4:40 a.m.
Avinash’s feet dragged beneath him like sandbags, his bag slipping off his shoulder for the third time in ten minutes. His shirt clung to his back — soaked in cold sweat and rain. His vision blurred. The street ahead shimmered like a mirage. His legs barely responded anymore.
And then —245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSwCKEGdP6s
A honk. Tires screeching.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1ntL1EkrgE
Headlights blinded him for a split second.
He didn’t even flinch.
The car halted inches from him.
And before the driver could say a word — Avinash collapsed.
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Two Hours Later
White light. Steady beeps. The faint smell of antiseptic and something metallic.
Avinash lay unconscious but stable on a hospital bed.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRgUUQjBHEo
Beside him, Prachi sat rigid in the chair — her face dull with fear and panic, her hair a tangled mess. She hadn’t moved her eyes from him in over an hour.
The car driver, a kind stranger, had called her right from the spot. He’d found her number from an old missed call notification on Avinash’s lock screen.
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Half an hour later
Out in the corridor, Prachi shook the driver’s hand.
“Thank you,” she said.
He waved it off. “Just glad he’s okay.”
She nodded faintly and turned back toward the room.
Inside, Avinash stirred.
Prachi stood by the door, her eyes locked on him like a hawk.
His eyelids fluttered open, his face blank with confusion — like his brain was still buffering.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtPWW2RYlz1
He tried to sit up.
Prachi stepped forward immediately and snapped,245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPsqDAjm4Q4
“Don’t. Move. A. Muscle.”
Her voice was low — but lethal.
Before he could reply, the doctor entered.
“Nothing serious,” he said, glancing at the vitals. “Just exhaustion, weakness. Cold rain probably made it worse. We’ll keep him a bit longer, but he can go home by afternoon. Just make sure he rests and eats properly.”
Prachi gave a tight nod. “Thank you, doctor.”
A nurse entered, placing a tray of medicines on the table. Prachi moved quickly, helping Avinash sit up. He groaned softly.
He opened his mouth to speak —245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyPeBOlJuS8
“Don’t,” she warned, eyes narrowing. “Not. A. Word.”
She dropped the pills into his hand, lifted the glass of water, and held it up to him with utmost care.
He took them quietly, eyes flickering toward her, trying to read what lay behind the storm.
She set the glass down.
245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjNcCsIp2vd
Few Hours later–
The room was still, filled only with the faint hum of machines and the soft shuffle of footsteps outside.
Avinash lay asleep — not peacefully, but deeply — his body collapsed under the weight of exhaustion, rain, weakness, and the remnants of medication. His breath was steady, but everything else about him looked defeated.
The door creaked open. Prachi stepped in, clothes changed, hair tied back. She had just returned from home after completing the discharge formalities. Her face wasn't furious anymore.
It was tired. Worn. A quiet, heavy sadness filled her eyes.
She placed the discharge papers on the side table and stood by the bed for a moment, just looking at him — this boy who listened to all her chatter, who made her laugh, who almost disappeared last night without a word.
"Time to go home," she said gently.
Avinash blinked awake, confused for a moment, then remembered everything. He tried to sit up, wincing as he did.
"I... I can’t go home," he muttered. "I don’t have one anymore. The landlord kicked me out."
Prachi stayed still, her gaze not leaving the floor. “You’re coming with me.”
He frowned. “What? No, Prachi, I—”
"My cousin's flat,” she said. “He doesn’t live there anymore. I asked him. You’ll stay there.”
“I can’t,” Avinash said, trying to sit up straighter. “I can’t keep being your problem. I’ll find something else. You should go home, rest. I’ll figure out something—”
She cut him off — not loudly, but sharply.
“Enough, Avinash.”
Her voice didn’t rise, but her words came laced with something far more cutting than anger — exhaustion.
“You think I haven’t had enough of your figuring out?”
She looked up at him. Her eyes were red, not from sleep but from everything else she was holding back.
“Ever since I received that call last night, I haven’t had an easy breath.”
She exhaled, jaw tight.
