Mrinalini walked into the office earlier than usual that morning, the click of her heels unusually sharp in the silence of Aarvak’s wide, polished corridors.

Her father’s voice wouldn’t leave her alone
“It’s time you take back what belongs to you”

The words dug into her like thorns, leaving her restless. What did he even mean? She wasn’t here for power plays. She was here because work kept her breathing. Because silence at home was heavier than any burden Aarvak could give her.

She slid into her seat, setting her bag aside, her brows knitted together in a faint frown. The floor was quiet—just a handful of early risers buried in emails and spreadsheets. It should’ve felt peaceful. Instead, it felt suffocating, her thoughts swirling far louder than the muted hum of computers.

Across the building, another pair of eyes searched for her.

Advik had arrived earlier than usual too, though no one knew it. His schedule rarely allowed indulgences, but today wasn’t about schedules. Today was about a certain woman who haunted his vision even when she wasn’t in sight.

He hadn’t planned an excuse. Not yet. He simply found his steps carrying him toward her floor, under the pretense of… nothing, really. Just a glance. A stolen glimpse to reassure himself she was there, still breathing, still quietly existing in the same world as him.

And there she was.

Seated at her desk, staring into nothing, her expression etched with a frown that tightened something in his chest. She looked small against the vast expanse of workstations; her aura dimmed in a way that unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

He stood there a moment longer than he should have before retreating.

Back in his cabin, he sat heavily at his chair, fingers drumming against the desk. The image of her refused to leave. That frown. That silence.

He tugged open the drawer absentmindedly. His hand stilled.

Packets of snacks stared back at him—leftovers his younger sister always stuffed in whenever she visited. “For your midnight or midday hunger” she always teased. Normally, they went untouched until she came back to scold him.

But today, he found himself reaching for them. He picked the ones he secretly liked the most—crisp wafers, a small pack of roasted nuts, and few more. Something told him she hadn’t eaten yet.

It was stupid. Childish even. He wasn’t a man who lingered around desks with snacks like some college boy. He was Advik Agnihotri. CEO of Aarvak. But when it came to her, logic was already fraying at the edges.

Shoving them into his hand, he left his cabin again.

The office was still quiet—it was early enough for him to walk almost unnoticed. His steps slowed as he neared her floor, heart heavy with an unfamiliar weight.

She was there, still lost in her thoughts, unaware of him.

And here he was, a man with power and control in every other corner of his life, sneaking around with snacks just for an excuse to see her face light up—if it ever did.

Advik slowed his steps as he neared her desk, suddenly hyper-aware of how ridiculous this was. A CEO walking across the floor, early morning, clutching… wafers and nuts? What was he even supposed to say— “Good morning, I thought you looked hungry, here’s some snacks and my love”?

He almost turned back. Almost. But then she shifted in her chair, rubbing her temple, her eyes still unfocused as if the world weighed too heavily. And something inside him tightened. He couldn’t retreat now.

He cleared his throat. Softly. Too softly. She didn’t even look up.

He tried again, louder this time.

She startled, blinking at him. “Sir?”

There was that blank, professional mask she always wore now—so different from the lively girl he wants to know. The mask irritated him. But also… it was the only armor she had left.

He set the packets on her desk without explanation “Breakfast”

Her brows drew together “Excuse me?”

“Breakfast” he repeated, as if that was a perfectly normal word for CEOs to throw at employees in the morning.

She looked at the packets, then at him, utterly nonplussed “You brought me wafers?”

“Protein too” He tapped the roasted nuts like he was presenting a quarterly report. “Balanced”

She picked up the wafer packet slowly, her expression flat but her eyes betraying faint amusement “Is this… some new Aarvak policy? Nutrition initiative for employees?”

“Consider it a pilot project” he deadpanned, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide his own awkwardness.

Her lips parted, then finally—finally—she let out a soft laugh. Short, almost disbelieving, like she couldn’t believe he was standing here in his tailored suit, CEO aura and all, offering her… snacks.

