The stars scattered across the night sky like spilled diamonds on a stretch of velvet, quietly watching the world below as silent witnesses to the emotions that danced just beneath the surface. The city had calmed into its usual nighttime lull—distant horns, the occasional bark of a stray dog, and the hum of late scooters cutting through narrow lanes. The scent of fried noodles from a street vendor down the road still lingered in the air, mixed with the earthy aroma of early summer rain that had kissed the city an hour earlier.
Aarohi stepped out of the cab and stood still for a moment in front of her building. The metallic scent of the cooling pavement mingled with the air, and a dim streetlamp above cast a soft golden hue on her face. The light tried its best to illuminate her, but it couldn't erase the dull ache etched deeply into her eyes.
She had been silent for the entire ride home. Rhea had noticed—she always did. Aarohi, the girl who usually couldn't go two minutes without making a witty comment or giggling about her latest celebrity crush, had turned into a statue of stillness. She hadn't even reacted when their favorite K-drama OST played on the radio.
Rhea followed her silently into the building, choosing not to say anything just yet. The elevator ride up was just as quiet. When they entered the apartment, the familiar warmth of their small living room greeted them: a cozy couch with a half-folded blanket, a shelf full of novels and random trinkets, and a flickering fairy light strand that refused to stay completely lit. The comfort it usually brought didn't seem to reach Aarohi tonight.
With a sigh, Aarohi kicked off her heels and let them drop by the door with a soft clatter. Her handbag slid off her shoulder and landed gently on the couch as she moved toward the kitchen with sluggish steps. Her posture told the whole story—shoulders slumped, movements mechanical, breath shaky.
She poured two glasses of water out of habit. Even in her haze, she remembered Rhea. That's just how Aarohi was—always thoughtful, always giving.
Rhea accepted the glass, watching her friend carefully. Her brows furrowed slightly.
"You okay?" she asked, her voice laced with concern, though soft and gentle.
Aarohi hesitated, her hand tightening slightly around the glass. Her lips parted as if to answer, but then she nodded instead. "Yeah. Just tired."
But Rhea wasn't buying it. She never did when it came to Aarohi.
They moved to the couch. Aarohi sat with a muted thud, curling her feet beneath her as she cradled her water glass like it was the only thing holding her together. Her eyes stayed fixed on a corner of the wall, as if it held some kind of answer.
Rhea set her glass down and turned to face her. "You didn't say a word the whole way back. And you barely ate during lunch. Aarohi... talk to me. What happened at the office today?"
There was a beat of silence.
Then, Aarohi let out a shaky breath and lowered her gaze. "He scolded us. In front of everyone. Just because we were late. I know we were wrong… but the way he said it, Rhea… it was like we were nothing but a waste of space."
Her voice trembled. The weight of the humiliation she had held in all day finally started to slip through the cracks.
"The CEO?" Rhea asked gently. "Rithvik Veerayut?"
Aarohi nodded slowly. Her fingers gripped the edge of her skirt. "I've seen people get reprimanded before. I've messed up before. But this time… I don't know. It felt different. His eyes… his tone. It was like I disappointed him on a level that I can't explain."
She finally turned her face toward Rhea, tears welling up but not yet falling. "It wasn't just about being late. It was like he saw right through me and decided I wasn't worth the effort."
Rhea's heart broke a little at the sight of her friend—usually so bubbly and optimistic—reduced to this quiet, pained version of herself.
She reached out and took Aarohi's hand in hers. "You're not a disappointment. You're not a joke. And you most definitely belong there. One scolding doesn't define you."
Aarohi tried to smile, but it crumbled halfway. Her voice came out like a whisper. "It still hurts."
Rhea didn't say anything more. Sometimes, comfort wasn't about words—it was about presence. So she stayed by Aarohi's side, letting the silence speak for her.
Eventually, Rhea let out a yawn and gently patted Aarohi's shoulder. "Come on. Let's try to sleep. Tomorrow's another day, and who knows? Maybe he'll smile for once and not look like he's plotting world domination."
Aarohi chuckled softly, the tiniest lift in her mood. "Good night, Rhea."
"Night, Aaru."
---
The room was cloaked in shadows, the only light being the silvery moonlight slipping through the sheer curtains. The familiar hum of the ceiling fan, the soft creak of distant traffic, and the occasional flutter of leaves outside were the only sounds.
Aarohi lay on her bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling as though it held the answers she was looking for. But all she found was a loop. The words echoed again and again.
Discipline is the first thing I expect. If you can't even follow that, maybe you're not suited for this job.
Rithvik's voice—cool, calm, but cutting like a blade—stabbed at her thoughts. The words weren't just criticism. They were judgment, final and cold.
She closed her eyes tightly, but the sting remained.
Her phone vibrated against her pillow.
Private Number.
Her brows furrowed. She hesitated, then answered. "Hello?"
There was a brief pause. Then a voice. Familiar. Calm. Yet edged with concern.
"What happened?"
Aarohi blinked. Her chest tightened. "I… nothing. I'm fine."
The voice sharpened slightly. "Aarohi. Don't lie to me. I know you. I can hear it in your voice. What happened?"
Tears welled up again, this time falling freely. Her guard collapsed under the gentleness of that voice.
"I got scolded today," she whispered, trying to steady herself. "At work. In front of everyone. I was late, I know. But the way he said it… it felt like I didn't belong. Like I was worthless."
There was a heavy silence.
Then the voice returned, laced with fire. "Should I come over there? Right now?"
She gasped lightly. "No! No, please. I just needed someone to talk to. That's all."
"You have me," he said. The tone softened again, warm and protective. "Always."
A faint smile tugged at her lips, despite her tears. "Thank you. Really."
"Try to sleep. Tomorrow will be better. And if anyone hurts you again… let me know. I won't forgive them."
"I can handle myself," she whispered.
"I know. But still... I'm here."
The call ended. But the comfort lingered.
---
Elsewhere in Thailand
High above the bustling city, where lights flickered like stars caught in glass, a lone man stood on the edge of a luxurious penthouse balcony. The skyline stretched endlessly behind him, bathed in golden lights and shadows. The world seemed peaceful, but inside him brewed a storm.
He wore a sleek black coat that danced gently in the midnight breeze. His tall frame exuded quiet power, a calm authority. His dark hair tousled slightly in the wind. His face remained hidden from view, the shadows concealing his expression. But his posture—rigid, intense—spoke volumes.
He stared at the phone in his hand.
Aarohi's name still glowed on the screen.
His fingers tightened around the device, knuckles whitening. His jaw clenched as emotions warred inside him—regret, longing, protectiveness.
Then, barely above a whisper, he spoke into the night:
"Too late? No… I'm already here. In Thailand. And I won't let anything happen to you, Aarohi. Never again. I will always protect you."
The camera of the heart would've panned out then, revealing the city of Bangkok sprawling beneath him—a watchful guardian cloaked in secrecy and shadows, holding onto a promise whispered into the wind.
The man's identity remained a mystery. But not for long.
Because the storm he carried inside... was about to change everything.
[To be continued...]