The 24th floor of the corporate building was usually a chaotic symphony of ringing phones and clattering keyboards. But tonight, it was entirely lifeless. The only sound was the relentless lashing of rain against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows and the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of Bihan’s keyboard.
Bihan sat alone in his dimly lit cabin. The cold, blue light from his laptop screen illuminated his sharp, exhausted features. For the past year, this office had become his only sanctuary—a place to bury his past, a place to hide from his own emotions. He built invisible walls around himself so high that no one in the office ever dared to cross them.
Suddenly, the soft click of his cabin door broke the silence.
It was Mehek.
She stood at the doorway, wearing a light blue kurti. The edges of her hair were slightly damp from the rain, framing her face with an effortless, delicate grace. In her hands, she held two steaming mugs of coffee.
"Still working?" Her voice was a soft melody, warmer than the freezing storm outside.
Bihan paused, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He looked up, his dark, intense eyes meeting hers. There was something about Mehek’s gaze—a strange, comforting depth that always threatened to crack his carefully built walls. He gave a brief, silent nod, intending to return to his screen.
But Mehek didn't leave. She walked in slowly, the soft rustle of her dress filling the quiet room. She placed one of the mugs gently on his desk. "Drink it before it gets cold. Black coffee, strong, no sugar. Just the way you need it to stay awake."
Bihan froze. He stared at the dark liquid, then at her. He had never told anyone in this office how he took his coffee. He was a mystery to everyone here. How did she know?
Before he could ask, he reached for the mug. At that exact moment, Mehek’s hand was pulling away.
Their fingers brushed.
It was just a fleeting second, the softest touch of her warm skin against his cold fingers, but it felt like an electric shock. Both of them stopped breathing. The air in the quiet cabin suddenly felt heavy, thick with unspoken words. For a long, fragile moment, their eyes locked. In her deep, serene eyes, Bihan saw something he hadn't felt in years—he felt seen. He felt safe.
Mehek quickly pulled her hand back, a faint pink blush creeping up her neck. She offered a small, shy smile. "Drive safe when you leave, Sir. The roads are slippery."
With that, she turned and walked out of the cabin, leaving behind a lingering scent of jasmine and rain.
Bihan sat there, his heart hammering against his ribs in a way it hadn't in a long time. He slowly picked up the mug, bringing it to his lips. The bitter, familiar taste of the coffee grounded him.
But as he lifted the mug, he noticed something underneath it.
A small, yellow sticky note was folded neatly on his desk. Frowning, Bihan picked it up and unfolded it. As his eyes scanned the handwritten words, his breath hitched, and the mug almost slipped from his grasp.
The note read:
"You always forget to take a break when it rains. Just like you did three years ago in Darjeeling. I’m glad you still like the coffee I make, Bihan."
Bihan stood up abruptly, his chair screeching against the floor. Three years ago? He had only known Mehek for six months since she joined this office. Who was she really? And why did her touch feel so painfully familiar?
He rushed out of the cabin, staring down the empty, dark hallway. But she was already gone.