Mr. Somani…” Mr. Mehta replied, his voice lower now.

Sameer nodded once.

“Written approval?”

Silence.

“Verbal tha,” Mr. Mehta admitted.

Sameer leaned back again, as if that answered something far beyond the words. “Hmm.”

He didn’t push further. Not yet. Instead, he moved to the next file.

“Aapko kya lagta hai,” he continued, tone still even, “jis tarah se yeh sab payments aur approvals ho rahe hai kuch saalo se… usme company ko nuksaan zyada ho raha hai… ya kam?”

Now Mr. Mehta was thinking. Actually thinking.

“Sir… short term mein shayad kuch dikh nahi raha…” he said slowly, “lekin long term mein… company ke liye overall yeh theek nahi hai.”

Sameer’s gaze held his for a second longer. There it was. Not forced. Not extracted. Offered.

“Good,” Sameer said simply, closing the file. “Aap honestly sochte hain.”

It sounded like praise. It wasn’t. It was acknowledgment.

Sameer stood up then. “Aaj ke liye itna kaafi hai,” he said. “Kal thoda aur detail mein baat karenge. Aur haan…” He paused at the door. “Aap jo bhi documents relevant samajhte hain… unko ready rakhiye. Main specifically nahi bolunga. Aap khud choose kijiye.”

That was the real test.

 

He stepped out before Mr. Mehta could respond. The HR cabin had a different energy. Lighter. But not calmer. Ms. Kapoor sat across from him, posture straight, fingers interlocked on the table. A computer hummed softly beside her, the screen filled with employee data sheets.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Maheshwari,” she said, composed.

“Good afternoon,” Sameer replied, taking his seat this time without hesitation.

He didn’t start with numbers. “Attrition rate kya hai currently?” he asked.

Ms. Kapoor blinked once, slightly surprised at the directness.

“Sir… around 18 percent,” she replied.

“High hai,” Sameer said, not as a question.

She nodded. “Ji… especially peechle ek saal mein.”

“Reason?” he asked.

She hesitated. Only for a second.

“Sir… compensation issues… aur… management concerns,” she said carefully.

Sameer tilted his head slightly. “Management concerns,” he repeated, almost mirroring his earlier conversation.

Ms. Kapoor held her ground this time. “Sir… employees feel… decisions consistent nahi hain. Policies change ho jaati hain… without communication.”

Sameer didn’t interrupt.

“Especially women employees,” she added, quieter now. “Retention mein problem aa rahi hai.”

Sameer’s gaze sharpened just slightly. “Specific cases?”

Ms. Kapoor nodded. “Ek-do cases escalate bhi hue the… lekin…” she paused.

“Lekin?” Sameer prompted.

“They were closed,” she said.

“Closed… ya close kar diye gaye?” Sameer asked softly.

The fan whirred. The question lingered. Ms. Kapoor didn’t answer immediately. That itself was an answer. Sameer didn’t push. He didn’t need to.

“Files kal ready rakhiye,” he said, standing up. “Especially escalations wali.”

He moved toward the door, then stopped briefly.

“Ms. Kapoor,” he added, without turning back, “company ko policies se zyada… consistency chalati hai.”

And then he walked out.

 

As he stepped back into the corridor, the noise of the office returned – phones ringing, papers moving, low conversations resuming. But Sameer’s expression didn’t change

Two conversations. Two confirmations. The pattern was no longer forming. It was visible.

And somewhere, without realizing it… The opposing side had already begun to lose position.

 

And this is exactly why Sameer chose to go to the people instead of calling them in. In their own cabins, surrounded by their work, their habits, their comfort – people didn’t prepare answers. They revealed them.

 

The next was procurement. The procurement cabin was larger than the others, but cluttered. Files stacked high, vendor catalogues spread open, a whiteboard filled with supplier names – some overwritten, some circled, some half-erased. A table fan whirred near the window, its airflow disturbing loose sheets into a restless flutter.

 

Mr. Desai looked up as Sameer entered. Surprise flickered. Then caution settled in.

“Sir… aap batate toh main aa jaata,” he said, standing up quickly.

Sameer stepped inside, closing the door just enough to dull the corridor noise.

“Koi baat nahi… Main hi aa gaya,” he said simply, taking the seat across.

Mr. Desai sat down slowly, his fingers already reaching toward a file. Preparing.

Sameer noticed. And began. “Supplier selection process kya hai aapka?”

The question was routine. The tone was not.

Mr. Desai responded quickly, falling into familiarity. “Sir… quotations, comparative analysis, cost efficiency, delivery timelines…”

Sameer nodded, picking up a file casually. “Comparative analysis… written hota hai?”

“Ji.”

He flipped a few pages. Paused.

“Yeh jo recent consignment tha…” Sameer said, as if recalling it mid-thought, “jo accident mein gaya…”

Mr. Desai froze. Just for a second.

Sameer looked up. “Loss kitna hua?”

“Sir… approx…” Mr. Desai fumbled slightly, then gave a number.

Sameer nodded, absorbing it without reaction.

“Truck supplier ka tha?”

“Ji… unka arrangement tha.”

“Replacement kaise handle ho raha hai?”

A pause.

“Sir… discussion chal raha hai…”

Sameer leaned back slightly.

“Full payment already ho chuka hai na?”

Mr. Desai’s throat went dry. “Ji… advance…”

Sameer’s gaze held his.

“Advance… ya full payment?”

Silence.

“Sir… full payment ho gaya tha,” Mr. Desai admitted quietly.

Sameer nodded once.

“Interesting.”

He closed the file gently.

“Policy kya kehti hai?”

Mr. Desai didn’t answer. He knew.

Sameer did not wait. “Forty percent advance. Sixty percent post-delivery and quality check,” he said calmly. “Toh yahan exception kyun liya gaya?”

The fan creaked louder as it turned.

“Sir… urgency thi…”

Sameer almost smiled. Almost.

“Insurance?”

Mr. Desai blinked.