Advik looked away quickly, trying to school his own expression, but inside, a strange warmth spread through him. That sound—her laugh—it had been missing for too long.

“Thank you” she said finally, her voice quieter.

He gave a curt nod, turning on his heel before he embarrassed himself further.

But as he walked back to his cabin, he could still hear that laugh echoing faintly in his ears. And for the first time in weeks, he almost smiled himself.

Advik shut the cabin door behind him and leaned against it, exhaling like he had just pulled off a bank robbery.

“What the hell was that?” he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand across his face.

Wafers. Nuts. Breakfast. Pilot project?!
He groaned and dropped into his chair, burying his face in his palms. He was Advik Agnihotri—sharp, ruthless, calculated CEO of Aarvak. And he had just walked up to his employee’s desk and dumped snacks like a college kid trying to impress a crush.

The worst part? He hadn’t even planned it properly. He could’ve—no, should’ve—used a more dignified excuse. Something logical. Checking on new recruits’ welfare. Trial of new pantry supplies. Random productivity strategy. Anything. But no. He had stood there like an idiot, announcing “breakfast” as if it was some revolutionary invention.

And yet—despite the embarrassment simmering in his stomach—he didn’t regret it. Not one bit. Because he’d heard it. That small, precious sound. Her laugh. He hadn’t realized how much he missed it until it slipped past her guarded lips. For the first time in months, the office floor hadn’t felt so heavy.

Advik leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling with a reluctant half-smile tugging at his mouth. “Pilot project,” he repeated to himself, shaking his head. “Brilliant, Advik. Truly brilliant.”

Meanwhile, at her desk, Mrinalini was munching on the wafer packet slowly, a faint smile lingering on her face. She tried to focus on the screen in front of her, but her mind kept replaying the ridiculous seriousness with which he had said ‘Balanced’

It was absurd. Completely absurd. The all-too-perfect CEO, who barely spared words outside of meetings, standing there at her desk, offering snacks like it was part of some grand corporate vision. She had to bite her lip to stop another laugh from escaping.

And yet… it was also cute.
She hated to admit it, but it was.

She shook her head at herself, opening the roasted nuts packet next. Cute? She had never once thought of him that way in all the months of knowing him. But seeing him fluster—well, as flustered as Advik could ever look—had shifted something.

Unknowingly, her frown from earlier had faded. And though she tried to convince herself it was just the snacks, her smile said otherwise.

The evening air was cool when Mrinalini stepped out of the office. Instead of heading straight home like she usually did, her feet carried her to the little café around the corner. It was the kind of place with soft yellow lights, mismatched chairs, and a chalkboard menu that always looked like it had been scribbled in a rush. She slipped into a corner seat by the window, dropping her bag onto the chair opposite.

Today felt… different. Not extraordinary, not life-changing. Just lighter.

She ordered without thinking too much—cold coffee, a plate of creamy pasta, and, on a whim, tiramisu. If anyone had asked her, she would’ve called it an odd combination, but at that moment, it felt right. She was oddly hungry, oddly content.

Her gaze wandered outside, to where the evening sky blushed in shades of pink and purple, the first hints of twilight stretching lazily across the horizon. She stirred her coffee absentmindedly, the clink of ice against glass filling the silence.

And then it hit her.

She was smiling. Not the polite one she wore for strangers, not the forced one she used to reassure her family. A real smile—the kind that came from somewhere deep inside.

And the reason?
She didn’t even have to ask herself. It was obvious.

Advik Agnihotri
The man who, just hours ago, had stood in front of her desk with wafers and roasted nuts like it was a serious business deal.

A soft laugh escaped her lips at the memory. She had known him as the untouchable CEO, always sharp, always composed, always distant. But today, she’d seen another side of him. Awkward, unexpectedly thoughtful, almost… adorable.

And against every logical fiber in her being, she realized she liked it.

Her fork paused midway to her lips as the thought settled in her chest. Oh no.
Was she… developing a crush?

