The next morning felt strangely calm.
Too calm.
She reached the office and immersed herself in work with unusual focus. No stolen glances. No sudden messages making her heart skip. No presence hovering near her desk.
He wasn't there.
And somehow, that made everything feel… flat.
She adjusted her glasses and continued typing, reminding herself that she had been perfectly fine before he began disturbing her peace.
Her intern colleagues, however, were very much present — whispering, gossiping, laughing about everyone and everything except actual work.
She sighed quietly.
For how long will I stay an intern?
The thought had been visiting her more often lately. She wanted more. A position. Stability. A salary that didn't feel like pocket money.
Independence.
That word had always felt sacred to her.
During lunch break, instead of gossiping, she opened job portals and started applying for full-time roles. Her eyes were serious now. Determined.
If she wanted something, she would work for it.
And she always did.
By evening, exhaustion clung to her shoulders as she returned home. She dropped her bag on the chair and stared at her silent phone.
No text.
She narrowed her eyes playfully.
Oh, so now Mr. Intense is busy?
A slow smile appeared.
"Let's disturb him," she murmured.
She pressed call.
He picked up on the second ring.
"Hello?"
She softened her voice deliberately.
"Hey baby…"
There was a dramatic pause on the other end.
"Wow," he said, mock shocked. "Baby? What happened? Did I miss something? Are you confessing today?"
She rolled her eyes, though he couldn't see it.
"Nothing happened. I just felt like calling."
"Hm," he hummed slowly, his tone lowering. "When you feel like it, I get suspicious. You don't call sweetly without a reason."
She laughed softly and walked toward her room, tucking the phone between her shoulder and ear as she changed into comfortable clothes.
"Why? Am I not allowed to miss you?"
There was silence.
Then—
"Say that again."
Her heartbeat stuttered.
"I didn't say anything."
"You did," he replied smoothly. "You almost admitted something."
She ignored that and moved to the kitchen, tying her hair into a loose bun.
"I'm making something to eat," she said casually.
"What are you wearing?" he asked immediately.
She froze.
"Excuse me?"
He chuckled softly. That low, teasing sound she had begun recognizing too well.
"I mean… since you called me 'baby' like that, I assumed I deserve some details."
"You are impossible."
"And you like it," he said confidently.
She bit back a smile and focused on stirring the pan.
They kept talking — about her day, about how boring the office felt without unnecessary distractions. He teased her about working too hard.
"You're becoming serious these days," he said. "Searching for jobs and all."
"I want independence," she replied simply.
His tone softened.
"I know you do. And you'll get it. You're stubborn enough."
She smiled at that.
After plating her food, she sat on the bed, still on call.
"Have you eaten?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied. "Just now."
"Good."
There was a small pause.
"Let's go for a walk," she said suddenly.
"Now?" His voice shifted — interested.
"Yes. I need fresh air."
"Alright," he agreed. "Give me ten minutes."
The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of street food and dust. The road wasn't empty — a few people strolling, a couple arguing near a tea stall, children chasing each other under dim streetlights.
They walked side by side.
Not touching.
Not too close.
But not distant either.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke. They just watched the world move around them.
"So," he finally said casually, hands in his pockets, "Miss Hardworking. Searching for full-time jobs now?"
She glanced at him. "Yes. I can't stay an intern forever."
He nodded slowly. "Hmm. Planning to leave us?"
"Us?" she raised an eyebrow. "There is no 'us' in office."
He smirked. "There is no 'us' anywhere, apparently. You keep saying that."
She looked ahead, hiding a smile. "Because you keep imagining things."
"I don't imagine," he replied lazily. "I observe."
She shook her head. "What do you observe?"
"That you pretend to be very strong," he said, eyes scanning the road, "but you're the same girl who talks to her plants at night."
She stopped walking for a second.
"How do you even know that?"
He grinned. "You told me. Midnight confession session, remember?"
She resumed walking, slightly embarrassed. "I was sleepy."
"No," he said softly, "you were comfortable."
That made her quiet.
A scooter passed loudly between them and the sidewalk. They moved slightly aside and continued walking.
"Do you remember," he said suddenly, "the first time we argued?"
She laughed. "You mean when you were wrong?"
"I was not wrong."
"You were," she insisted. "You didn't even read the full email."
He chuckled. "I didn't need to. I had confidence."
"You had overconfidence."
He looked at her from the corner of his eye. "And you had that annoyed face."
"What annoyed face?"
"That one," he said immediately. "The one you're making right now."
She tried to suppress it but ended up laughing instead.
They walked past a small snack stall. The vendor called out half-heartedly.
"You want?" he asked.
"No."
"Dieting?"
"Not everything is about dieting," she replied.
"True," he nodded thoughtfully. "Some things are about control."
She looked at him suspiciously. "Control over what?"
He tilted his head slightly. "Over calling someone 'baby' randomly."
She almost stumbled.
"I called you that once."
"Exactly," he said. "And I'm still thinking about it."
She looked straight ahead. "You think too much."
"No," he corrected calmly. "I enjoy small things."
They passed a couple walking ahead of them, the girl laughing loudly at something the boy whispered.
He noticed her noticing them.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing."
"You looked."
"I didn't."
"You did."
She sighed. "Fine. I just thought they look happy."
He hummed. "And we don't?"
She blinked. "I didn't say that."
"So we look happy?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Why are you twisting everything?"
"Because when you get defensive, you start talking more honestly."
She crossed her arms lightly. "You are very irritating."
"And yet," he said softly, "you called me today."
That quieted her again.
They slowed their pace naturally as the road became less crowded.
"I liked today," he added after a moment.
"Today was normal."
"Exactly," he replied. "Normal with you."
She looked at him briefly.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means," he said thoughtfully, "even walking like this… just talking nonsense… feels enough."
Her heartbeat softened.
"Don't say things like that," she muttered.
"Why?"
"Because then you act surprised when I don't react."
He smiled slowly. "You react. Just not loudly."
They continued walking, talking about random office moments — the colleague who always spills tea, the printer that never works, the way she panics before presentations even though she always does well.
"You were shaking that day," he reminded her.
"I was not."
"You were," he insisted. "Your voice trembled."
"And you noticed?"
"I notice everything about you."
That landed heavier than expected.
She cleared her throat. "That's creepy."
"That's attentive," he corrected.
A comfortable silence followed.
They didn't need to fill it.
They just walked — watching headlights pass, listening to distant laughter, occasionally brushing shoulders but never intentionally touching.
After a while, she spoke softly.
"If I get a job somewhere else… I'll leave, you know."
He nodded. "I know."
"You won't stop me?"
He looked ahead, expression unreadable.
"Why would I stop you from getting what you want?"
She studied his profile.
"But," he added casually, "distance doesn't erase people."
Her heart did that small, traitorous flutter again.
She looked away quickly.
"You and your dramatic lines."
"I'm not dramatic," he said lightly. "I just don't say useless things."
They reached the turn near her house.
Neither of them rushed to say goodbye.
"So," he said, rocking slightly on his heels, "no 'jaan' tonight?"
She gave him a warning look.
"Goodnight," she said firmly.
He leaned a little closer — not touching, just enough to lower his voice.
"Goodnight," he replied. "Sleep properly. And don't lie to your plants about missing me."
Her breath hitched.
"I don't—"
He was already walking backward, smirking.
"You do."
She stood there for a second, watching him disappear down the road.
Normal walk.
Normal conversation.
Nothing dramatic.
And yet…
Her heart wasn't normal at all.