“But why would you care!”
Her voice faltered — and then she let the truth fall out.
“Every second since that call, it’s like I’ve been holding my breath. Like someone pressed a fist against my chest and forgot to lift it. You were on the road, unconscious, in the rain. You almost vanished without even a goodbye.”
He looked down, guilt rushing in like a tide.
“The least you can do,” she continued, voice cracking, “is not argue with me right now. Just... listen. For once. Please.”
Avinash didn't speak. He reached out, gently, taking her hand in his. His fingers were cold, trembling.
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice barely audible. “I really am.”
Prachi didn’t move. Her silence said more than words.
“You know why I don’t have any close friends?”
He looked at her, unsure how to answer.
“Because every time someone has mattered to me... I’ve never been important to them in return. Not in the same way.”
Her gaze stayed locked on the floor, like she couldn’t bear to look at him and say it.
“I stopped letting people close. It hurt too much—watching them care less than I did. Being the one who always remembered, always worried, always stayed.”
Then she looked up. Straight into him.
“With you... I let that guard down. I actually thought I mattered. That for once, someone cared about me too.”
A pause. Barely a second — but enough to hurt.
“I was wrong.”
Avinash sat frozen, his lips parted slightly, but no words came. Her words hit something raw inside him — something he couldn’t explain, couldn’t fight.
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Avinash’s first sight of the flat was a big, furnished space. Prachi led him in without ceremony, placing his bag in the spare bedroom. “Rest,” was all she said, and left before he could reply.
The next two days passed in a strange rhythm.
Breakfast, lunch, dinner — each arriving with the same precision as his medicines. Prachi would set the tray down, check the pill strip, fill his glass of water, and leave without lingering. No warmth. No coldness. Just… absence.
She didn’t avoid him. She answered when he spoke. But her voice was stripped of its usual lilt, her smile missing entirely. Even when he tried to crack a joke, leaning back on his pillow with that half-grin, she would only raise an eyebrow before moving on to her next task.
Meanwhile, her phone was never far from her hand — buzzing with calls, lighting up with messages. Akansha’s voice sometimes bled through the speaker, laced with frustration. The startup needed both its founders.
On the third morning, Avinash watched her gather her bag by the door and finally said, “Prachi… go. Focus on Stratagrow. I’m fine now. Promise I’ll eat on time. Medicines too.”
She looked at him for a long moment, as if weighing whether to believe him, then gave a small nod. “You better.”
From then on, her visits grew shorter.
Prachi and Akansha found a co-working space — an entire floor in a glass-walled tower. Their eight-person team moved in with laptops, whiteboards, and the nervous energy of something about to take shape.
Prachi still stopped by Avinash’s flat daily. She’d ask how he was feeling, glance at the empty plates, and replace his water bottle. When he asked, “So, how’s everything going in Stratagrow?” she’d offer nothing more than:
“Busy.”245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRTTiMBiCDU
“Good.”245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ42nNNyAten
“We’ll see.”
And then she’d leave, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving him staring at the stillness she left behind.
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Few days later–
Morning sunlight slanted across the corridor as Prachi pressed the doorbell. She’d come by to check if Avinash’s medicines were over — expecting to see him in his usual half-asleep, pajama-wearing state.
Instead, when the door opened, she saw something unusual.
Avinash stood there in a checkered shirt, sleeves rolled, a tie hanging loose around his neck. His hair was damp and neatly combed, but his eyes darted around the room as if he was still mentally ticking boxes.
“What… is this?” she asked, scanning him from head to toe.
“Job interview,” he said matter-of-factly, turning away to look under the sofa cushions.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I wasn’t planning to go,” he replied, grabbing his watch from the table. “Changed my mind this morning.”
Prachi folded her arms. “And you’re running around like this because…?”
“Because I’m late,” he said, flashing her a quick grin before slipping on his shoes. “Do I look sharp enough?”
She gave him a once-over. “Lose the half-dead tie, fix that.”
He tugged the knot into place, and picked up his laptop bag. “Alright, wish me luck.”
