It's strange how you can feel someone's absence just as clearly as you feel someone's presence.
When Yuvraj left for that trip with her — gone for four, maybe five days — something shifted in the studio.
With him away, I found myself spending more time with Ayaan. Not in any grand, obvious way, but in those small, in-between moments that slip under your skin.
A little teasing here. A glance that lingered a second longer than necessary.
And Ayaan… he cared. Not the casual, surface-level kind of care most people offer, but the sharp, instinctive kind. The kind where you can feel the person watching you, making sure you're okay without saying a word.
And maybe — though I'd never admit it aloud — that's what made me start falling for him.
The first time he saw me upset, it happened so fast I didn't even realize I'd given myself away.
I was sitting beside Ayaan in the studio. We were laughing about something — I can't even remember what now — when Kartik piped up from across the room.
"Don't make her too comfortable around you," he warned, "she's… sensitive."
Ayaan didn't even pause. "No, she's not," he said easily, smiling wide. "She's always happy, always cheerful."
I grinned, agreeing. "Exactly. I handle everything."
But Kartik wouldn't let it go.
"Oh, right. You never get upset. You're so strong," he said, his voice dipped in that fake sweetness that makes the words sting more than any outright insult.
And I don't know why — I really don't — but it hit me in a place I didn't expect. Like he was making a joke out of something that was too close to the truth. My chest tightened, the heat rushed to my face, and without thinking, I stood up and walked out of the room.
Behind me, the air shifted. I could feel Ayaan notice.
And then —
His voice. Sharp. Protective.
"Why would you say something like that to her?"
"How can you make her upset like this?"
I didn't turn around, but I could hear every word. The anger in his tone wasn't casual. It wasn't for show.
It was… for me.
It felt good — dangerously good — knowing someone cared enough to raise their voice for me. But I wasn't about to let anyone see that, so I went back to my desk, head down, pretending nothing happened.
That's when the apology came.
Before I'd gotten upset, Kartik and I had been texting about food — our shared weakness. I'd told him to order Bingo chips for me, and he'd said he would. But now? When he messaged:
"I'm ordering chips. Want some?"
I replied without hesitation:
" No. I'm busy."
Of course, they ordered anyway. The delivery came, the smell of spice sneaking through the air, taunting me.
Kartik came to my desk first, leaning just enough to block my view.
"Come to the studio," he said.
"I'm busy."
"Come, just for a second."
"I said I'm working."
He tried two more times, but I wouldn't budge. He finally left, and I thought that was the end of it.
But then… Ayaan.
Ten minutes later, he appeared, not empty-handed but holding an opened packet of chips like it was some sacred peace offering. The crinkling sound seemed louder than it should've been. He stopped right beside me — in full view of everyone.
And that's when I realized something.
Yuvraj would never do this.
Not in a million years would he stand in front of people, trying to coax me back into a room. He would avoid the scene, save face, pretend it didn't matter.
But Ayaan?
Ayaan didn't care.
He stood there, eyes soft — almost soothing — like he was willing me to speak. To look at him. To follow him.
He gave me a small, warm smile, fully aware that everyone was watching, and still, all he cared about was getting me back in that room.
"Have one," he said gently, holding the packet out.
"This isn't what I eat. I like a different brand."
"They're spicy," he countered, eyes still locked on mine. "I know you like spicy chips."
"I don't like this brand."
"I know," he said simply.
Then, leaning in just slightly, his voice lowered — coaxing, warm, almost… romantic.
"Just throw away your anger. Come to the studio. We're waiting for you."
And maybe I should have resisted. Maybe I should have held my ground.
But the truth was — that moment, that look, that care in public — it was something Yuvraj could never give me.
"Fine," I muttered, standing up. And I followed him back.
Over one packet of chips… they won.
When I get into the studio karthik already apologised to me because Ayaan guilt trip him so much... So Ayaan said, "Ok we are happy now but I have a shoot"
Ayaan was in charge of all the company's content, which meant that before every shoot, he had to wear the official company t-shirt with the logo printed across the chest. Normally, he'd just slip away to the washroom to change, but with twenty or thirty guys in the office and only one washroom, it was almost always occupied.
That day, it was.
I was in the studio when he glanced at the closed washroom door, sighed like the laziest man alive, and announced, "I'm going to change here."
I blinked at him. "Wait, wait—okay, I'm going," I said quickly, already stepping toward the door.