“Sir?”

“Shipment insured tha?” Sameer clarified. “Itna bada consignment… supplier ne insure kiya hoga.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“Sir… check karna padega…”

Sameer didn’t react. Just shifted the question.

“Compensation?”

Mr. Desai stared at him.

“Maheshwari Industries ne full payment kar diya… consignment destroy ho gaya… supplier compensation offer kar raha hai?”

No answer. Sameer leaned forward slightly now. Not aggressive. Just… precise.

“Restocking kab ho raha hai?”

Mr. Desai’s fingers tightened on the file.

“Kis supplier se?”

Silence filled the room.

This time, it wasn’t hesitation. It was absence. Sameer watched him for a few seconds. Then leaned back again.

And that was when… The door opened. Without knocking.

Vivek stood at the threshold, his breathing slightly uneven, his eyes moving quickly between Sameer and Mr. Desai.

“Yahan kya ho raha hai?” he asked, trying to sound controlled, but the sharpness slipped through.

Sameer didn’t turn immediately. He let the moment stretch. Let the interruption speak for itself. Then slowly – He looked at him. “Discussion,” Sameer said calmly.

Vivek stepped in. “Yeh sab zaroori nahi hai. Main explain kar chuka hoon…”

Sameer raised a hand. Not aggressively. But enough to stop him.

“Main Mr. Desai se baat kar raha hoon,” he said evenly.

Vivek’s jaw tightened. Sameer’s gaze returned to Mr. Desai.

“Answer,” he said quietly.

The word landed harder than any accusation could have.

Mr. Desai hesitated. Vivek stepped in quickly, voice controlled but edged with urgency. “Main explain kar deta hoon. Supplier Thailand ka hai, coordination mein time lag raha hai…”

Sameer turned slightly toward him. Not fully. Just enough to acknowledge.

“Achha,” he said.

No challenge. No push. Just… acceptance.

That unsettled Vivek more. Sameer leaned back again, as if the answer had satisfied him. “Fair,” he added.

A pause. Then he looked back at Mr. Desai.

“Kal tak documentation ready rakhiye,” he said calmly. “Supplier details, insurance, payment structure, jo bhi current discussions chale rahe hai… sab.”

Mr. Desai nodded quickly. “Ji sir.”

Sameer stood. No confrontation. No accusation. No escalation.

And that was the problem. Because Vivek did not relax. He stiffened.

“Dekho,” he said, trying to regain authority, “yeh sab process mein hai. Tum tension na lo…”

Sameer picked up the file, closed it, and placed it back on the table. “Main tension nahi le raha,” he said evenly. Then he looked directly at Vivek. “Aap le rahe hain.”

A beat. Small. Precise.

Sameer moved toward the door, then paused.

“Mr. Desai,” he added without turning, “documents carefully verify kar lijiye. Kal jab main dekhunga… toh mujhe clarity chahiye hogi.”

Another pause. Then, almost casually, “Confusion nahi.”

He stepped out. Inside the room, the silence felt heavier than before. Because nothing had exploded. Nothing had been exposed. And yet… Everything had been set.

Vivek turned to Mr. Desai immediately. “Files ready hain na? Jaisa humne discuss kiya tha waisa…”

Mr. Desai didn’t respond instantly. Because for the first time… He wasn’t sure.

Outside, Sameer kept his gaze averted from all the employees, choosing to instead fiddle with the mobile in his hands.

Not every move needed to attack. Some just needed to wait. And this… was how you built a checkmate.

 

By the time Sameer stepped out of the procurement cabin, something had already begun to shift – and Vivek Somani could feel it in a way he could neither explain nor ignore.

He walked back to his cabin faster than usual, shutting the door behind him with more force than necessary, the sound echoing briefly before being swallowed by the hum of the ceiling fan. The room suddenly felt smaller, warmer, the air heavier against his skin. He tugged at his collar, pacing once across the length of the room before turning sharply, his fingers dragging through his hair in restless agitation.

It was only lunch time. Half a day.

And Sameer had already spoken to three key people. Finance. HR. Procurement.

Three conversations – quiet, controlled, almost casual on the surface – but each one ending with the same thing: documents. Files. Details. Evidence.

“Kya karna chah raha hai yeh…” Vivek muttered under his breath, stopping near his desk, his palms pressing flat against its surface as he leaned forward, staring at nothing in particular.

He had thought – no, he had been certain – that Sameer stepping in meant something else entirely. That the man had finally come forward as a grandson, that whatever resentment existed would stay buried under the weight of family ties. That this would be simple. Manageable. Predictable.

But this… This was not how relatives behaved.

Sameer had not argued. He had not accused. He had not even raised his voice. And yet every question he asked seemed to leave something behind – an unease, a sharpness, a quiet warning that refused to settle. On the surface they were straightforward, almost procedural… but something beneath them made Vivek’s spine go cold.

Those were not simple questions. They were probes. Carefully placed. Deliberately timed.

Venturing into places he had never expected anyone to look.

“No…” Vivek shook his head, pushing himself upright as if physically resisting the thought. “Yeh nahi chal sakta…”

He began pacing again, faster now, his steps uneven, his breath coming slightly heavier. He had come too far to let this slip. Too much had been built, too many things put into motion, too many compromises made along the way. This was not something he could afford to lose – not now, not when he was this close to stabilizing everything.

“Control…” he muttered, almost to himself. “Mujhe control wapas lena hoga…”

His gaze fell on the files stacked on his desk, and for a moment he stood still, staring at them as though they held the answer. Sameer wanted documents. Fine. He would give him documents. But only what he chose to show. Only what could stand scrutiny. Only what would hold together no matter how deeply Sameer tried to dig.

An airtight case.

Clean. Consistent. Controlled.

His thoughts circled rapidly, searching, rejecting, recalibrating… and then suddenly stopped.

Replacement.

The word settled sharply in his mind.

Sameer had asked about the lost consignment. About the supplier. About restocking.