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Two hours later
In a glass-walled meeting room of their newly rented co-working space, Prachi sat across from Akansha and their HR, Tanya. Piles of résumés lay scattered on the table, coffee cups half-finished, fatigue setting in.
They’d been interviewing candidates for two hours straight — for both a Digital Marketing Manager and a Web Developer. None had hit the sweet spot of skill, personality, and salary expectations. Those who came close were way out of their budget.
Tanya leaned back, exhaling. “Abhay, send in the next candidate,” she called out through the open door.
A moment later, the door swung open.
And there he was.
Avinash. Corporate shirt, tie tightened, laptop tucked under his arm, a confident smile on his face — as if this was the most natural thing in the world.
Prachi’s heart skipped a beat.
Akansha’s eyebrows shot up.
Avinash looked at them both and grinned. “Morning, mam.”
Avinash sat down across from them, resting his laptop bag by the chair. His smile was confident, but Prachi could see the faint twitch in his fingers as he smoothed his tie.
Akansha didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Let’s get started,” she said, flipping open his résumé with deliberate slowness, her eyes scanning the page like she was hunting for mistakes. “Tell us why you think you’re the right fit for this role.”
Avinash straightened, slid his laptop onto the table, and began to speak about his background — the coding competitions, the projects he’d built, the online courses in AI, machine learning, app development. He moved quickly but not rushed, almost as if he knew he had to win them over before they found a reason to cut him short.
Tanya leaned forward to get a better look at his certificates, her eyebrows raising a little. Prachi’s expression remained neutral.
“These are good,” Tanya admitted, “but—”
Akansha cut in, tapping the edge of the résumé with her finger. “We’re hiring an SEO specialist. I don’t see any certification or formal experience in that.” Her tone wasn’t outright hostile, but it had that edge — the kind that said she was already leaning toward a no.
Avinash’s posture shifted slightly. He took a slow sip of water, buying himself a moment. Then, he leaned forward.
“You guys ever heard of Spillr?”
Tanya blinked. “Yes, I have. Why do you ask?”
“There you go!,” Avinash said, his voice sharpening with conviction. “You know the name. Without Spillr ever running paid ads, Google campaigns, or sponsored posts. The best show of my abilities is Spillr— you open Google and type any wrong spelling resembling Spillr, … spillar, spiller, spiler etc — every single time, Google will correct you and put Spillr right at the top of search results. That’s search engine dominance. Achieved with zero paid resources.”
"Yes, but why are we talking about Spillr here, I am confused as hell?", asked Tanya.
"He created Spillr", said Prachi looking at his certificates.
Tanya’s jaw dropped. Akansha’s expression didn’t change, but there was the faintest flicker in her eyes.
The questions kept coming. Technical ones about on-page and off-page optimisation. Scenarios about hypothetical campaigns. Twice, Avinash stumbled — hesitating, backtracking, trying to recalibrate his answers. Akansha’s gaze sharpened each time, pressing him like she wanted to see the cracks spread.
"I think this interview has been long enough, let's come to a decision," said Prachi.
"Right. I am sorry Avinash, we can't hire you, you have no former work experience. I don’t think we can take online courses into consideration. Thank you for your time," said Akansha casually, closing his file.
When the room fell into a pause, Avinash exhaled and said, “You’ve given me a fair amount of time. Give me five more minutes to make my case. ”
Akansha crossed her arms. “Five points... If you convince us why should we hire you in five points, maybe we’ll think about it.”
Avinash didn’t break eye contact. He didn't panic, he took a deep breath and started-
“One — you’ve already seen my work when I built your company’s app and website in two days. 245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyTAAedqPCI
Two — I know modern SEO techniques because I’ve executed them successfully, not because I’ve read about them.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ50Z3HsxKNi
Three — I worked at a food truck seven days a week. Stratagrow needs employees with that kind of dedication at this point in time.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmOwL9aYPrm
Four — I’ve worked for twenty thousand a month before. I have no degree or corporate work experience in computer science, which means no established company will ever hire me, loyalty to Stratagrow isn’t optional for me — it’s a necessity.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeX7uf2WMmF
And five — you’re running this company on savings and a bank loan. You can’t afford a high-profile graduate with years of experience. Hiring me is the smartest financial decision you can make.”
