The moving truck rumbled to a stop in front of the towering building that kissed the sky. Aarohi craned her neck, eyes trailing the gleaming glass structure, its surface reflecting the late afternoon sun like a sheet of polished obsidian. A nervous flutter sparked in her chest as she reached for the suitcase at her side.
Apartment 1304.
That was her new address.
It felt surreal. Compared to her old one-bedroom flat, cramped between a broken-down tailor's shop and a perpetually shuttered medical store, this felt like a slice of another world. Her old apartment had a leaking bathroom faucet, cracked tiles, and windows that rattled at the slightest breeze. The kitchen barely fit two people standing, and on summer nights, the fan hummed like an old man gasping for air.
This — this was different.
The moment she stepped into the lobby, cooled by silent air-conditioning and perfumed with something floral and expensive, she felt like she didn't belong. Gleaming marble floors stretched ahead, leading to high-speed elevators whose metallic sheen made her reflection shimmer.
When she reached the 13th floor and the elevator doors parted with a soft chime, Aarohi almost held her breath.
Her new apartment was perched at the far end of a sleek, well-lit hallway. The door was a deep mahogany, polished to perfection, the number 1304 glinting in silver.
She stepped inside.
And gasped.
The living room alone was larger than her entire old flat. Plush ivory couches sat arranged around a modern glass coffee table. A wall-mounted television faced them, and floor-to-ceiling windows opened to a balcony that overlooked the glittering city skyline. The evening sun cast golden streaks across the polished wooden floors.
Aarohi moved towards the balcony, sliding the glass doors open. A rush of fresh air greeted her. Below, the city stretched endlessly, a sea of lights, traffic, and tiny people she couldn't even begin to count.
For a moment, she felt weightless.
How was this hers?
How had she ended up here?
"It's crazy, isn't it?"
A voice made her jump. Turning, she saw Mia leaning against the doorframe with a grin. She wore a loose off-shoulder top and ripped jeans, her hair tumbling in soft waves.
"Mia!" Aarohi exclaimed, breaking into a smile. "What are you doing here?"
"I was moving in too." Mia stepped in, carrying a couple of small boxes. "Did I forget to mention? I asked for the room next to yours and guess what — the hotel management actually approved it!"
Aarohi blinked. "Seriously?"
"Yup." Mia beamed. "I mean, perks of working for one of the biggest hotel chains in the country, right? The staff apartments are part of the package. And when I requested for one next to you… well, someone up there must really like me."
Aarohi laughed, her earlier tension melting a little. "I'm so glad. It's… it's good to have you here."
"Same, girl. Same." Mia dropped her boxes on the couch. "Now come on, show me the rest of your palace."
As they toured the apartment together — admiring the spacious bedroom, the pristine kitchen stocked with shiny new appliances, and the luxurious bathroom with a bathtub she'd only ever seen in films — Aarohi felt a warmth spreading in her chest.
She wasn't alone in this new chapter.
And somehow, Mia's presence made it easier to believe that maybe — just maybe — she could start fresh.
The next morning, Aarohi woke up early, nerves bubbling under her skin. Her first day.
The soft morning light filtered through the sheer curtains as she stretched and glanced at the city skyline, still hazy with dawn. She chose a sleek ivory blouse, pairing it with fitted black trousers. Her hair she left loose, curling at the ends. A touch of mascara, a nude lip — understated, professional.
Her phone buzzed. A good luck text from Mia, followed by a string of emojis.
She grabbed her tote bag and took a deep breath before stepping out.
The hotel's main corporate office was attached to one of their most luxurious properties. The building was a masterpiece of glass and steel, reflecting the sky and standing tall like a titan amongst its lesser neighbors.
Inside, the office was just as breathtaking. Modern, minimalist decor. Polished floors. Elegant lighting. Employees moved about in crisp attire, their conversations low and efficient.
Aarohi was shown to her desk by a kind HR lady named Roshni. It was a cozy spot near a large window, overlooking the city streets. She placed her bag down, smoothing a hand over the polished wood surface.
That's when she saw it.
A bouquet.
Of crimson lilies and white gardenias, tied together with a satin ribbon.
Her breath caught.
A memory rushed in like a wave.
For the past five years — ever since she'd turned eighteen — she'd received the exact same bouquet on her birthday. Delivered anonymously. No note. No sender's name, every single year. She was creeped out at first but somewhere deep down, a secret, shameful part of her had loved the mystery.
That someone out there remembered her favorite flowers.
She did try to find out who sent those flowers but she brushed it off, accepting it as a gift from some secret admirer after finding nothing.
She reached out, fingertips brushing a petal.
A tiny voice in her head whispered the impossible.
Could it be…..
She shook the thought away.
"Pretty flowers," Mia said, appearing at her side. "Secret admirer?"
