The city hadn’t changed much. Same honking cars, same scent of roasted peanuts from the roadside vendors, and the same chaotic rhythm that made Mumbai feel like it was alive, breathing, pulsing with unsaid stories.
Aanya Kapoor stood outside the glass doors of Evoke Advertising, her new workplace, clutching her tote bag a little tighter. Her reflection stared back—calm, composed, professional. On the inside, she was anything but.
“You’ve got this,” she muttered under her breath. It was just a job. A fresh start. A chance to rewrite everything she had spent years trying to forget.
She pushed the door open, greeted by the soft hum of morning chatter, the smell of freshly brewed coffee, and the clack of heels on tile. The receptionist offered a bright smile and motioned toward the elevators.
“Sixth floor, Miss Kapoor. HR is waiting for you.”
The elevator ride was silent, except for the quiet jazz music playing overhead. Her fingers itched to check her phone, to scroll, to distract. But she didn’t. She forced herself to be present, to breathe, to not let the memories creep in. Not today.
The doors slid open with a soft chime.
She stepped out, heels clicking with certainty she didn’t quite feel. The HR representative greeted her, gave her the usual tour—the pantry, the meeting rooms, the open floor workspace—and finally stopped in front of a glass-walled cabin.
“And this is your team’s lead. He’ll be guiding you through the campaign.”
The HR woman knocked gently and pushed the door open.
Aanya stepped in—and froze.
Time didn’t stop. It crashed.
There he was.
Kabir Malhotra.
The last person she expected to see. The last person she ever wanted to see.
And yet, there he stood—leaning casually against the edge of his desk, flipping through a file, unaware of the storm walking into his office.
Older. Taller. His once unruly hair was now trimmed, a neatly-kept stubble lining his jaw. But his eyes—those unmistakable dark brown eyes—looked up and found hers.
For a heartbeat, nothing moved.
Then his expression faltered, surprise flickering before it smoothed into something unreadable.
“Aanya?” His voice was soft. Like a memory.
She didn’t reply.
“Miss Kapoor,” the HR lady said, oblivious to the electricity in the room. “This is Kabir Malhotra, our senior creative strategist. Kabir, Aanya just transferred from the Delhi branch. You’ll be working closely together on the Sharma project.”
Kabir recovered quickly. “Of course,” he said, his voice now business-like. “Welcome to the team.”
He extended his hand.
She didn’t take it.
Instead, she turned to the HR rep. “I wasn’t told I’d be reporting to him.”
“Oh,” she laughed awkwardly. “I assumed you two knew each other—you’re both from Mumbai, right?”
Aanya forced a smile. “It’s fine.”
No, it wasn’t.
But this was a job. She wouldn’t let him take this from her too.
After a few more pleasantries, the HR rep left them alone.
The silence stretched.
Kabir moved first, straightening and slipping his hands into his pockets like he used to do in high school when he was trying to act casual. “It’s been a while,” he said.
“Seven years, two months,” Aanya replied before she could stop herself.
Kabir blinked. “You counted?”
She didn’t answer. She hated that she had.
“How have you been?” he asked.
“Let’s not do this,” she cut in. “We’re not catching up over coffee. This is work. That’s all.”
Kabir nodded slowly, something flickering in his gaze. Regret? Pain? She didn’t care. Or at least she told herself.
“Understood,” he said. “Let me show you your desk.”
Aanya followed him in silence, her steps precise, her expression unreadable. Every inch of the office felt like foreign territory, but nothing compared to the unfamiliar feeling of walking beside someone who used to feel like home.
Kabir stopped beside a desk by the window. “This one’s yours,” he said, gesturing.
She nodded, placing her bag down and sitting slowly, almost cautiously. He remained standing for a beat too long, like he wanted to say something else. But then his phone buzzed, and just like that, the moment slipped away.
“I’ll send over the brief,” he said, already turning. “We have the first creative review at 3.”
And then he was gone.
Aanya exhaled only when she was alone.
She didn’t know what she’d expected. Anger? An apology? A stammered explanation for the years of silence? Maybe a sign that he’d changed. Or maybe that he hadn’t.
But he had changed.
The boy who used to scribble bad poetry on the back of their math notes had turned into a man in a crisp black shirt, commanding meetings and moving through hallways like he belonged. It irritated her more than she cared to admit.
She booted up her laptop, trying to distract herself. But her mind betrayed her.
“You’ll always be my favorite hello, Aanya.”
The memory came uninvited—his voice, young and sure, the night before he left.
“Promise me nothing will change.”
“Nothing ever could.”
Lies.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as her vision blurred slightly.