Silence.
Tanya glanced at Akansha, then at Prachi. “Wait outside, we'll call you.” she said.
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Five minutes later, Avinash was called back in. Tanya was smiling. “Look Avinash, you have made a strong case, we think you can be the right guy for the job. We can offer you fifty-five thousand a month.”
“Sixty,” Avinash said immediately.
Tanya’s grin widened. “You’re hired. Welcome to Stratagrow.”
Avinash rose, shook each of their hands, and walked out with a small, slow smile — the kind that carried both relief and something harder, more determined.
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The days at Stratagrow began to melt into each other, a rhythm built on deadlines, coffee, and the constant low hum of ambition.
Every morning, the small team gathered for the briefing — Akansha at the head of the table, sharp-eyed, composed, flipping through her notes like a dealer laying down cards. She never raised her voice, never scolded, but her assignments to Avinash came in quick succession, each one heavier and tighter on time than the last. It wasn’t cruelty in words — it was cruelty in expectation. And even though Prachi often caught the way his to-do list grew twice as fast as anyone else’s, she didn’t step in. She didn’t protest. She let Avinash be on his own.
Avinash didn’t complain. Couldn’t. This was the one polished, well-run office that had ever opened its doors to him, and the fear of losing it lodged itself deep in his chest. That fear drove his fingers across the keyboard faster, kept him at his desk long after others left, and made him say “yes” before anyone even finished asking.
One moment he was sitting with Varsha, the company’s UI/UX designer, making interfaces to match her vision; the next, he was neck-deep in backend code, integrating payment systems or debugging stubborn lines until his eyes ached. In between, he’d be optimising a logistics firm’s website, mapping a digital ad strategy for a clothing brand, or tinkering with the search rankings for a small café desperate to be found.
Then there was Stratagrow itself — its app, its website, its own presence online. Updates had to be pushed, pricing revised, content optimised. Every click, every keyword, every little change mattered, and it all landed on his desk.
He came in before anyone else, left after everyone else. Missed the cupcakes and cheers when a project went live. Missed the jokes in the break room. Not because he wanted to, but because slowing down felt dangerous — like one slip could send him right back to where he’d started.
With Prachi, things weren’t what they had been. It wasn’t the office or the work that built the wall — it was the accident. Since that night, she’d pulled her guard back up, like someone closing shutters before a storm. She still checked on him, still passed instructions, but gone were the beachside conversations where she’d spill every small detail of her day, gone was the easy banter. Now, when their eyes met from his cubicle to her cabin, all she offered was a polite, almost guarded smile.
Avinash noticed the change every single time.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkQOrNbDa7N
But he told himself it was fine. That as long as she was there in some form, he could live with it. So he buried himself in his work, the clack of his keyboard the only sound that seemed to follow him, from early morning until the empty, echoing quiet of night.
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One Morning–
The conference table was scattered with coffee cups and half-empty water bottles, the hum of the AC filling the room as Akansha paced at the head of the table, clicking through slides.
Avinash sat at the far end, laptop open but screen untouched. His head dipped once, twice… and then it stayed there, chin resting on his hand. The words of the briefing blurred into background noise.
“…and that’s the broad outline,” Akansha finished, closing her laptop with a soft thud. Chairs scraped back, people began dispersing, voices overlapping.
Avinash blinked awake, disoriented, catching Varsha as she passed.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡovLCw9yIBz
“Uh… hey… what exactly am I supposed to do for this one?”
She tilted her head. “You missed it?”
“Kinda,” he admitted. “Just… zoned out for a second.”
Varsha chuckled. “It’s fine, just ask Akansha again. She won’t bite… probably.”
