A little seven-year-old girl sat quietly at the entrance of the house, her small shoulders shaking as she sobbed, clutching a steel tiffin box tightly in her lap.
"What happened, sweetheart?" an old woman's voice called gently from behind.
Her grandmother stepped closer, concern spreading across her wrinkled face. "Why are you crying? Did someone hurt you?"
The girl didn't answer. She just kept sobbing softly, her grip tightening over the lunchbox. Her grandmother knelt beside her, and her eyes softened as she noticed the tiffin.
"Nobody liked my cooking," the girl finally whispered, tears dripping down her cheeks. "Nobody wanted to share their lunch with me."
She looked up, eyes red and glassy. "Why, Grandma? Why does everyone hate my cooking?"
Her grandmother pulled her into a warm embrace. "There, there, my Ashi. They don't hate you or your cooking, sweetheart. They're just jealous of you."
"Jealous? Why?" Ashi blinked through her tears.
Her grandmother wiped her face gently with the edge of her saree. "Because you can do something most kids your age can't. You can cook for yourself. Most of them don't even know how to hold a knife properly."
"But I can teach them," Ashi said earnestly. "I can show them how to cook like me."
Her grandmother chuckled softly. "You don't have to teach anyone if they're not ready, Ashi. Don't let their behavior bother you. Just keep doing what you love. And if you do that… I promise, one day you'll find someone who truly appreciates your cooking."
"Really?!" Ashi's eyes lit up, hope blooming on her face.
"Yes. If a hundred people don't like what you do, that doesn't mean no one will. Keep being you, and the right ones will see your worth."
With a newfound smile, Ashi stood up, wiping away the last of her tears.
"Then let's make curry today!" she declared, already heading for the kitchen.
Sixteen years later, the girl who once cried over a tiffin now sat at the heart of a corporate grind…
"Bro, I'm donezo. Why's the company dumping this much work on us in, like, March? It's not even tax season!" Haari groaned, flopping onto a wooden table in the hallway like it was his last refuge.
"Yo, catch this—hydration station incoming," Rafta said, tossing a cold soda can from the vending machine with a flick of his wrist. Rafta burst into the scene with electric energy, impossible to ignore despite his self-proclaimed laziness.
His black hair was wild and voluminous, spiking in all directions like he'd just rolled out of bed—and somehow, it suited him perfectly, adding to his roguish charm.
"Bet, I'll send you cash later," Haari mumbled, popping the can with a tssssk that sounded like his soul escaping. The soda fizzed—sweet, sharp, and ice-cold against his lips.
"Psh, don't sweat it. Work's like bad Wi-Fi—always there, always dropping. Finish one task, and boom, another's lagging," Rafta said, leaning beside the table, his wild hair catching the light. "Just kick back and live your main character arc."
"You say that every time, and that's why you're still not promoted," Haari shot back, half-laughing, half annoyed, his messy strands shifting as he tilted his head.
Rafta chuckled, gazing out at the city—its concrete jungle softened by blooming trees. " Standing of the second top floor of the tallest bulding in the city does hit different "
"Hmm? How ?" Haari asked, sipping his drink, his dark eyes narrowing with quiet curiosity.
"Check it: from up here, it's like the whole city's running under my sneakers," Rafta said, smirking like he'd dropped a gem, tapping his scuffed shoes on the floor with restless energy.
"Yeah, and I'd bet those sneakers aren't even yours," Oki snapped, storming in with a no-nonsense presence that silenced the room.
Tall and lean, her straight posture commanded respect, her jet-black hair cropped into a neat pixie cut without a strand out of place, "Don't forget, you're running under someone else's shoes too. If you keep slaking off like that—those feet might kick you out this window."
Haari cackled, nearly choking on his soda, his lanky frame shaking. Oki was the squad's backbone—unrelentingly strict but quietly caring, keeping them in line with a mix of glares and subtle support.
"You still got a pile of files to sort, so quit whining and get back to it,"
"Chill, you're going to make my ears bleed? I was just dropping some manly wisdom for Haari," Rafta said, flexing like he was about to launch a vlog, his wiry frame buzzing with energy.
"What kinda wisdom's a slacker got?" Oki fired back, her stern face unyielding as she threw shade.
Rafta's grin widened, and he leaned in close—just to mess with her. "You wanna know? It's top-tier, men-only tea. You couldn't handle the drip," he, dead serious but with that twinkle in his eye that says he's 100% trolling.
Oki didn't flinch. She threw a quick jab at his shoulder; Rafta dodged with a cackle, sidestepping like it was instinct. "Whoa, easy, Kung Fu Boss! You'll hurt yourself with all that anger."
"What a bummer," he added, shaking his head like she'd let him down. "Alright, enough—let's go back to our slavory."
"Not so fast," Oki said, shoving a thick stack of files at him like it was a personal challenge. "Re-sort these alphabetically in the system and then re-check the calculation. And no, 'Z' doesn't come first just 'cause you're lazy."
"Alphabetically? What even are these?" Rafta stared at the pile, his wild hair bouncing as he tilted his head in dismay.
"Management's bills—they're crying about not enough maintenance funds, so we gotta double-check their math," Oki said, her face screaming "do it or else."
"Why can't they figure it out? I'm not their calculator!" Rafta whined, already over it.
"'Cause it's our job, idiot! Hop to it!" Oki barked, her glare basically a death ray.
"Haari—" Rafta started, throwing him a "save me" look, his dark eyes pleading.
"Nah, Kichiro-san, sit—focus on your own stuff," Oki cut in, shutting it down, her tall figure looming.