He didn't reply, just gave me this small, knowing smile — the kind that said more than words ever could.
I left, returning to my desk to busy myself with something entirely unimportant. A few minutes later, after the shoot was over, he wandered back toward me, leaning casually against the edge of my table.
"You missed a chance to see me half-naked," he said with that infuriatingly calm grin.
I rolled my eyes. "Come on, I don't want to see that."
And I didn't — at least that's what I told myself. Still, his words stuck in my head longer than they should have. I caught myself wondering if he actually had the kind of body worth teasing about. You don't make that kind of comment if you're hiding a pregnant belly.
His comment stayed in my head far longer than I wanted to admit.
So one day, when the conversation drifted close enough, I finally asked him,
"You remember that day you said I missed the chance to see you half-naked?"
He looked up at me and smiled — not the polite kind, but the kind that comes with trouble.
"You want to see?" he asked.
I scoffed. "No, I don't want to. I'm just asking — do you have a lean body?"
He tilted his head. "Why are you not interested?"
"Because," I said, keeping my voice steady, "I've never seen a man half-naked, and I'm not going to start with you. You're not related to me. You're not my husband. You're not my boyfriend. Why would I see you?"
That seemed to sting — just a little. His smile twitched, and then he pulled out his phone, scrolling with deliberate slowness.
"I'll show you," he said.
Before he could turn the screen toward me, I looked away. "Don't. I'm not looking. Just answer me — do you have a lean body? Muscles?"
"I do," he said. "I even have abs."
I raised an eyebrow. "Really? Doesn't feel like it. I don't think you do."
He leaned forward, half-offended, half-amused. "So you don't want to see it, but you won't even believe me? What do you want me to do?"
I thought for a second, then said, "Can I touch?"
His eyes sharpened, and that slow smirk returned.
We were sitting, but he straightened in his chair, stretching his body up as if to make it easier for me. "Yes. You can."
So I did but over his shirt.
And it was… good. Better than I expected. Maybe better than I should have admitted.
Whether I'd ever see them or not didn't matter — I already knew now.
I felt the ridges of muscle through his shirt, and okay… fine, in my head I admitted he had a great body. But out loud? Oh no, he wasn't getting that satisfaction.
"So?" he asked, eyebrows raised, like he was ready to hear me gush over him.
I gave him my most unimpressed face. "Ha… you don't have anything there. Why are you flexing so much?"
The look he gave me could have curdled milk — pure disbelief and a pinch of wounded pride. "Have you ever seen a body this athletic?"
I tilted my head, pretending to think. "Yeah. On TV. In movies."
He straightened up, his tone defensive now. "I have that kind of body. I just need a bit more gym and I'll be there."
I smirked. "Ha, no… you won't."
The jab landed. I could see it — that tiny crack in his ego, the way his jaw tightened just enough.
He didn't say anything after that, we went downstairs for lunch so he just grabbed his phone and his sunglasses and he said something under his breath. I followed, biting back a smile. By the time we reached the Dil-hasan restaurant, the air between us was still tinged with that challenge I'd thrown at him — which made the first few minutes of lunch feel like a silent, simmering game neither of us had agreed to but both were playing.
We'd ended up at the little Dilhasan shop next to the office — me, Kartik, and Ayaan.
The three of us crowded around a small table, steam rising from the plates of rice.
I'm not going to lie — I'm a messy eater. Rice never stays neatly on my plate. A few grains here, a small scatter there… okay, fine, a miniature rice explosion. Whatever.
We were done eating and I'd already paid when Kartik looked at the table and said,
"Noor, you spilled rice everywhere. Pick it up and throw it away."
I groaned. "Come on, Kartik. It's a Dil hasan shop — they have people to do that."
He tried again, "Still, you should clean it."
I shook my head. "Why would I? That's their job, not mine."
That's when I noticed Ayaan. He didn't say a word, didn't lecture me, didn't even look annoyed. He just leaned forward, swept up every grain of rice I'd dropped — with his own hand — and carried it to the dustbin. No fuss. No sarcasm. Just… did it.
And for a second, I froze.
Because no one had ever done something that small — and yet that thoughtful — for me before. It wasn't romantic, it wasn't flashy, and it wasn't meant to impress. But it hit me.
That's how Ayaan gets you — not with big speeches or grand gestures, but with those quiet, almost invisible moments that make you realize you're paying more attention to him than you should.