And just like that, a possibility surfaced. Not ideal. Not safe. But usable.

The supplier.

The one who had been waiting. The one who had made that proposal – subtle at first, then increasingly direct.

Vivek’s hand moved toward the phone almost instinctively, dialing before the thought could be questioned further. The line rang longer than he would have liked, each second stretching his already frayed nerves tighter.

“Hello?”

Vivek straightened immediately. “Patel saab… Vivek Somani bol raha hoon.”

There was a brief pause before the response came, calm and measured. “Ji, Mr. Somani… kaafi din baad yaad kiya.”

Vivek forced a small laugh, though it lacked any real ease. “Haan… thoda busy tha. Business ka pressure…”

“Samajh sakta hoon,” the man replied smoothly. “Toh kaise yaad kiya?”

Vivek hesitated for a fraction of a second, then lowered his voice, instinctively cautious despite being alone. “Woh jo aapne baat ki thi… partnership ki… aur future ki…”

A soft chuckle came from the other end, knowing, unhurried. “Aakhir yaad aa hi gaya.”

Vivek ignored the undertone, pushing forward. “Mujhe ek urgent requirement hai. Consignment replace karna hai – immediately. Documentation clean hona chahiye… delivery aaj raat tak…”

Silence followed. Longer this time.

Then…

“Ho jayega,” Patel said. “Lekin Mr. Somani… aap jaante hain… main favors free mein nahi karta.”

Vivek’s jaw tightened, his grip on the receiver firming. He knew exactly what was being implied.

“Main apne bete se baat kar chuka hoon,” he said, forcing steadiness into his voice. “Abhi mujhe yeh kaam chahiye. Urgent.”

“Of course,” came the reply, smooth as ever. “Main details bhej deta hoon. Aap tension mat lijiye.”

The line disconnected.

Vivek slowly placed the receiver back, his hand lingering there for a moment as if grounding himself. He exhaled deeply, running a hand over his face, trying to steady the racing thoughts.

This would work. It had to.

Because at this point, he was no longer trying to stay ahead. He was trying to stay afloat.

 

While eating a solitary lunch in his cabin, Sameer’s phone buzzed with a message from Aman. He glanced at it – and smiled. It was not just any smile. It was the kind that appeared when a deal had unfolded exactly as he had predicted, when variables aligned just as he had anticipated. A quiet, assured smile of someone who already knew how the game would end. The kind of expression that never sat well with the person sitting across the table.

His phone rang moments later. The smile shifted instantly – softening, warming.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hi…” Naina’s voice came through, a faint smile lacing her words, still shy at the endearment that she had begun to hear often, and yet each time it managed to quicken her heartbeat. “Sach mein akele kha rahe ho?”

Sameer exhaled lightly, leaning back in his chair. “Yes… maine bataya tha na. Aaj yeh distance zaroori hai.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “Mujhe yeh sab office ke daav-pench samajh nahi aate.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “Koi baat nahi. Tumne khana kha liya?”

“Kha rahi hoon…” she replied, a small smile in her voice. “Tumhare saath.”

That drew a genuine smile from him. “Aree waah… mujhe nahi pata tha meri biwi meri itni parwah karti hai.”

A blush spread across her cheeks, even though he could not see it. “Aaj raat ko chole banva rahi hoon.”

Sameer chuckled. He had begun to notice it, how she instinctively leaned toward comfort whenever she sensed his day would be difficult. “Thode zyada banana.”

“Jaanti hoon,” she said, almost knowingly. “Aaj late hoga aane mein?”

Sameer’s gaze drifted briefly to the small stack of files still waiting on his table. “Shayad nahi… 5 baje ka target hai mera. Let’s see.” He took a bite of his food, then added lightly, “Kyun? Kuch kaam hai?”

“Hmm… bahot important kaam hai,” she replied.

He frowned slightly, intrigued. “Kya? Chaat khani hai kya? Ya kuch meetha chahiye?”

She giggled. “Meetha hi samjho…” then added, almost teasingly, “mere husband ka taste kaafi meetha hai.”

Sameer nearly choked on his next bite, coughing as he reached for water.

“Arre… Sameer! Theek ho? Paani peeyo!” her voice came instantly, laced with concern.

He obeyed, taking a few sips before recovering, his voice slightly hoarse. “Darling… tumhari timing ka koi jawab nahi. Yeh flirting tumhe tab kyun nahi suujhti jab main ghar pe hota hoon?”

She relaxed, a smile returning now that she knew he was fine. “Sujhta hai na… bahot kuch sujhta hai.”

He paused, genuinely surprised by how easily she said it this time. Curious. Interested. “Kya?”

She seemed to consider it for a moment. “Umm… ek toh tumhari tie… yaad hai na Mumbai mein uss din…”

“Wait,” Sameer interrupted, glancing down at himself. “Tie?” He looked at the light grey one he was wearing. “Yeh toh main roz pehenta hoon. What’s so special about it?”

She shrugged lightly. “Pata nahi… it’s just…” a brief pause, then with quiet certainty, “…sexy.”

Sameer stilled for a second. “Wow… shayad kuch naye ties laane padenge,” he said, amused. Then, more curious now, “aur?”

Naina took a sip of the cool buttermilk Sarla Kaki had made for her, letting the moment stretch. “Yahan swimming pool nahi hai… warna…”

A slow smirk formed on Sameer’s lips. “You liked what you saw?”

“Naturally,” she replied, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Main toh books dekhne aayi thi… tumne Kolkata mein bataya tha na ke study mein kaafi kitaabe hain. Par…” she let out a soft laugh, “…mera saara dhyan tumpe chala gaya. Ek bhi kitaab nahi dekhi.”

This time he laughed, low and warm. “Oh sweetheart… tum kaho toh aaj raat phir se waise hi aa jaata hoon tumhare saamne.”

She frowned lightly. “Iss ghar mein swimming pool nahi hai.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Shower ke neeche geela hoke aa jaunga.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Aisa sab karne ki zaroorat nahi hai.”

