Karan returned home late one night, exhausted as the day had stretched endlessly. Meetings that bled into arguments, files into decisions that could not wait, and his head now throbbed with a persistent ache that refused to subside. He loosened his tie, shrugged out of his suit jacket, and dropped onto the couch in the living room.
“Maria,” he called out, leaning back, rubbing his temples with slow, impatient fingers.
She appeared almost instantly. “Yes, sir?” Her eyes narrowed with concern as she took him in. “You look exhausted.”
“My head is splitting,” he said curtly. “Give me medicine. The usual one.”
She studied him for a moment longer, taking in the stiffness of his shoulders and the way he barely kept his eyes open.
“A medicine won’t cure a headache like that, sir,” she said carefully. “A light oil massage on the scalp should help. My grandmother taught me. It helps release tension and eases headaches naturally in just a few minutes.”
He exhaled sharply, clearly not in the mood for explanations. “Whatever works,” he muttered. “Just make it stop.”
From the kitchen door, Mishti had heard every word. She knew Karan was a machine. He pushed himself relentlessly, never allowing his body rest, never allowing weakness to show.Mishti wondered how long a man could live like that without breaking.
When Maria warmed the oil with a few drops of eucalyptus and sesame, just enough to soothe the nerves and improve circulation, Mishti stepped forward.
“Give it to me,” she said softly.
Maria hesitated. She knew Karan well enough to know he would not like Mishti doing it for him.
“But Ma’am—?”
“If he scolds, that is on me,” Mishti said.
Maria smiled and handed her the small bowl.
Karan, unaware, stretched across the single-seater couch, his long legs spread comfortably, his head resting against the back edge, tilted just enough to ease the strain in his neck. His eyes were closed, his jaw clenched slightly as if even resting took effort. Mishti approached silently and stood behind him.
He sensed a presence and frowned faintly, but did not open his eyes.
She dipped her fingers into the warm oil and gently placed them against his scalp.
The reaction was instant.
His throat worked as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving sharply beneath her gaze. Mishti noticed it but did not pause. Slowly, carefully, she began to massage, her fingers threading into his hair, applying light pressure in soft circles. The warmth seeped into his skin, easing the tight lines of his posture. Gradually, his shoulders dropped, the tension melting from them inch by inch.
She could feel it all happening beneath her hands. The rigid control he carried loosened. His breathing deepened. His exhaustion softened.
Though Mishti stood behind him, her eyes unknowingly traced whatever was visible to her. The rough stubble along hisjaw, the firm line of his mouth, lips slightly parted now. His neck was stretched back, veins standing out, and the prominent rise and fall of his Adam’s apple drew her attention more than she wanted to admit. She had often wondered what it would feel like beneath her fingers when it moved like that.
As she continued massaging his head, her gaze drifted even lower to the open collar of his shirt, the first two buttons undone, revealing a glimpse of his chest and the faint shadow of hair there.
She swallowed, forcing herself not to linger, but her eyes betrayed her again. They followed the strong lines of his torso, the natural taper of his body where his shirt disappeared into his trousers. Even seated, even exhausted, he radiated dominance. His legs, spread casually, spoke of a man entirely comfortable in his power.
That was when he spoke through the quiet of the room.
“Your fingers are shaking, Mishti. Either do it properly or let Maria handle it.”
Her hands stilled at once.
He knew it washer?
Not once had she imagined that he was aware it was her behind him, that he had recognised her touch the moment her fingers slid into his hair. A hundred questions rushed through her mind. When had he known? Why had he allowed it? Why had he said nothing until now?
But she chose to remain silent, then steadied her hands and resumed the massage, slower now, more careful.
She did not pull away abruptly when she was done. Instead, she let her fingers linger in his hair for a second longer than necessary before slowly withdrawing them.
