I blink. “Who?”
She gives me a look. I sigh. “She’s an employee.”
“She’s a person before that,” Ma corrects gently. There’s something in her tone that makes me sit back.
“I’m not saying anything,” she adds quickly. “I’m just saying…I haven’t seen you look at someone like.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Because I don’t fully understand it myself.
“She argues with me,” I mutter.
“She challenges you,” Ma replies.
“She’s stubborn.”
“You need that.”
I shake my head. “You’re reading too much into this.”
“Am I?” she asks softly.
I don’t answer. Because the truth is—I don’t know.
All I know is when Ishika laughs, something in me feels lighter. And when she’s upset, it sits heavy. And when she’s not around, I notice. Ma closes the tiffin and reaches across the table tosqueeze my hand briefly. “Eat properly,” she says, back to practical mode. “And don’t overthink everything.”
“I don’t overthink,” I protest.
She laughs. “You absolutely do.”
I stand and pull her into another hug before she leaves. “You’ll always be my child,” she murmurs.
“I know,” I reply. As she walks out, I glance toward the corridor where Ishika disappeared earlier.
And I can’t help the small smile that forms. If my mother already likes her—God help me. Because this is getting complicated. And I don’t think I want it to be simple anymore.
CHAPTER 22
ISHIKA
I hate gifts.
Giving them is worse than receiving them.
Receiving a gift at least gives you the option of nodding politely and pretending it didn’t affect you, but giving one means admitting something out loud without actually saying the words. It means acknowledging that someone did something for you that mattered.
And the stupid car key on my kitchen counter matters.
I stare at the small box on my dining table for a long time before leaving for work. It isn’t anything extravagant. In fact, compared to a car, it’s embarrassingly small. A matte black fountain pen. Simple, elegant, heavy enough to feel real in the hand.
I noticed it a week ago when we were going through documents. Aryan had borrowed Ajay’s pen because his had run out of ink and spent a full minute complaining about it like a dramatic child.
This one won’t run out of ink mid-signature.
It’s practical. Neutral. Safe.
Which is exactly why I picked it.
The box sits in my bag the entire drive to the office, and I spend the whole time questioning my life choices. What if he laughs? What if he makes some ridiculous joke about it? What if this somehow becomes a whole thing?