He tried Tanya next, who was stuffing a notebook into her tote.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡufKVqIucL0
“She won’t mind if you tell her you dozed off,” Tanya said. “You work so much, even Akansha knows you’re killing yourself here.”
Avinash grimaced. “Not sure she sees it that way.”
Finally, with no other choice, he knocked on Akansha’s glass cabin door.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuyRJ8TqfW1
“Come in,” she said without looking up from her screen.
“Uh, I… might have missed a part of the briefing. Could you go over my bit again?”
That made her look up. One eyebrow arched.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡShD706N3cf
“Of course. Because my main job is to repeat myself to every person who comes in here half-asleep. We run a company, Avinash, not a hostel.”
The words landed sharp. For a moment, he thought she might send him out without the details. But after a pause, she sighed and began explaining his part again, briskly, no wasted words.
Outside the glass, Tanya and Abhay pretended to work while exchanging glances with Varsha.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdYWrYK0vxd
When Avinash stepped out, Tanya called softly, “Was she chewing you out?”
“Yeah,” he said with a half-shrug. “But… I guess I earned it.”
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Evening–245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrE8Pi1Z4OM
The office smelled faintly of frosting and samosas. Balloons bobbed near Abhishek’s desk. Someone had put on music just low enough not to annoy Akansha.
Avinash joined the cake cutting, clapped when Abhishek fed a bite to Tanya, and then slipped back to his cubicle. His laptop screen flared to life before the knife even hit the second slice of cake.
From across the room, Tanya called, “Avinash, come grab some snacks!”
“Yeah, coming!” he answered without looking, eyes still on his code.
Ten minutes later, Tanya walked over with a plate.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2gQ9vgqmAH
“You’ll just work through a party, huh?” she teased, setting the snacks by his mouse pad.
“Just finishing this,” he muttered.
Back near the balloons, Varsha nudged Tanya. “He’s always like that. I’ve never actually seen him… take a break.”
Tanya laughed. “He’s going to burn out before the company does.”
Prachi, arriving a little late, joined them. She hugged Abhishek, wished him, and noticed their whispered exchange.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡH6HG4CYGHs
“What’s the gossip?” she asked.
“Nothing scandalous,” Tanya said. “Just… feeling bad for Avinash. The guy’s always buried in work.”
Prachi glanced toward his desk. The plate Tanya had left sat untouched. His posture was hunched, the glow of the monitor reflecting in his glasses.
After some time, the party wound down, people grabbing their bags. On her way out, Prachi slowed near his cubicle.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMa5GmbJLPL
“Take a pause Avinash and finish those snacks?” she called.
Without looking up, Avinash raised a hand in a thumbs-up.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡd3OiFrgzMe
“Almost done,” he said.
She watched him for a beat longer, then left without a word, the untouched plate still sitting beside him.
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Next Morning-
The office was still waking up — coffee mugs clinking, laptops booting, chairs rolling into place — but a small crowd had already formed near the far corner.
Avinash was sprawled in his chair, legs propped up on the desk, a stack of loose files covering his face like a makeshift sunshade. His shoes were still on, one untied, and beside him sat an empty paper cup and two crumpled snack wrappers.
“He’s dead, right?” whispered Abhay.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNiRG74vbnh
“No, I saw his foot twitch,” Varsha murmured back, stifling a laugh.
They started tossing names around like it was a game.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwOMbygGbZ3
“Not me, I value my life,” Tanya said, stepping back.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkjeXV6xhXg
“Come on, someone wake him up before he gets his spine broken," Abhishek grinned. “Alright, fine, I’ll do it.”
He leaned in and nudged the files off Avinash’s face.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWws8UDTvdn
“Morning, sunshine.”
Avinash squinted at the sudden light, blinking at the ring of amused faces around him. He grabbed his phone, checked the time, then frowned.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIeOUW04RjT
“Why is there so much brightness suddenly?”
A ripple of laughter went around the group.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIa49lo9UJS
“Because it’s morning, genius. What were you doing here all night?,” Tanya said, in a concerned tone.
