1. The Quiet Colleague Who Never Spoke… Until He Did
Naya joined the firm as senior designer. Vihaan sat opposite her — silent, intense, always watching. He didn’t chase. He waited. And then he moved.
Chapter 1 – The First Stare
Naya’s first day. She walked into the open-plan office in a charcoal saree, hair in a low bun, gold jhumkas catching the light. Across the aisle sat Vihaan — black shirt, sleeves rolled up, eyes the color of wet earth. He didn’t smile, didn’t wave. Just looked. For three straight hours. Every time she glanced up, he was watching. Not creepy — calm, patient, like a panther deciding when to breathe. At lunch she went to the pantry. He was already there, pouring coffee. He didn’t speak, just slid a cup toward her. Black, two sugars — exactly how she liked it. “How did you know?” she asked. He finally spoke, voice low. “I pay attention.” That night she caught herself thinking about the way his fingers had brushed hers. Nothing had happened. And yet everything had started… (continues for 1,900+ words: daily silent gestures, leaving her favorite pastry on her desk without a note, standing closer in the elevator, remembering tiny details about her life she never told anyone)
Chapter 2 – Coffee That Wasn’t Coffee
Week three. He started waiting for her at the café downstairs every morning. Never asked her to join — just saved the corner table. One day it rained. She ran in soaked. He stood, removed his jacket, and draped it over her shoulders without a word. The jacket smelled like him — rain, cedar, danger. Their fingers touched when she gave it back. This time he held on a second longer. “You’re cold,” he said. “I’m fine.” He leaned in, breath against her ear. “Liar.” She felt it between her legs like a pulse… (full chapter: slow escalation of proximity, “accidental” touches, late work nights where he orders dinner only for two, the first time he calls her “Naya” instead of “ma’am”)
Chapter 3 – The Empty Conference Room
Friday presentation rehearsal. Everyone left at 8 p.m. Except them. He closed the glass door. Dimmed the lights. Stood behind her while she practiced in front of the projector. His hand rested on her lower back — innocent. Then slid to her hip. Then pulled her gently against him so she could feel exactly how hard he was. “Keep talking,” he whispered. She tried. Her voice cracked on the third slide. He turned her, pressed her against the glass table, and kissed her like he’d been starving for years. Slow. Deep. Controlling. When he finally pulled back her lipstick was gone and her pallu had slipped. “Tomorrow,” he said. “My place or yours.” She should have said no. She whispered, “Mine.”
Chapter 4 – Late-Night Ride Home
He started dropping her home. First it was “on the way.” Then it became every day. One night traffic stopped completely. He killed the engine. Turned to her. Hand on her thigh, inching the saree higher, higher, until his fingers found bare skin. He didn’t rush. Circled her clit with maddening patience while cars honked around them. She came biting her own wrist to stay quiet, tears in her eyes from the intensity. When they reached her building he walked her to the door, kissed her forehead like a gentleman, and left. She stood there trembling, knowing the real hunt was just beginning…
Chapter 5 – Her Apartment, Rules Broken
Saturday. He arrived with wine and no pretense. The door closed the door and didn’t speak for the first hour — just slow undressing, worshiping every inch of skin he’d waited months to touch. When he finally took her it was on the living room floor, her saree tangled around her waist, his shirt still on, both of them shaking from how long they’d denied this. After, he traced lazy circles on her stomach and said, “You were always mine. You just didn’t know it yet.” She believed him.