A ping broke her spiral. An email. Subject line: Sharma Campaign: Initial Brief + Timeline. Sent by: Kabir Malhotra.
She opened it with steady hands, refusing to let her heart betray her again.
By lunch, the office had quieted. Most of the team filtered out, leaving the floor sparsely occupied.
Aanya remained at her desk, sipping from a bottle of water and reviewing the campaign details. A voice startled her.
“You still eat lunch at your desk.”
She looked up to find Kabir standing a few feet away, holding two paper cups.
“You used to say cafeteria food was overrated,” he added, offering one of the cups.
She didn’t move. “That was a long time ago.”
He didn’t lower the cup. “Still true, though.”
Reluctantly, she took it. “Thanks.”
He sat across from her, leaning slightly, like he was testing a boundary.
“I didn’t know you were joining,” he said after a pause. “If I had...”
“What?” she interrupted, her tone sharp. “You would’ve switched jobs?”
He didn’t answer. His silence said enough.
“Let’s keep this simple,” she continued. “You do your job. I’ll do mine. No small talk. No nostalgia. We’re not friends, Kabir. Not anymore.”
Her words landed like stones between them.
But he didn’t flinch. “I know I don’t deserve a second of your kindness. But Aanya, I’m not here to pretend like nothing happened.”
She met his gaze, and for a second, he saw the flicker of pain she’d buried.
“You think a few words can fix seven years?”
“No,” he said quietly. “But maybe they can start something.”
She stood. “I don’t want to start anything with you.”
He nodded once, like he’d expected it. “Still... I’m glad you’re here.”
And then, without waiting for permission, he left.
Aanya sat back down slowly, her heart thudding against her ribs. She hated that he still had the power to shake her. She hated even more that some part of her had been waiting for this moment—for answers, for closure, maybe even for something else she wasn’t ready to name.
That evening, as she packed up to leave, a folded note peeked out from her drawer.
Frowning, she opened it.
It wasn’t signed. Just a single line, written in handwriting she knew too well.
“If I could go back, I’d never let go of your hand.”
She stared at it for a long moment, her breath caught between a memory and a scar.
She folded the note, placed it deep into her bag—and walked out of the office without looking back.
The rain started sometime around midnight.
Aanya lay on her bed, the ceiling fan spinning above her, the soft rustle of curtains dancing with the wind. She should have been sleeping—tomorrow would be another long day. But sleep felt like a distant luxury.
Her bag sat in the corner, the folded note still inside.
She hadn’t opened it again. She didn’t need to. The words had already carved themselves into her memory.
“If I could go back, I’d never let go of your hand.”
Too little. Too late.
Still, her mind betrayed her.
Six Years Ago(flashback)
The rooftop was their spot.
Away from curious neighbors and meddling parents, it was where the world faded. Aanya sat on the edge, her legs dangling, Kabir beside her with his guitar resting against the wall.
“You’re going to miss me when I’m famous,” he teased, strumming a random chord.
Aanya rolled her eyes. “You say that every time.”
“Because it’s true,” he grinned. “You’ll be in some boring office in Delhi, missing me and my world-class voice.”
“I’ll be too busy building my empire,” she shot back, smirking.
He glanced at her, serious for a moment. “You’ll do it, Aanya. You’re... meant for more.”
She blinked, caught off guard by the softness in his voice.
“And you’ll be with me the whole way,” he added.
There it was again—that dangerous in-between space. Not quite love. Not quite not.
But maybe, just maybe...
He reached for her hand, fingers brushing hers.
Aanya’s heart raced.
“Kabir...” she whispered.
He looked at her. Really looked. “Yeah?”
But the words caught in her throat.
She never got to say what she felt.
Because the next morning, he was gone.
No goodbye. No message.
Just silence.
And then, two weeks later, a photo surfaced online—Kabir, on some college campus, his arm wrapped around another girl. Smiling. Happy.
And just like that, everything they’d shared became a memory she wished she could erase.
Flashback end.
Now
The rain pattered harder against the window.
Aanya got up, walked over to her desk, and pulled out her journal.
She hadn’t written in months. But something about the day—his face, the note, the memories—made her reach for the pen.
He looked at me like he used to.
But I’m not the girl he left behind.
And he’s not the boy who once knew how to read my silence.
Maybe we’re both just ghosts now—haunting a love that never got the chance to begin.
She closed the journal.
The tears didn’t fall. Not tonight. She was stronger now.
But strength didn’t mean she’d stopped hurting.
And as she lay back down, one truth echoed louder than the storm outside:
She never stopped waiting for an explanation.
____________________________________________________________
This is my first book. Please Vote and comment.
🌹Sanjh🌹
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