Avinash yawned, rubbing his eyes.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡM8kfNz3o4p
“I had to get Varsha’s theme approval for the client’s app,” he mumbled. “But the app wasn’t even ready, so I had to finish that first. And before that I had to update the company homepage… so yeah… I kinda… lost track of time.”
“You can’t finish all the work in one day, you know,” Tanya said, a hint of concern in her voice.
“Tell that to my to-do list,” Avinash muttered, already swinging his legs down. “Anyway, I need to take a quick shower and get back before Akansha or Prachi notice I… uh… technically never left.”
He hurried off, laptop bag in hand. The group watched him go, and for a moment, the smiles softened into something closer to pity.
As the little crowd began to break apart, the elevator doors opened. Prachi stepped out, glancing around at the scattering employees.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9y3xSY5lGd
“What’s going on? What fun did I miss?”
Tarun, who still hadn’t stopped grinning, piped up immediately.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6JF4jQGvDL
“Oh, nothing much… we were just planning to buy Avinash a bed in here.”
Prachi raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. She simply glanced toward the empty cubicle, the untouched coffee cup, and then headed toward her cabin in silence.
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Same evening–
Simran appeared at the doorway, looking tense, a file cover clutched against her chest.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqpKsaCaFnG
“Prachi ma’am… can I please check yesterday’s CCTV from the office?”
Prachi looked up from her laptop. “What happened?”
“I… I’ve misplaced the Sharma client file,” Simran admitted, voice quickening. “I’m sure I had it yesterday evening, but now it’s gone. If Akansha ma’am finds out—”
Prachi’s tone softened, but her expression stayed steady. “Alright, don’t panic. We’ll check.”
She picked up the desk phone. “Abhay, can you come here with the CCTV feed for yesterday evening?”
Minutes later, Abhay walked in with his laptop, already cueing up the recordings.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡItIBY8Xnj3
“From what time, ma’am?” he asked.
“Six p.m. onwards,” Simran answered before Prachi could.
The three of them leaned over the desk as the footage rolled. The office buzzed with people packing up, exchanging quick words, shutting down systems. One after another, desks went dark.
Except Avinash’s.
He was still there, head down, tapping away at his laptop.
The lights dimmed to the after-hours setting, and then — on the grainy screen — Avinash leaned back, pulled a cigarette from his pocket, and lit it.
“Oh,” Simran murmured. “I didn’t know Avinash also smokes.”
Abhay smirked. “Well, good news for Abhishek — he’s got someone new to borrow from.”
Prachi didn’t smile. Her eyes stayed fixed on the screen, on him sitting there in that half-lit room, cigarette in hand, shoulders bent over his work.
The footage ended with no trace of the missing file.
“Well… nothing there,” Abhay said, closing the laptop.
“Thank you, Abhay,” Prachi said quietly.
Simran gave a small nod. “Thanks, ma’am,” she said before slipping out. Abhay followed.
Prachi leaned back in her chair and looked through the glass wall toward Avinash’s desk.
He was in the same position as on the footage — head down, completely absorbed in the glow of his screen. The untouched coffee on his table had gone cold.
She just sat there for a moment, watching.
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Two hours later–
The office was dead quiet.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ76u5T6osaK
Two hours past closing time, every desk stood empty except one.
Prachi slung her bag over her shoulder, heels clicking softly against the floor as she made her way to the exit. She slowed when she passed Avinash’s cubicle.
“Wrap it up,” she said flatly. “Let’s go. I’ve already booked the cab.”
Avinash didn’t look up. “I still have some pending work—”
“Avinash,” she cut him off, voice calm but cold, “wrap up. I’m waiting.”
No edge, no warmth. Just a statement that left no room for negotiation.
He exhaled, shut his laptop with a quiet thud, and slid it into his bag. The two of them walked to the lift in silence, the hum of the old machinery filling the gap between them.
The doors opened at the ground floor just as a sheet of rain slammed against the glass entrance.
Prachi muttered something under her breath, half sigh, half frustration. She fished her phone out, glanced at the screen, and let out a sharper exhale when the notification popped up.