Aarohi forced a laugh. "Not sure. They've… been showing up for a while."
"Romantic," Mia teased. "Or creepy."
"Maybe a little of both."
She made a mental note to ask someone about them. She needed to know.
After a quick orientation, she was introduced to her colleagues — Priya, a soft-spoken accounts executive; Nikhil, a loud, affable operations manager; and Natasha, a poised woman from the marketing department. Her boss, Mr. Kapoor, was a middle-aged man with a kind smile and a knack for remembering names.
Everyone seemed welcoming.
It felt… good. Almost perfect.
During the lunch break, she found herself in the staff cafeteria, a bright, airy space with floor-to-ceiling windows.
Summoning courage, she approached a peon arranging cups of tea on a tray.
"Excuse me," she said, "those flowers on my desk… do you know who sent them?"
The man scratched his head. "No name, ma'am. Just asked to place them there before you arrived."
Aarohi sighed. "Did you see the person?"
"No, ma'am. Left them at the reception."
Of course.
That night, exhaustion tugged at her bones as she lay in bed, but sleep came in fits.
When it did, it brought him.
Vish.
In that same hotel room. Aarohi's back hit the wall, the coldness of it a sharp contrast to the fever burning under her skin. Vish's hands were everywhere — rough, unrelenting, like he didn't care whether he left bruises behind or not. Maybe she didn't either.
His hands seized her hips, fingers branding her flesh as he drew her against him. Her breasts pressed to the furnace of his chest, nipples taut, and she gasped.
The bed swallowed them as he pinned her beneath him.
She parted her thighs and he thrust into her, filling her vagina with a force that tore a cry from her throat. Each stroke was a pulse, a claiming, her body answering with a shudder, her clit sparking with every grind of his hips.
His hands roamed, one anchoring her wrist, the other teasing the crest of her desire, circling her clit until she writhed, spasming with a climax that shattered her into light.
Aarohi dug her nails into his back, leaving half-moon marks in his skin. His groan against her ear was low, guttural, sending shivers down her spine. She clung to him like he was the only thing tethering her to the world, knowing full well he was the one breaking her apart
Her name left his lips like a sin.
Aarohi.
Her eyes snapped open.
Heart hammering, she stared at the ceiling, breathing hard.
"What the hell is wrong with me?" she muttered.
She shouldn't be thinking about him. Not like this. Not after what happened.
But she couldn't stop.
Something about him — the way he looked at her, the way he spoke her name — it clawed its way into her mind, refusing to leave.
With a groan, she reached for her phone.
Multiple missed calls.
From Karan.
And texts.
Karan: Please call me back. I need to talk.
Karan: I miss you, Aaru.
Karan: I fucked up. I'm sorry.
She had promised herself she was done.
That she was moving on.
Yet here she was — haunted by the past, lured by a stranger, and tangled in memories she couldn't escape.
Aarohi laying there in the dark, the city lights flickering through the window, feeling the weight of both.
Time blurred between the heavy silence and restless thoughts, it was almost dawn.
Aarohi tossed the phone onto the bed and pushed herself up. The silence in the room felt heavy, the kind that pressed against your skin and crawled into your thoughts. She walked over to the balcony, hoping the night air would help clear her head.
The city stretched endlessly before her — a million tiny stories playing out in those lit windows and streets far below. People laughing, crying, fighting, loving… and yet here she was, stuck in a moment that refused to let her move forward.
She gripped the cold metal railing, her reflection faint in the glass pane beside her.
Why did Vish have to invade her mind like this? Why did his touch still burn her skin in her dreams? She didn't even know him. One night. That's all it was supposed to be.
But it wasn't, was it?
There was something about him. Something in those eyes, the way he spoke her name like he knew her — not just her name, but her. It made her feel exposed, seen in a way that terrified and thrilled her at once.
She wasn't supposed to feel like this. Not after what Karan did. Not when she was trying so hard to start over.
She walked back into the room, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. The apartment was beautiful. New. Everything she had dreamed about when she was crammed into that tiny flat with peeling paint and flickering lights. She had wanted a fresh start so badly.
She reached for a glass of water, her gaze landing on the bouquet of crimson lilies and white gardenias on the coffee table.
They were still there, their scent faint in the cool air.
Whoever had sent them — he knew. He knew her favorite flowers. He had known every year. A stranger, or maybe not a stranger at all.
Was this the life she wanted?
An anonymous flower sender. Life decisions which were thrown on her by fate. A man she couldn't stop dreaming about. And a past that refused to stay buried.
Was this the new life she wanted? Or was she still shackled to the ruins she thought she'd left behind?
And far away, in the high-rise suite of the most expensive penthouse in the city, a Vish poured himself a glass of whiskey and watched the sunrise, a satisfied smile curving his lips.
"Soon," he murmured to no one.