Siddhant sees me first and lifts both hands dramatically. “Late as always!”
“Shut up,” I say.
Then his eyes land on Ishika. He straightens instantly. “Well, well.”
Ishika’s grip on my arm loosens. I place my hand lightly over hers before she can step away. Instinct. She glances at me. But doesn’t move. Interesting. “This is Ishika,” I say. “She’s redesigning the office and tolerating me professionally.”
Siddhant grins. “Impossible task. Respect.”
“I agree,” Ishika says.
He clutches his chest. “I like her already.”
“Unfortunate for her,” Rudraksh mutters.
Ishika looks at him. Then at me. Then back at him. “You weren’t lying. He does look rude.”
Bhabhi laughs so suddenly she nearly spills her drink. Rudraksh stares at Ishika for two full seconds and then at his wife as his whole face softens, “I like her too, she made my wife laugh.” He says with such seriousness that I laugh. Bhabhi turns crimson next to him.
Shivani bhabhi smiles warmly and steps forward. “Any woman who survives Aryan daily deserves a medal.”
“I survive beautifully,” I protest.
“No,” three voices say together.
Traitors.
Bhabhi reaches for Ishika’s hand briefly. “You look gorgeous.”
Ishika softens a little. “Thank you.”
There it is again. That tiny change in her face when kindness reaches her before suspicion does. Easy to miss. Impossible for me to ignore.
“And this idiot,” Siddhant says, pulling a woman closer beside him, “is Gauri. My neighbor.”
She rolls her eyes immediately. “Hello.”
She’s warm-faced, sharp-eyed, and standing suspiciously close to him for someone being introduced as casually as weather. Neighbor, my ass. The way Siddhant keeps glancing at her every few seconds gives away more than flowers ever could. I almost laugh. Who am I to judge though, considering I’ve looked atIshika at least fourteen times in the last minute. “Neighbor,” Siddhant says too casually.
Gauri deadpans, “He’s obsessed with repeating that.”
“Because it’s factual.”
“Because you’re scared.”
Rudraksh actually smirks. Historic moment. Ishika looks between them, then at me. “Your friends are chaotic.”
“My greatest flaw is loyalty.”
“Your greatest flaw is talking.”
“Another hit. I’m bleeding.” She hides a smile in her glass.
God. This woman could ruin me politely. We stay in that circle longer than expected. Conversation shifts fast the way it only does among people who’ve known each other too long.
Siddhant tells an exaggerated story about me breaking my arm at sixteen trying to jump from a terrace. “I landed heroically,” I interfere.
“You cried for your mother,” he says.
