After all those afternoons in Aliza's cabin—her voice steady and her presence a quiet comfort—I'd almost started to believe that things might feel normal again.
But normal is a fragile thing.
Her space always had a peaceful vibe. It was quiet, and I could breathe. But the moment I stepped back onto the second floor, the loud noise and energy hit me again. Calls, footsteps, keyboards—everything felt louder than it should be.
But no matter how safe her cabin felt, it wasn't always available. She had meetings, calls, interviews—whole hours when she was in her HR bubble. And that was when I started wandering into the studio.
The studio wasn't part of my department, but it had become my safe space. A small room with friendly faces, a cozy atmosphere, and none of the pressure that came with my team.
Karthik was the first person I'd grown comfortable around here, his warm, easy-going energy impossible to resist. Pihu, on the other hand, was the opposite. She spoke in a soft, deliberate voice, never louder than necessary. She was polite, mature, and unfailingly gentle, but she also had a quiet boundary, around her you could feel without her ever saying a word.
And yet, both of them made room for me. Even on days when I wasn't sure I deserved it.
I wasn't close to them in the beginning, but when I told them how my team ignored me, they had opened up a little. So, whenever Aliza was busy, I started spending my breaks with them in the studio.
The studio itself was a funny little room and had its own personality. It itself felt like a separate universe from the rest of the office. One wall had this ancient AC with a remote so useless, you could never tell what temperature you'd set. It was either blasting Arctic winds strong enough to freeze your eyebrows or puffing out air so warm it felt like the AC was sighing in defeat. The opposite wall was green—an enormous green screen that stretched floor to ceiling. Two of the other walls were glass: one completely clear, the other covered in translucent white stripes that blurred the view of the hallway.
Inside, the room was divided into zones by three tables. The small white wooden table was where Pihu usually perched, tapping at her laptop in her quiet, composed way. The full wooden brown table belonged to Ayaan—or at least, that's what everyone said. Back then, it was mostly empty, waiting for him to come back. And the biggest piece of furniture was the massive curved white table, dominated by an ultra-wide production monitor—one of those editing displays that looked exactly like a television until you got close and saw all the video timelines stretched across the screen. I really thought that time it was a TV and they watch dramas, movies and YouTube on it
And then there was the glass door…
God, that door.
The first time I used it; I nearly fractured my shoulder. Most glass doors have the courtesy to swing shut gently when you let go of the handle. But not this one. No, this door was possessed by some spirit. You'd open it, step in, and the instant you released your grip, it would SLAM forward with the strength of a vengeful ghost—slapping the frame with a thud that could shake the floor.
It didn't matter how slowly you tried to ease it closed. The second your hand left the handle; it whooshed forward like it had somewhere urgent to be. More than once, I'd heard it crash shut behind me and wondered if the glass would finally surrender and shatter.
I always imagined it as the studio's way of announcing: Someone's here! Pay attention!
Some days, I wondered if it was alive.
Later that afternoon, I walked into the studio, looking for Karthik. Pihu, Karthik, and I had fallen into an easy rhythm—soft jokes, casual chats, a sense of belonging I never expected from a team that wasn't mine.
But that day, when I stepped in, I felt something... different.
Karthik wasn't there. Instead, I saw Pihu at her usual spot—sitting behind the white wooden table, quiet as always, offering a soft smile when our eyes met. Her smile didn't say much. It never did. But it was always polite.
Next to her, there was someone else. His back was facing me, shoulders broad, wearing a Blue t-shirt. He didn't turn around. I only saw the edge of his face and short cropped hair.
And across from him sat Mahira.
That was enough reason for me to leave.
Mahira was beautiful. Like, drop-dead, glossy-hair, perfect-brows, couldn't-take-a-bad-photo kind of beautiful. But no one tells you how exhausting it is to be around someone who knows she's beautiful—and thinks it gives her the license to speak like a baby on helium.
She giggled at something the guy said. That annoying, too-loud laugh that made my brain twitch.
I didn't even stay. I turned right around and walked back to my desk. Didn't care who the guy was. Didn't want to know. Not with Mahira there.
And maybe I was already annoyed because of her—because for the past few days, she had been calling me "the second Mahira."
No one else did. Not a single soul in the office.
But she'd say it with this weird pride in her voice. Like I should feel honored to be compared to her.
"You're totally like me," she told me once, tilting her head. "Like, people even say that!"
Except no one did. Only her. And sometimes Karthik, who was still stuck in that endless loop with her—the kind where she friend-zoned him, emotionally clung to him, but never let him go.
It annoyed me. All of it.
---
The next day, I came in early. Headset on, half a coffee in, already halfway through my call sheet.
I didn't expect anything special.
But then I saw Karthik heading downstairs.
"Parcel," he muttered, when I asked where he was going.
Minutes later, he came back—with the same guy from yesterday.
So, he wasn't a stranger to them. Just to me.
They entered the studio together, laughing like idiots. Not in a rude way—just in that kind of inside-joke, old-friend, missed-you-so-much kind of way.
Karthik's face was lit up. His whole body language changed. It didn't take a genius to figure out this guy was important to him.
I leaned over from my desk to Pihu, who was sipping water from her metal bottle.
"Who is he?" I whispered.
Pihu smiled, barely moving her lips. "That's Ayaan."
"Ayaan?"
She nodded. "He's been in the US for some months. Social media team."
"Ohh," I said slowly. "The other face."
Pihu tilted her head, confused.
"I mean," I clarified, "in the company videos, I always saw Priyanshu. But sometimes this guy was there too. So I used to call him 'the other face.'"
Pihu chuckled softly.
---
That day, I found myself peeking into the studio more often than usual. Not because of Karthik. Not because of Pihu Not even because of Mahira. It was... Ayaan.
He had one of those faces that made you want to look again. Not perfect, not traditionally handsome—but striking. Confident. Effortlessly cool.
He wasn't sitting at the white table where Karthik and Pihu usually sat. He was at the full brown wooden table—legs stretched, Shirt sleeves pushed up, fingers lazily scrolling through something on his phone.
And every time someone opened the studio door—that glass door with a personality disorder—it would do its usual drama.
Maybe it was just curiosity.
Or maybe it was the way he always seemed like he belonged—like the room bent slightly toward him.
Or maybe, it was the beginning of something I wasn't ready to name yet.
But for now, he was still a stranger.
A familiar one.