There was a small pause then… quieter, more thoughtful. And then she said, almost under her breath, “Tum… mujhe aise hi bahot pasand ho.”

Sameer drew in a breath, the lightness of the conversation settling into something deeper. “Sach?”

“Haan,” she said gently. “Ekdum sach.”

Something shifted in him then – subtle, but real. The noise of the office, the files on his desk, the strategy running in his mind – all of it moved to the background for just a moment.

“Main jaldi kaam khatam karke ghar aata hoon,” he said quietly.

She smiled. “Theek hai. Main wait karungi. Apna dhyan rakhna.”

The call ended, but the warmth of it lingered – steady, grounding – like a quiet promise waiting at the end of a long day.

 

The call left Sameer with a quiet surge of energy, like a controlled rush of adrenaline settling beneath the surface. He finished the rest of his meal with renewed focus, his mind already aligning itself with the next set of moves.

Across the building, the canteen carried on in its usual rhythm – steel plates clattering, the low hum of conversations filling the space, the occasional burst of laughter breaking through.

Jaiprakash and Rohan sat at one of the long tables, eating at an unhurried pace. Their lunch was simple, their conversation lighter on the surface, though both of them remained observant – watching the flow of people, noting who lingered, who avoided eye contact, who seemed unusually preoccupied. A few employees stopped by their table, exchanging polite greetings, slipping into brief conversations before moving along.

Vivek entered midway through the meal. His presence did not go unnoticed.

His glasses sat slightly crooked on his face, his shirt creased as though he had been tugging at it repeatedly, and there was an unmistakable restlessness in the way he moved. He placed his order without really looking at the menu, barely acknowledging the server, and then sat down heavily at a nearby table.

When the food arrived, he began eating immediately – quickly, mechanically – barely pausing between bites. He did not even notice what was on his plate. Tinde. Something he usually refused to touch.

Rohan caught the detail first, his lips twitching as he leaned slightly toward his grandfather. “Bhai ne inke hosh uda rakhe hain,” he murmured.

Jaiprakash allowed himself a small, knowing smile. “Haan… aankhon ke aage andhera dikh raha hoga ab ise.”

Rohan glanced once more in Vivek’s direction before lowering his voice again. “Aapko lagta hai mummy kuch karegi inki help karne ke liye?”

Jaiprakash paused, considering the question for a moment before replying. “Karna toh chahegi,” he said thoughtfully. “Lekin Vishakha ne kabhi office mein interest nahi liya. Maine ek baar koshish ki thi usko sikhane ki… par uska kehna tha use rani banke rehna hai. Yeh sab kaam-vaam ke chakkar mein nahi padna.”

Rohan shook his head lightly, a hint of resignation in his expression. “I wish meri life mein jo bhi aaye… woh bhabhi ki tarah ho. Independent.”

Jaiprakash chuckled softly. “Tumhare papa ne jisko dhunda hai… woh toh papa ki pari hai.”

Rohan made a face instantly, visible disgust crossing his features. “Ughh… don’t remind me. I am so glad Bhai handled it.”

The conversation tapered off after that, both of them returning to their meals as the noise around them continued to swell and settle in waves.

At nearby tables, conversations had begun to shift. Lower. More deliberate.

“SJM teen departments mein gaye aaj…”

“Finance… HR… Procurement…”

“Sab log tension mein hain…”

“Agla kaun hai?”

The murmurs spread quietly, carried from one table to another, building curiosity, speculation, unease.

And at one corner of the canteen, Vivek Somani sat alone, eating rapidly, almost compulsively – like a man who had neither the time nor the clarity to pause. As if something unseen had already been set loose behind him. And he could feel it… Closing in.

 

Back in his cabin, Vivek did not sit immediately. He stood near the desk, staring at the phone for a few seconds as if steadying himself, before finally picking it up and dialing a number he knew by heart.

The line connected on the second ring.

“Haan?” Vishakha’s voice came through, calm, composed, as if she had been expecting this call.

“Vishakha…” Vivek exhaled, running a hand through his hair again. “Yahan sab gadbad ho raha hai.”

She did not react immediately. “Shaant ho jao,” she said evenly. “Aaram se batao kya hua.”

And he did. From yesterday’s morning meeting with Jaiprakash… to Sameer’s entry into the office… to the way he had gone from one department to another, asking questions, demanding documents, not raising his voice but still managing to unsettle everyone. By the time he finished, his words had begun to overlap, frustration slipping into anxiety.

“Samajh nahi aa raha yeh kar kya raha hai,” he ended, his voice lower now. “Har jagah ghus raha hai… sabse alag alag baat kar raha hai… files maang raha hai…”

There was a brief silence on the other end. Measured.

Then Vishakha spoke. “Accident ka sab handle ho gaya hai na?”

The question was precise. Focused.

Vivek blinked, thrown off for a second by the shift. “Haan… matlab… haan, sab ho gaya hai.”

“Photos?” she asked.

“Liye gaye hain.”

“Police report?”

“Ban gayi hai.”

“Witnesses?”

“Arrange kar diye hain…”

“And supplier acknowledgement?”

There was the slightest pause, but Vivek recovered quickly.

“Haan… woh bhi ho jayega.”

Another moment of silence followed. Then, Vishakha exhaled softly. “Toh phir tension lene ki koi zaroorat nahi hai.”

Vivek frowned slightly. “Matlab?”

“Matlab yeh,” she said calmly, “Sameer sirf pressure create kar raha hai. Aur kuch nahi.” Her tone carried certainty. Not doubt.

“Mujhe pakka yakeen hai uske paas koi concrete details nahi hain,” she continued. “Woh bas sawal puch raha hai… dekh raha hai kaun kitna hilta hai.”

Vivek’s breathing began to steady.

