fate or artificially crafted

The next morning began like any other—or it should have.

Khushi woke early, tying her hair into a braid as she rushed to make tea and pack lunch for Payal.

Their household ran on routine, but today she felt unusually restless.

Her thoughts kept circling back to the stranger with the stormy eyes.

At the café where she worked, the day began normally.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.

She tied her apron, humming lightly, wiping a table.

Then her manager called her aside.

"Khushi… we need to talk."

Her heart sank instantly. "Ji?"

"The café has been sold. Effective immediately."

Her breath caught.

"What… what does that mean?"

He didn't meet her eyes. "It means layoffs. Most of us will be removed."

She swallowed hard. "Sir… main—main kya karungi?"

("Sir… what will I do?")

He sighed. "I'm sorry, Khushi."

Her vision blurred for a moment.

She rushed to the storeroom before tears could fall in front of everyone.

Her hands trembled as she braced them against a shelf.

"Hey Devi Maiyya…" she whispered, voice shaking. "Ab hum kya karein?"

("Oh God… what will I do now?")

She wiped her tears quickly, trying to compose herself, trying to breathe.

Little did she know—

this wasn't fate.

This wasn't coincidence.

It was him.

----

Khushi walked out of the café at closing time—apron in one hand, sadness heavy in her chest.

She held herself together all the way to the curb, but the moment she stepped into the quiet street, her breath stuttered.

She sat on a low step beside a locked shutter.

And cried.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Just small, silent tears sliding slowly down her cheeks.

---

He had told himself he wouldn't interfere.

He had promised himself distance.

But the sight of her curled on the step—fragile, hurting, wiping tears with the back of her hand—

His heart clenched painfully.

He stood out of sight, but the sound of her voice breaking sliced cleanly through him.

He approached quietly, footsteps soft against the pavement.

She didn't look up until his shadow fell across her.

She startled.

"I—I'm sorry," she said quickly, standing up and wiping her eyes. "I didn't see—"

"It's fine," Arnav said.

His voice was gentle.

It surprised them both.

Khushi looked away, embarrassed. "I'm just… it's been a bad day."

He reached into his pocket and held out a crisp white handkerchief.

"Here."

She hesitated.

"It's clean," he added quietly.

She took it—fingertips brushing his palm—and something inside him tightened sharply at the contact.

Khushi dabbed her eyes, still avoiding his gaze.

"Thank you, sir."

Sir.

He hated how distant it sounded.

"What happened?" he asked.

She laughed weakly. "I… lost my job."

The words echoed too loudly in his mind.

Arnav lowered his gaze for a second—guilt flickering, unwanted but impossible to ignore.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

And he meant it.

In a way he had never meant those words for anyone before.

Khushi shook her head. "It's okay. I'll find something else."

"No," Arnav said softly.

She looked up.

"No?" she echoed.

He breathed once, slow and steady.

"I have a temporary position open at AR Designs. Front office coordination."

He paused. "You can start tomorrow."

Her eyes widened. "Me? But—I don't have corporate experience—"

"I'll teach you."

He didn't mean to say it so quickly.

So willingly.

So intensely.

But he did.

Khushi stepped back slightly, overwhelmed. "I… I don't know. AR Designs is huge. I'm just—"

His voice dropped, quiet but loaded.

"Khushi."

"Khushi."

Her breath hitched at hearing her name in his tone.

"I won't let anything happen to you."

The words wrapped around her like warm air, like safety she didn't expect, didn't understand.

He offered his card.

She accepted it with trembling fingers.

And fate—artificially crafted, meticulously engineered—clicked into place.

---

Khushi walked down the street slowly, clutching the card, mind spinning, heart thudding too fast.

She didn't know if she should say yes.

She didn't know if she deserved a job like that.

She didn't know what to make of Arnav Singh Raizada.

But she felt something.

Something she couldn't name.

Arnav watched her until she disappeared around the corner.

He didn't move.

Didn't breathe.

Didn't blink.

His eyes followed every step she took—soft, hesitant, hopeful—until the last sliver of her vanished behind the bend.

Then, in the dim quiet of the street, he exhaled.

And whispered—

"You're already mine."

Not a threat.

Not a claim.

A truth he felt deep in bones he didn't know could ache.

---

Later, in his penthouse, Arnav removed his tie and sat in the dark, elbows on his knees, head bowed.

He should have felt triumph for securing another move in his plan.

Instead…

He replayed her laugh from yesterday's festival.

Over.

And over.

And over again.

Until the sound was the only thing in the silent room.

And the only thing that made sleep impossible.

---

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