“Ride Cancelled,” she said, not surprised in the least.
Without a word, they turned and headed back upstairs, the echo of their steps bouncing off the empty walls.
The office felt colder now, the AC humming in the absence of chatter. Prachi drifted toward the balcony, leaning against the railing as she watched the rain blur the city lights.
Avinash stepped into the balcony a moment later. She shifted immediately, about to leave.
But he reached out and caught her wrist—not tight, just enough to stop her.
“I don’t think it’s fair,” he said quietly, “that you’ve already made your judgment… but won’t care to hear me out. Not even once.”
Prachi kept her gaze on the rain. “I’m not in the mood to talk. And this—” she gestured faintly at the space around them, “—isn’t the place for personal conflicts.”
“Just, hear me out,” he said, his voice tight, “I get that you’re hurt I didn’t call you for help. Fine. But on what basis do you say I don’t care about you?”
She pulled her hand once, lightly, but he didn’t let go. “Avinash… not now. This isn’t the place—”
“No,” he cut in, the rain swallowing the space between them. “You’re going to listen to me. You keep saying this friendship is very one-sided, that I don’t give a damn about you. But you don’t understand—” His voice sharpened. “—you and I are not the same.”
Her head turned slightly at that.
“I’m a complete loser,” he said, the words biting their way out, “who couldn’t get into a good college, couldn’t get a job. I lied to my family so they wouldn’t have to know their son is a failure. The only thing that would make a bigger loser is to ask for your help every time I am in trouble.”
Prachi’s jaw flexed, but she didn’t speak.
“It’s not because you’re not close to me,” he went on, his tone rising, “it’s because if I did — if after failing at everything I came running to you — I wouldn’t be able to look at myself in the mirror.”
Her voice snapped out like a whip. “How is asking for help the same as being a loser?”
“It is!” His reply was instant, sharp. “And you’ll know what I mean when you put your legs in my torn shoes. A man came to this city to make a living, to stand on his own. To support his family. But if every time he’s in trouble he just runs to his rich friend for money—tell me—what is he then?”
She swallowed hard. “And what about leaving the city? Not telling your friend that you’ll never see her again—is that also being a loser?”
His eyes flared. “No. But you wouldn’t know what happened that night, because you never gave me the chance to tell you.”
His voice lowered for a moment, almost as if he was remembering it in real time.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzdG9BgrcnH
“I lost my job a week before that. The café plan was dead. I’d been out all day hunting for work—interviews, rejections, more rejections. And one day when I finally came back to my room, my landlord had already locked the door. My things were outside. He just stood there, arms folded, and told me to get out.”
Prachi’s lips parted slightly, but she didn’t speak.
“What did you expect me to do?” His voice was louder again now, raw. “Come crying to you? To show up as a twenty-seven-year-old man, homeless, jobless, and ask you to fix it for me? Saying goodbye to you that night… would’ve been the final nail. I didn’t have it in me. But you didn’t ask. You just decided I don’t care about you.”
The rain filled the silence that followed.
“And you think I’m killing myself here just to keep this job?” he added, his breath uneven. “No. I do it so Akansha never gets to tell you that your friendship is costing the company. So that she could never question your decision.”
Her voice, small now: “You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do,” he cut in instantly. “I have to make sure it never comes to that.”
Her eyes shone but didn’t spill over.
He stepped closer, his tone softening for the first time. “In this world, the only people I care about are my family… and you. I could work a food truck for my family. I could quit right now for you, if that’s what gives you peace.”
She shook her head slightly, but he continued, his voice loud again. “Every single night after the food truck, my legs would give out, but I’d still come to the beach. Just to see you, to listen to your daily chatter. The beach wasn’t even close to my room. You say you don’t have any close friends? Well, guess what. I don’t have anyone. No friends. No close friends. Nothing. The only person I have is you. And now I think, I have lost you as well.”
Her breath caught. And then, finally, she stepped into him, arms wrapping around his shoulders. He held her back.245Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQSzJytdDCK
and then Add to home screen.