“Yaad nahi tumhe?” she added, a faint hint of disdain entering her voice. “Bachpan mein bhi aisa hi karta tha. Apni galtiyan chupane ke liye cheekhta-chillata rehta tha… tumpe aur mujhpe ilzaam lagata tha.” A pause. “Lekin kabhi kuch saabit nahi kar pata tha.”

The words settled in slowly. Familiar. Comforting.

“Yeh bilkul waisa hi situation hai,” Vishakha said, her voice now quieter, more assured. “Bas ab bada ho gaya hai… toh chilla nahi raha. Lekin chaal wahi hai.”

Vivek let out a long breath, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Haan…” he murmured. “Shayad tum theek keh rahi ho…” He moved toward his chair and sat down finally, leaning back as if reclaiming his space. “Main aise hi pareshan ho gaya,” he admitted, almost to himself.

Vishakha did not respond immediately. She knew better than to interrupt that moment of self-correction.

“Waise bhi,” Vivek continued, his tone gaining steadiness, “koi bhi department mere permission ke bina Sameer ko files nahi dega. They know who pays their salary.”

There was a faint pause.Then Vivek added, almost with a hint of relief, “Aur rahi baat consignment ki… toh woh replace karne ka intezaam ho gaya hai.”

Vishakha straightened slightly at the other end.

“Sach?” she asked, a note of surprise slipping through despite her otherwise controlled tone. “Kaise arrange kiya replacement?”

Vivek allowed himself a small, self-assured smile. “Wahi supplier… Hemant Patel.”

There was a moment of silence. Then… “Lekin… woh kaise?” Vishakha asked, her voice narrowing slightly. “Rohan maan gaya?”

Vivek shook his head instinctively, even though she could not see him. “Maine baat hi nahi ki usse dobara,” he said. “Mr. Patel ko bas itna bataya ke main apne bete se baat kar chuka hoon… taaki woh aaj raat ko hi stock bhej de.”

Vishakha’s silence this time was sharper. “Rohan nahi maanega…” she said quietly.

Vivek exhaled, but there was no panic in it now, only calculation. “Main thodi der mein baat karta hoon usse,” he replied. “Samjhane ki koshish karta hoon.” A brief pause. “Tumne jo samjhaya tha na Rohan aur Deepika ko… wahi use karunga. Sameer kaise hamare parivaar ko alag karna chahta hai… business ka control lena chahta hai…” His voice steadied further. “Wahi angle use karke Rohan ko manane ki koshish karunga.”

Vishakha hummed thoughtfully. “Yeh shayad kaam kar jaaye,” she said, her tone measured again. “Waise bhi… kal jis tarah se Sameer ne Rohan se sawaal-jawaab kiya… Rohan ko bura laga hoga.”

Vivek nodded, settling deeper into his chair now. “Haan… aaj lunch bhi saath nahi kiya,” he added. “Papa aur Rohan canteen mein the. Sameer cabin se bahar hi nahi aaya… shayad uska lunch kahin bahar se aaya ho.”

There was a faint shift in Vishakha’s tone – almost satisfaction. “Yeh toh bahot achchi baat hai,” she said. “Tum theek keh rahe ho… ho sakta hai Rohan maan jaaye iss baar.”

A small pause followed. Then, more firmly… “Tum koshish karo. Phir mujhe batana.”

“Hmm,” Vivek agreed, his confidence returning in measured layers. The call ended soon after. And this time, when Vivek placed the receiver down, his movements were slower.

More controlled. Because now, he had a plan again.

 

Vivek did not wait too long after the call. By the time the afternoon had settled into its quieter rhythm, he was already walking down the corridor toward Rohan’s cabin, his steps slower now, more controlled than they had been earlier. The panic had receded – not completely, but enough to allow thought to replace reaction.

He knocked once before pushing the door open. Rohan looked up from the file he had been reviewing, his expression neutral, though his eyes sharpened slightly on seeing his father.

“Papa?”

Vivek stepped in, closing the door behind him, his tone deliberately softer this time. “Busy ho?”

Rohan leaned back slightly in his chair. “Kaam toh hai…” he said, then added, “lekin aap kahiye.”

Vivek took the seat across from him, not immediately getting to the point. For a moment, he simply looked at his son – as if measuring how to approach this.

“Subah se jo ho raha hai…” he began slowly, “Sameer ka behaviour… suna toh hoga tumne aur papa ne.”

Rohan didn’t respond. Just watched.

“Mujhe samajh nahi aa raha woh kya prove karna chahta hai,” Vivek continued, a hint of frustration slipping in despite his effort to keep it measured. “Har department mein jaake sawal pooch raha hai… jaise hum koi paraye ho.”

A brief pause. Then, more deliberately – “Tumhe theek laga yeh sab?”

Rohan’s fingers tapped lightly against the table once before he answered. “Questions toh valid the…” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Business ke point of view se.”

Vivek stiffened slightly. “Valid?” he repeated. “Apne hi logon pe itna doubt karna valid hai?”

Rohan met his gaze now. “Doubt nahi… verification,” he said calmly.

The word lingered. Vivek leaned forward, his tone shifting, less defensive, more persuasive now.

“Rohan,” he said, lowering his voice, “tum samajh nahi rahe ho. Yeh sirf business nahi hai. Yeh family hai.”

Rohan’s expression didn’t change.

“Sameer tumhe apni taraf karne ki koshish kar raha hai,” Vivek continued. “Kal bhi tumse alag baat ki… aaj bhi…”

He paused, watching for a reaction.

“Woh hume alag karna chahta hai,” he added quietly. “Control lena chahta hai business ka.”

Rohan’s gaze dropped briefly to the file in front of him. Vivek pressed further, sensing the shift.

“Tumhe kya lagta hai woh tumhare liye kar raha hai yeh sab?” he asked. “Ya apne liye?”

Silence stretched between them. Then Vivek changed track.

“Ek aur baat hai,” he said, his tone practical now. “Jo consignment ka issue chal raha hai… uska solution mil gaya hai.”

Rohan looked up again.