"Rafta's been slacking too much—this is his solo punishment," she added, ice-cold and unbothered.
"Sorry, man, I'm out," Haari said, slumping back, his worn jacket creasing as his long legs stretched out.
"Perfect. I'm dead. Catch me haunting the break room," Rafta moaned, flopping over the files with theatrical flair, his wild hair splaying across the table.
"Habi-san, I'm done with my stack. Need a hand with anything else?" Ashi's voice broke through, bright and warm, her presence lighting up the room. She was a vision of perfection in a petite frame, barely reaching Haari's shoulder yet commanding attention effortlessly.
"Me! Help me!" Rafta's head snapped up, his lively eyes begging as he waved a hand.
"You haven't started yet," Oki said, squinting at him like he was a lost cause, her sharp gaze unrelenting.
"I'm about to," Rafta shot back, waving a pen like it proved something, his roguish grin faltering.
Oki ignored him, turning to Ashi. "Help Kichiro-san instead."
"What?!" Rafta's jaw dropped, his chair creaking as he leaned forward. " Hey I'm the one dying here! Why's he get the lifeline?"
"Shut it," Oki snapped, pinning him with a stern look. "No help for you today. Earn it."
Ashi reached Haari's desk, brushing a lustrous strand behind her ear with a delicate hand. "Kichiro-san, need anything?"
Haari looked up, blinking through exhaustion, his dark eyes meeting her amber. "Yeah, but what about your work
"I already done with mine," she said, a small, proud smile tugging at her lips.
"That's… insanely fast," he said, eyebrows lifting, studying her flawless symmetry like she'd just aced something he couldn't.
Ashi tilted her head, caught off guard, her eyes softening. "You think so?"
"Uh, yeah." Haari chuckled, rubbing his neck, his lanky frame shifting awkwardly. "Alright, if you're free, then help me with this file mess."
"Let's do it," she said, sliding into the chair beside him.
One Hour Later
Ashi frowned, tapping her pen against the desk, her delicate fingers precise. "Hold up. Some of these entries are missing."
Haari leaned over, his tall frame hunching as their shoulders nearly touched, scanning the page with his shadowed eyes. "You're right. We'll need the old files from the storeroom to complete this."
He pushed back his chair, standing to his full height. "I'll grab them."
"Wait—Kichiro-san, I'll come too," Ashi said, half-standing, her petite figure rising quickly, voice eager.
"Nah, it's fine," he waved her off, . " It's Just some files. I've got it."
Ashi didn't sit. "That storeroom's a mess—boxes, dust, chaos. One person'll take forever. Let's go together."
Haari hesitated, then smirked faintly, his messy hair falling into his face. "Alright,"
"Hey, where is Nicawa-san and Kichiro-san?" Oki asked, her voice tight as she scanned the empty desks.
Rafta didn't look up from his files, his pen scratching lazily. "Beats me. You said 'focus,'so I didn't notice them leaving," Rafta said, frustration in his tone.
"I need Nicawa-san's help, but I don't know where she went," Oki said, her voice laced with exasperation.
"Hey, I'm working here. Could you stop bothering me?" Rafta said, irritated as Oki jabbed him with her elbow.
"Hey, what was that for?" Rafta exclaimed.
Down in the storeroom, dust motes danced in the dim light, the shelf are so tall here impossible to reach on the top without leder as Haari rifled through a box. "Hey, Nicawa-san, thanks for this. I'd be lost without you."
Ashi glanced over, brushing a cobweb off her sleeve with a graceful flick, her rosy cheeks glowing faintly in the dim light. "No need, I wasn't be doing anything their sitting alone?" Her voice was steady, but her quick smile threw him off, warm and sensual.
Half an hour later, Haari's head snapped up, his dark eyes lighting up. "Got it! The files—they're up there."
Ashi squinted at the top shelf, her eyes narrowing. "Where? Oh—that's high."
"Yeah," Haari muttered, craning his tall neck. "Too high to grab."
"There was a ladder last time, right?" He scanned the cluttered corners, his tousled hair shifting. "One of those metal ones."
Ashi turned. "I don't see it. You sure it was here?"
"Positive," he said, brow creasing under his messy strands. "Unless someone took it."
Moment after. "Okay, no ladder, no stools—what now?"
Haari paced, frustration simmering in his lanky frame. "Nothing to climb. We're stuck." He met her eyes—vivid and searching—and felt a spark. A challenge.
Ashi stepped back and scanned the shelves. "There has to be a way. Wait here."
She moved swiftly toward a nearby cabinet, pulling open drawers and checking behind boxes. Moments later, she returned with a long metal clipboard rod.
"Think this can help?" she asked.
Haari eyed the tool, a glimmer of hope returning to his face. "If we hook the folder's edge just right, maybe."
Together, they stood beneath the shelf. Ashi pointed to the exact spot. "That's the one. Fourth from the right, red tag."
Haari steadied the rod while Ashi guided his direction.
"A little to the left... now up—no, not that one. The one behind it."
"Got it," Haari muttered, concentrating.
The rod slipped once, nearly knocking down a folder, but Ashi reached up and stabilized it.
"Careful," she said, her voice steady. "Try angling it under the flap, not through the middle."
Haari adjusted the rod as she advised. After a tense second, the hook caught.
"Yes!" Ashi whispered.
"Okay, pulling down... slowly..." Haari eased the folder off the shelf edge. It slid forward, teetered, then dropped.
Ashi caught it with both hands just before it hit the floor.
They both exhaled at the same time.
"Perfect catch," Haari said, impressed.
"Perfect assist," Ashi replied with a small smile.
He nodded. "Nice work."