Past-Mrinalini, the one who used to scoff at silly office crushes, would’ve rolled her eyes and dismissed it in an instant. But present-Mrinalini just sat there, oddly calm, oddly happy, and maybe just a little hopeful.

For the first time in a long time, she didn’t want to overthink. She just wanted to finish her pasta, sip her coffee, and let the sky keep her company while her heart quietly admitted something new.

And so she did.

Just as she was scooping up the last creamy bite of pasta, a movement caught her attention. Two people had settled into a table diagonally across from her. At first, she didn’t think much of it—the café was always buzzing at this hour—but then, something about their body language tugged at her memory.

She leaned back in her chair, cold coffee in hand, and squinted ever so slightly. The girl was fiddling with her napkin like it was the most fascinating thing in the world, cheeks flushed pink. The boy, on the other hand, sat stiffly with his hands clasped on the table as if he were in a board meeting instead of a café date.

Mrinalini’s brows shot up. Wait.
That jawline. That neat, slightly too-perfect hairstyle.

“Bhaiya?” she muttered under her breath, eyes widening.

And then her gaze slid to the girl sitting opposite him. The one who had ducked her head at something he just said, hiding a nervous smile behind her hand.

“Oh my god” Mrinalini almost laughed. “Prachi?”

Of all people.

Her lips curled into a mischievous smile as she leaned her chin on her hand, shamelessly turning into an audience of one. So this was what they were up to while pretending to be “just online friends”

Her lips slowly curved into the most wicked grin. Well, well, well… what do we have here?

Vikram—the same brother who loved lecturing her about being “responsible” “sensible” and “not letting distractions get in the way”—was sitting here looking like a schoolboy on his first date. And with Prachi, no less! Her sweet, slightly clumsy friend who blushed at the smallest compliments.

The sight was priceless.

Vikram cleared his throat, attempting a smile that came off way too formal. Prachi giggled softly, trying to hide it behind her hand, which only made him stare at his cup like it had all the answers to life.

Mrinalini bit back a laugh, spoon poised dramatically over her dessert. So Mr. Perfect finally has a weakness, huh?

Every little awkward detail—the way Vikram slid the napkins toward Prachi as though he’d just presented her the Kohinoor diamond, or how she nodded too enthusiastically at his every word—was feeding Mrinalini’s inner mischief.

Her grin widened. She could easily walk over right now, lean on their table, and say something like, “Aww, bhaiya, so this is why you’ve been working late?” The mental image of Vikram choking on his coffee was very tempting.

But then again, where’s the fun in ending the show so quickly?

Instead, she lifted her glass of cold coffee, took a slow sip, and kept watching like a queen with front-row seats to her brother’s love story in the making.

Oh, this was going to be fun. Really, really fun.

Mrinalini lingered a little longer than usual over her tiramisu, spoon sliding lazily through the creamy layers as she stole glance after glance at the pair across the café.

It was sweet. Awkward. Utterly endearing.

Mrinalini’s grin softened into a smile. So, my oh-so-disciplined brother isn’t immune after all. The sight warmed her in a way she hadn’t expected. For once, she wasn’t the little sister rolling her eyes at his lectures—she was just a spectator, watching someone she loved take his first hesitant steps into something beautiful.

When the bill arrived at her table, she slipped the cash in, quietly gathering her bag. Her eyes flickered back one last time, and she caught it—Vikram laughing. Not the polite, guarded chuckle he used in boardrooms or family gatherings, but a real laugh. Genuine. Carefree.

Her chest squeezed with a mix of affection and mischief. She could have walked over, teased him, thrown him off entirely… but she didn’t. For today, this moment was theirs.

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she pushed back her chair and rose. With one last mischievous smile in their direction, she whispered under her breath,
“Good luck bhaiya ji. You’ll need it with Prachi”

And then, without disturbing the two would-be lovers in their little world, she slipped out of the café into the cool evening air—her heart surprisingly light, her steps surprisingly easy.

For the first time in a long time, both siblings had something to smile about.