“Replacement arrange ho gaya hai,” Vivek continued. “Same supplier ke through… Hemant Patel.”

Rohan’s expression tightened, just slightly. “Without discussing with me?” he asked.

“Time nahi tha,” Vivek replied quickly. “Situation urgent hai. Ek chote se issue ke wajah se business ka control nahi kho sakte hum. Aur waise bhi… main baat kar chuka hoon unse. Bas formalities baaki hain.”

Rohan leaned back, exhaling slowly. “Papa…” he began, his tone measured, “aap jaante ho na woh kya condition rakh raha tha.”

Vivek waved it off lightly. “Woh sab baad mein dekh lenge,” he said. “Abhi priority business hai.”

Rohan didn’t respond immediately. He looked away for a moment, as if thinking through something far more layered than what was being said aloud. “Main abhi commitment nahi de sakta,” he said finally.

Vivek’s jaw tightened slightly. “Matlab?”

“Matlab…” Rohan met his gaze again, steady now, “mujhe sochne do.” A pause. “Thode din.”

The answer wasn’t a yes. But it wasn’t a no either. Vivek studied him for a second longer.

Then… He smiled.

“Of course,” he said, his tone easing. “Soch lo.” He stood up, adjusting his shirt as if the matter had already settled in his favor. “Main handle kar lunga tab tak,” he added casually. “Tum tension mat lo.”

Rohan nodded faintly. Vivek walked out of the cabin, his steps lighter than before.

A few days. That was more than enough. Hemant Patel could be managed. The paperwork could be arranged. And once everything was in place… Rohan would have no reason to refuse.

Behind him, in the quiet of his cabin, Rohan remained seated, his expression unreadable. Because while Vivek believed he had bought time, Rohan knew exactly how much time he really had.

 

Meanwhile, post lunch, Sameer continued moving through the office, meeting more people without pause. He spoke to the supply department head, a few employees who had been with the organization for decades, some newer recruits still settling into their roles, and even a couple of female staff from administration. He did not restrict himself to hierarchy – he paused at the reception, exchanged a few words with the peons, asked small, almost casual questions that seemed harmless on the surface but left people answering more than they intended.

As the afternoon wore on, the energy within the office shifted. The earlier curiosity gave way to something quieter – more watchful, more aware. Conversations lowered in tone, movements became more measured, as if the building itself had begun to anticipate something it could not yet see.

It was close to four when Sameer finally stepped out of his cabin, intending to head toward the canteen for a cup of tea. His pace was unhurried, his expression unchanged, but his gaze remained alert, taking in everything around him.

That was when he spotted Rohan at the far end of the corridor.

He stood there with a file in hand, his eyes scanning the floor – not idly, but with quiet intent, as if mapping the space, the people, the movement.

For a brief moment, his gaze lifted. And met Sameer’s. There was no surprise in it. Only recognition.

Sameer’s eyes moved over him once – measured, assessing – before his head tilted ever so slightly. A question.

Rohan did not respond immediately. He stopped a passing peon, handed over the file with a few brief instructions, his attention shifting just long enough to ensure it was understood. Then, as the peon moved away, he looked back at Sameer. And gave a small nod.

That was all.

They began walking at the same time, their paths intersecting in the middle of the corridor. Neither slowed, neither paused, and no words were exchanged as they crossed each other – just a moment of silent acknowledgment that passed as quickly as it came.

Sameer continued toward the canteen without breaking stride, while Rohan turned and stepped into Jaiprakash’s cabin.

A few feet away, near the doorway of his own cabin, Vivek Somani watched the entire exchange… or rather, the absence of one. A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face as he leaned back slightly, the tension of the morning easing from his shoulders.

To him, it meant only one thing. The distance remained. The fracture had not healed. In fact, it seemed wider than before. Exactly as he and Vishakha needed it to be.

And for the first time since morning, Vivek allowed himself to feel a sense of control returning. Not realizing – That sometimes, silence was not absence. It was alignment.

 

Sameer did not linger long in the canteen. The tea remained half-finished, more a pause than a necessity, as his mind continued to move through the day’s observations, fitting pieces together with quiet precision. By the time he stepped out of the building, the sun had begun its descent, casting a softer, golden light across the compound.

The office behind him still buzzed, but he did not look back. The day had given him what he needed. The next move would come later. Instead of heading straight home, he took a short detour. The car pulled up near a small florist tucked between two older shops, its front shaded by a faded awning. Buckets of fresh flowers lined the entrance – vibrant against the muted tones of the street.

Sameer stepped out, his gaze moving across the display before settling. Not roses. Too predictable.

He chose a bunch of white tuberoses – rajnigandha – their long, delicate stems carrying a fragrance that lingered quietly, not overpowering but unmistakably present. Fresh. Subtle. Enduring.

He paid without much negotiation, the florist wrapping them carefully in thin paper before handing them over. As Sameer got back into the car, the faint scent filled the space almost immediately.

The drive to Ellisbridge was calmer than the morning had been. The city seemed to move at a slower pace now, the rush easing into the rhythm of evening. Shops lit up one by one, people gathered in small clusters, the air carrying the promise of a night that had yet to unfold.

Sameer leaned back slightly, the flowers resting beside him, his gaze drifting, but his mind was no longer on the office. 

When the car finally turned into the quiet lane leading to the bungalow, the contrast was immediate. The noise of the city softened, replaced by stillness, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the distant hum of traffic. The gate opened, and the car rolled into the driveway.

 

Sameer stepped out, picking up the flowers before heading toward the door. For a brief moment, he paused. Not out of hesitation. But awareness. The day he had just left behind… And the evening that awaited him. Then he stepped inside.

 

Inside, the house carried a different kind of warmth.

The faint aroma of food lingered in the air – spices, something slow-cooked, familiar. Light spilled softly from the windows, and somewhere within, there was movement.

Life.

 

Mukesh Kaka, who had opened the door, greeted him with a smile and a bow before returning to the task Sarla Kaki had assigned him – shelling the freshly bought tuver.

