The day of the client meeting finally arrived. The atmosphere in the office was thick with anticipation, and everyone carried an air of nervous energy. Apoorva, calm on the outside but alert within, knew how much this meeting meant—not only for the company but also for Aaron, who had insisted on the new feature.
As the meeting began, Apoorva took charge with her usual composed professionalism. She laid out the agenda, explained the scope, and gave every detail with precision, making sure the clients could clearly see the value in their work. Aaron's turn came when it was time to present the advanced feature he had introduced.
At first, his voice carried confidence, but somewhere in the middle of the explanation, he stumbled. His words faltered, and a moment of silence stretched in the room. Apoorva's sharp instincts immediately caught on. Without letting anyone sense the hesitation, she seamlessly stepped in, building upon what Aaron had said. She elaborated with clarity, tactfully connecting his points with the bigger picture.
Her intervention was smooth, almost invisible—no one could tell she had just rescued him from a falter. Aaron glanced at her, gratitude unspoken but etched in his eyes. Together, they navigated through the challenge, their coordination creating a balance that impressed the client. By the end of the presentation, the client's initial curiosity had transformed into excitement. They were particularly pleased with the advanced feature Aaron had brought in, appreciating the foresight and innovation it reflected. With satisfied smiles and words of approval, the clients gave their nod.
When the meeting ended, the client shook hands warmly, their words filled with appreciation. Apoorva let out a subtle breath of relief—it wasn't just relief for herself, but for Aaron too. She had seen his stumble, his nervousness, but also his courage. And when she had stepped in, he hadn't resisted; he had allowed her presence to cover his weakness and turn it into strength. That itself spoke volumes.
As they left the conference room, Aaron walked beside her in silence. He wasn't smiling, though he had every reason to. Instead, he seemed thoughtful. Apoorva noticed it but didn't ask—she wanted him to process this moment on his own. But surprisingly, Aaron never thanked her. Apoorva hadn't expected much—she wasn't the type to wait for appreciation—but deep inside, she thought at least a small acknowledgment might come. After all, she had carried his stumbles as though they were her own.
Instead, Aaron behaved as if everything had gone perfectly by his hand. He spoke with confidence to the team about how the client had loved the advanced feature, while Apoorva quietly listened. A faint smile curved on her lips, not because she was happy, but because she realized something—true teamwork sometimes meant giving without expecting recognition. Still, a small pinch of disappointment lingered in her heart.
It was the end of the day. The office had grown quiet, the buzz of the client meeting long faded into silence. Apoorva was carefully setting everything in order, closing files, shutting down her system, and preparing to leave. Just then, Aaron stepped into her cabin. She didn't even lift her head. She thought he might have come for some last-minute clarification or work-related discussion. Apoorva simply continued doing her work, not wanting to bother with unnecessary exchanges.
But Aaron spoke, his voice softer than usual, carrying a weight she hadn't heard before:
"I know I stumbled today, and I could've made a disaster out of the whole meeting," he began. "But appreciating you for rescuing me is not the way I want to give you respect. You see… I already know that you'll be there whenever I get stuck. If I say thanks, then it means I assumed you wouldn't help me, but you did. That's the reason I never praised you."
Apoorva paused for the first time, her hands stilling on the files. She slowly looked up at him, her eyes searching his expression. For the first time, Aaron wasn't speaking as the confident teammate or the problem-solver—but as someone who truly trusted her beyond words.
A faint, knowing smile touched her lips. She didn't reply immediately, but in her heart, she realized that some bonds don't always need verbal gratitude—sometimes trust itself is the highest form of respect.
"That's what teammates are for, Aaron," she said softly, before tilting her head with a spark of mischief. "But—" her eyes gleamed, "next time, try preparing a little better so I don't have to do double work." "Fair enough," he said, a playful glint flickering back. "Next time, I'll make sure you only have to save the day once, not twice."
Aaron drove back home through the dusky streets, the golden-orange sky dimming into violet as the day folded itself into night. His apartment wasn't too far from the office—barely a twenty-minute ride—but today, it felt longer. The weight of the day's meeting still lingered faintly in his chest, but so did Apoorva's words, playfully reminding him to prepare better next time. For some reason, the memory left him smiling as he parked the car.
The moment Aaron opened the door to his house, the familiar warmth of home wrapped around him. The faint aroma of freshly cooked lentils drifted from the kitchen, mingling with the subtle scent of incense his mother never forgot to light in the evenings.
From the living room, he first spotted his younger sister, Meera, sprawled across the couch with her sketchbook. She was completely lost in shading the edges of a half-finished portrait, her long hair falling carelessly across her face. The television was on, humming quietly in the background with a news anchor droning on, though clearly no one was paying attention to it. "Back already?" Meera asked absently, not lifting her eyes from the page.
Aaron chuckled, setting his bag down near the door. "Yes. And still not finished with that same sketch? You've been at it for days." She stuck her tongue out playfully, muttering, "Art takes patience. Something you wouldn't understand."
He let her win the round, walking further in. From the kitchen came the soft clatter of vessels. His mother, Shanthi, was at the stove, carefully stirring a simmering curry. Despite her greying hair tied back neatly into a bun, her movements carried the same calm rhythm Aaron had grown up watching. She turned just enough to glance at him, her eyes crinkling with warmth. "You're late today," she said, wiping her hands on her apron. "Tiring meeting?"
Aaron leaned against the doorway, smiling faintly. "Something like that. But it went fine in the end." He didn't tell her how close it had been to going wrong—she worried too easily.
Before Shanthi could respond, a loud burst of laughter came from the balcony. Aaron turned his head to see his father, Surya Kumar, seated on a chair with the newspaper folded at his side, chatting animatedly with the elderly neighbor next door. Even at fifty-five, Surya carried a youthful energy, his booming laugh echoing through the quiet street. He waved when he noticed Aaron watching, his expression proud as always, as though his son had just returned from conquering the world.
Aaron's eyes softened. He never said it aloud, but every evening like this grounded him. No matter how chaotic the office got, no matter how heavy responsibilities felt, home had its own rhythm—a safe cocoon where time slowed down.
He slipped off his blazer, set it neatly aside, and allowed himself a moment just to be. Watching Meera sketch, hearing his mother's spoon tap against the vessel, and catching his father's carefree laugh—it reminded him that beneath the world of targets and presentations, this was the world he truly lived for.
As Aaron sat there with his family, the thought of Apoorva stayed with him longer than he expected. At first, it was just a passing imagination, a simple "what if." But the more he pictured her in that room—her soft smile meeting his mother's warmth, her voice mingling with his father's calm tone—the more it felt less like a dream and more like a possibility waiting for its time.
He didn't even notice how often Apoorva slipped into his thoughts these days. When he walked back from work, he caught himself wishing she were there beside him, sharing the silence of the evening. When he laughed at his sister's jokes, he thought how much Apoorva would enjoy them. Even in the smallest details—the way the light fell through the window, the scent of tea steeping in the kitchen—her presence seemed to fit.
It wasn't dramatic or sudden, not the kind of love people write songs or painted in grand strokes. It was quiet, steady, like water shaping stone over time. Aaron realized it one evening when he caught himself smiling for no reason, only to notice her name had been the reason all along. Somewhere between family dinners, conversations that lingered longer than they should, and the comfort of imagining her in his world—Aaron was slowly, inevitably, falling in love with Apoorva even harder.
And yet, what no one knew—not even Apoorva herself—He had carried that secret quietly, letting time and fate weave their way until their worlds finally meet again.