Naina stepped out of the kitchen just then, a bowl of grapes in her hand, and paused the moment she saw Sameer. Her face lit up. “Tum aa gaye.”

Sameer smiled, his gaze lingering on the face he adored. For a fleeting moment, he wanted to cross the distance and kiss her right there. But the awareness of Mukesh Kaka at the table, and Sarla Kaki moving about in the kitchen, held him back.

“Main change kar leta hoon pehle,” he said instead.

Naina nodded, watching him go, before quickly turning back toward the kitchen.

 

Barely a couple of minutes later, she stepped into their room with a glass of water. And stopped. Sameer stood by the foot of the bed. Waiting. He hadn’t changed… Hadn’t even started.

A faint, slightly dreamy smile curved her lips. She had hoped. Wished that he would wait for her and not start to change. Had he understood her unspoken wish? She placed the glass of water on the dresser, not even offering it to him. His eyes tracked her movements, he wasn’t thirsty either, at least not for water.

The gaze shifted to her feet… pink… her toenails were painted pink… like pink roses… He wanted as those dainty steps came close… close enough to touch his own feet, that looked large in-front of her delicate ones. Slowly, unhurriedly, he traced his eyes up her body, reaching and settling on her face.

He drew in a shaky breath at the sparkle in her eyes. Lifting his hand he held out the flowers, “main yeh laaya.”

She smiled, accepting them, “bahot achche hai. Thank you.”

“Kuch pink laana chahiye tha shayad”

“Pink kyun?”

His tongue brushed his lips unconsciously. “Tumne aaj nailpolish lagaya… Kolkata me lagaya tha last hotel spa me… red… aur ab pink.”

Her smile widened, pleased that he had noticed. “Mere paas nahi hai nailpolish.” She offered an explanation as to why she hadn’t ever applied it at home. Then added, “yeh bhi Sarla Kaki ne lagake diya. Unki beti Dubai me rehti hai toh leke aai thi wahan se.”

He swallowed, his hand clenching in the air, “main tumhe laake dunga. Saare colors…”

She chuckled, “okay… par abhi filhaal… mujhe nailpolish ki baat nahi karni.”

“Toh phir?” He asked, trying to keep the hope out of his voice.

She dropped the flowers on the bed, and lifted her hands to his tie – tracing the knot, the outline… Sameer exhaled, a soft, disbelieving laugh escaping him. “Phir se tie?”

Her eyes lifted to his face, and then dropped to the tie again, “tumpe suit karta hai… aur mera man karta hai…”

He whispered, “kya?”

She didn’t answer in words… Rather, just like last time, she took hold of the silky material, and tugged… He followed the pull, bending slightly. And she lifted herself just enough… Her lips met his in a feather soft kiss that made them both sigh softly. His hands lifted to her hips – light – just touching, not holding… Yet… She savored, inching as close as she could, tasting his upper and then lower lip. She wanted to keep it soft, light – a caring gesture, rather than a claim. But her body seemed to demand otherwise.

His taste shot through her… her nerves exploding… her spine tingling. The very blood in her veins seemed to sizzle. Something clenched in her belly, spiraling downwards, until heat pooled between her legs. She couldn’t even catalog her body’s reactions… It had taken her by surprise as well.

The need, the want… The inexplicable desire to touch him.

She drew back, panting as if she had run a marathon already. He also drew in long breaths, his eyes searching hers, wondering if this was all or he could get another kiss. He tried to understand why she pulled back. “Naina…”

He stopped in surprise, when he felt her hands move down… He lowered his head, watching in fascination as the pink painted nails deftly unbuttoned his suit jacket. Then her hands were on his chest – over the shirt – but still the warmth seared him. He groaned low and wanting as her hands smoothed over his shoulders, pushing the charcoal jacket away. He cooperated, letting it slip down his hands, and then fall… He didn’t even know where.

“Betho”, she said, her voice firm but barely above a whisper.

He dropped. Not even checking if the bed was behind him or not. It was as if his body automatically obeyed her. 

She seemed surprised for a moment at the way he just plopped down… As if his legs had given away… Or his body seemed to be incapable of resisting on hearing her order. The thrill she felt at this action of his, once more took her by surprise.

She sat sideways on his lap, her gaze never leaving his… She decided to test it again, “hold me.”

Sure enough, his hands wrapped around her, pulling her body flush to his. She smiled… Powerful. That’s what she felt at that moment… SJM – the man who commanded any room he walked in, the man whom everyone obeyed, the man who never bent, never yielded… He was obeying her.

He was hers… Her husband… Her Sameer.

Her fingers slipped into his hair, holding him as she leaned down again, claiming his mouth – deeper this time, surer, the hesitation gone. A sharp, possessive emotion surged through her, startling in its intensity. She understood him then – how he felt whenever he slid his hand around her waist pulling her to him, glaring at the men who looked at her.

She wanted to do the same… Next time… If ever someone comes to flirt with him, she was just going to grab his tie, and pull him down for a kiss… Damn the world around them.

Her other hand picked at the knot of his tie, loosening the fabric, tugging until it lay open… And then her hands were on the buttons of his white shirt. He shuddered, his mind that had been floating into oblivion, now suddenly divided into two parts – one part was still hazy with pleasure, but the other part was scrambling to make sense of her actions. Did she even realize what she was doing? Should he stop her? Even as he tried to think the kiss deepened more, three buttons opened, her fingers drifted from fabric to skin… He was helpless as he moaned.

She nipped at his lower lip, kissing the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his yes. He gathered enough breath and sense, to try to slow her down, “Naina… Sweetheart…”

But once again she stole his breath as well as a quick deep kiss from his willing mouth. And then her sinful lips moved to the side of his neck. He gasped, his hands tightening around her, molten gold exploding beneath his closed eyelids. Sharp little teeth nipped at the point his pulse thundered, and then sank in… A sudden strong suction. He moaned her name, like a fervent prayer… She licked the spot gently, and declared, “mine.”

Sameer trembled. Completely undone.

His body pliant and loose as she kissed back up his neck, his lips, peppering kisses all over his face. And then she hugged him, pulling his head to her chest, her chin resting on the top of his head… His eyes were still closed. Never had he felt such a thing in his life… He was the one who took the lead… In boardrooms, in meetings, in deals, in relationships… Everything went as he wanted, as he demanded, as he commanded. He never surrendered, yet today he had… In front of her… And he didn’t feel inferior… Instead he felt a strange mixture of thrill and comfort – thrilled at being claimed as hers, comforted at her care.

He felt a small kiss on his head, and then she queried softly, “theek ho?”

A breath of a laugh escaped him. “Theek? Mujhe toh aisa lag raha tha ke pata nahi main kahan hun…”

Her fingers moved through his hair, soothing now. “Tum yahin ho… mere saath.”

“Just where I want to be”, he murmured, “always.”

They stayed like that for several minutes or maybe an hour – he didn’t know, didn’t care… And then she pulled back, cupping and lifting his face to look at him, her eyes searching. He blinked, his body still lax, his eyes lazy. She smiled, her right hand drifting to the spot on his neck that was already turning a shade of red… Her eyes glittered, she bit her lower lip, her cheeks flushing at her own action.

He swallowed, wetting his dry mouth, “I am yours.”

Her gaze snapped to his, and he watched the emotions flickering in those whisky orbs – surprise, elation, triumph and then satisfaction. She kissed his forehead, giving him an assurance with her actions rather than the words that she still felt incapable of verbalizing. He accepted it, cherished it, treasured it.

 

For a long moment after, neither of them moved. Naina still sat on his lap, her arms loosely around him, his head resting against her as though the world outside that room had simply ceased to exist. The intensity of what had just passed between them had softened into something quieter now – something deeper.

Sameer shifted first, though even that movement was unhurried. His hands slid from her waist as he leaned back slightly, his gaze lifting to her face, lingering there as if committing it to memory all over again. Then, with a gentle nudge, he guided her to sit beside him instead.

She moved without protest, settling next to him on the bed, her shoulder brushing his, her presence still wrapped around him like something warm and steady.

He reached for her hand once – briefly – pressed a kiss to her knuckles, and then stood.

“Main fresh hoke aata hun,” he said quietly.

The shower ran longer than usual. Not out of necessity – but because his mind had yet to fully return to the present. The warmth of the water did little to wash away the lingering sensation that had settled into his body, into his bones. He felt lighter, strangely unguarded… as if some part of him that was always braced, always prepared, had simply… let go.

When he stepped out, dressed now in a simple white T-shirt and track pants, his hair still damp, he paused at the doorway for a moment.

Naina stood near the dresser, arranging the flowers he had brought into a vase, her fingers moving carefully around the delicate stems. The faint fragrance of rajnigandha had begun to fill the room – soft, lingering, almost like an extension of the evening itself.

She turned, sensing him, and smiled. “Chalo khana kha lete hai.”

 

Dinner was simple – chole, chawal, a fresh salad, and a small bowl of suji halwa that Sarla Kaki had insisted on preparing. The house had quieted by then; Mukesh Kaka and Sarla Kaki had finished their meal and withdrawn, leaving the space to them.

Sameer sat at the table, but there was a noticeable difference in him. The sharpness of the day had dissolved. The constant alertness, the controlled restraint, the calculation that defined his hours in the office – none of it seemed to have followed him home.

He ate, but without focus. Not absent-minded exactly… just not entirely anchored. Naina noticed. Without a word, she picked up his plate, scooped a portion of chole and rice, and held it out to him.

“Theek se khao,” she said gently.

He looked at her for a second – almost as if surprised – and then leaned forward, taking the bite without protest. She fed him another. And another.

Sameer let her. Completely. Without teasing, without deflecting, without that familiar light jokes he usually used to hide softness.

The contrast was quiet, but unmistakable. The man who had spent the day commanding rooms, holding conversations in tight control, reading people with precision… Now sat across from her, relaxed… pliant… entirely at ease being taken care of.

At one point, his fingers brushed hers as she fed him again, lingering just a fraction longer than necessary. He did not pull away. Dinner stretched longer than it needed to. Neither of them rushed it.

 

Later, they moved to the living room. Naina settled into the sofa, drawing her legs up slightly, a book resting in her hand more out of habit than intent. Sameer followed, but instead of sitting beside her, he lay down without hesitation, his head finding its place on her lap as though it belonged there.

She stilled for a moment… then her fingers moved into his hair, slow and gentle, threading through the damp strands with quiet familiarity. Sameer exhaled deeply, the last remnants of the day slipping away from him as his body sank into the cushions… into her. Sleep came easily.

Naina glanced down at him, a faint smile touching her lips. She adjusted slightly, careful not to disturb him, and turned a page of her book with her free hand. Her fingers continued their soft, absent rhythm through his hair. The house grew quieter. The night settled deeper. And she waited. Not restlessly. Not with impatience. Just… there.

 

Miles away, the city carried on in its own rhythm – lights flickering to life, roads still alive with movement even as the hour grew late. Aman stepped out of the airport, his pace steady, his expression unchanged. He did not pause, did not hesitate, did not look around for direction. He already knew where he was going. 

 

In Ellisbridge, Naina waited – her world quiet, steady, wrapped around the man resting in her lap.

In the office, Vivek Somani stayed back under unforgiving lights, turning pages that refused to settle his unease, waiting for a shipment that now meant more than just business.

And at the Maheshwari bungalow, silence hung heavier than usual – thick with expectation, with the unspoken knowledge that tomorrow would not pass quietly.

 

Somewhere between these quiet moments and restless calculations… Unseen, unannounced… Another move had already entered the board.

 

The board had tightened… and the next few moves would decide whether it ended in victory…

or ruin. ♟️