I didn't stop running until I was two floors down, tucked into the emergency fire escape, leaning against a cold cement wall.
My breath came out in gasps.
My heart pounded like it was trying to break out of my chest and escape too.
He's my brother.
My boyfriend's brother is my boss.
Correction:
The man I kissed.
The one I humiliated myself in front of.
The one I worked under.
The one the internet crucified me over.
The one I may or may not hate a little right now—
is my boyfriend's half-brother.
And no one thought to mention that?
Not Noah.
Not Ethan.
Not the universe?
I slid down onto the stairs, resting my head on my knees.
I was in a walking, talking, meme-fodder version of a soap opera.
Only with worse lighting and a lot more judgment.
By the time my legs stopped shaking, I forced myself up and staggered toward the nearest conference room, ducked inside, and locked the door behind me.
I clutched the edge of the table like it might steady the emotional earthquake tearing through me.
Brother. Half-brother. CEO.
How do you even begin to process that?
How do you go from kissing one guy while working for another… to finding out they share a freaking surname?
Agarwal.
Of course they did.
I just didn't notice.
Because who notices last names when their life is on fire?
I paced.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
I had been such a fool.
Noah had always been around.
He literally knew everyone in the office.
Gossip reached him before it was even finished.
Maybe most people didn't notice, but that's only because he was Ethan's brother.
They'd grown up invisible in plain sight.
I tried to collect my thoughts, but they scattered like confetti at a funeral.
He said "technically half" like that made it better.
Like "practically everything" didn't just gut me harder.
Noah knew.
He knew this whole time.
And he didn't say a word.
I pulled out my phone and stared at his last message.
No new reply.
Of course not.
This wasn't just a mess.
This was a full-blown Bollywood-level family drama—
with a budget,
a broken heroine,
and two brothers at war over a girl
who didn't even know what she was doing anymore.
God.
What the hell was I even doing anymore?
A knock on the door made me jump.
It was Raha.
She slipped inside, holding a bottle of Coke like it was holy water.
"Hey," she said softly. "Word travels. You okay?"
"Define okay," I said, my voice cracking like cheap glass.
She didn't press.
Just sat beside me and handed me the drink.
"You want me to key Noah's car?" she offered casually.
I laughed—kind of. "You don't even know if he has one."
"I'll find out."
We sat in silence for a while.
Breathing in the awkward, the exhaustion, the everything.
Then she asked, "What hurts the most?"
I thought about it.
The memes?
The bathroom comments?
The Robot Hate Club betrayal?
No.
It's not that they're brothers.
It's that they both knew. And I didn't.
Raha sat there in confusion.
Later that day…
I was back at my desk.
Pretending to work.
Pretending I wasn't Googling "Can you quit your job and disappear without legal consequences?"
The office was quiet.
Too quiet.
Like even the gossip had paused to take a breath.
And then my inbox pinged.
Ethan Agarwal: Meeting. 7:30 PM.
Because of course.
Because why not throw me into a room with both brothers again while I'm emotionally bruised and spiritually bankrupt?
7:30 PM – The Meeting from Hell
The conference room was dim.
Ethan sat at the head of the table, flipping through printouts like they hadn't just dropped a nuclear truth-bomb on me earlier.
Noah was already there. Legs stretched out. Casual. Like we were going to brunch and not therapy.
I sat down. Far from both of them.
Silence.
Then Ethan spoke.
"Let's talk about the Shanghai pitch deck."
The what now?
I blinked. "I thought that was next week."
"It got moved up," he said coolly. "You'll be presenting alongside Noah."
I almost laughed.
Presenting?
Alongside?
"So let me get this straight," I said. "You want me to stand next to the guy I've been—dating, apparently—and report to the guy who signs my paycheck, who also happens to be his brother and with whom I have been linked on the internet and brutally bashed over?"
Neither of them blinked.
Noah finally spoke. "I was going to tell you."
"When? During our wedding vows?"
His smile faded.
"I wanted to tell you when the timing was right."
"There's no right time to drop the world's worst soap opera reveal."
Ethan looked like he regretted not skipping this entire meeting.
"I didn't think it was relevant," he muttered.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did my dignity fall under 'not relevant'?"
Noah stood up. "Sana, please—"
"No. Don't 'Sana, please' me right now."
I pushed back from the table.
"This is too much. I need time."
And for once, neither of them stopped me.
Because maybe, for the first time, they knew they couldn't fix it.
I didn't go to work the next day.
Which felt scandalous, considering I hadn't even submitted my resignation letter (though I'd drafted five versions). Instead, I sat on Dadi's swing in the balcony, sipping cold coffee and contemplating how far I'd have to move to escape all my problems.
Like, is Iceland hiring?
My phone buzzed for the 9th time in the last hour.
Noah:
Please talk to me.
I didn't lie. I just didn't say it. There's a difference.
I miss you. Please. Just say something.
Or at least let me explain.
I turned the phone face down.
Because the thing about silence? Once you start using it, it's hard to stop. It feels like power—until it eats you from the inside out.
Dadi came out with a tray of poha and her silent judgment.
"You know," she said, sitting beside me, "when I was your age, I ran away from a proposal."
I blinked. "Wait, what?"
"He was very good looking. Very tall. Bit like a lamp post. I was terrified he'd say yes. So I ran to my cousin's house in Shimoga for a week."
I stared at her.
She took a bite of poha. "Point is, beta. Fear makes you run. But fear also makes you stay stuck."
I sighed. "I'm not scared. I'm just… embarrassed. And hurt. And a little homicidal."
"Ah. So just a normal Tuesday."
I cracked a smile.
"Ethan called," she said casually.
My head whipped toward her. "What?!"
"He wanted to know if you were okay. Didn't say much else. But... he sounded tired."
Tired?
That wasn't in Ethan's usual emotional palette. He was typically limited to variations of 'condescending', 'unimpressed', and 'stoic menace'.
"He also said something weird," Dadi added. "'Tell her she's still under contract.'"
I groaned.
Of course.
Leave it to Ethan to mix concern with legal obligation.
Meanwhile — Office, 2:15 PM
According to Aryan's panic texts, people were speculating.
Had Ethan fired me?
Had I stormed out in dramatic fashion, middle-finger in the air and stilettos clacking like war drums?
Had I moved to the Maldives to marry a prince and sell organic coconut oil under the label "Sana's Scandal Glow"?
One person was certain I'd been fired.
"Obviously," they wrote. "Remember that last girl? The one who got too close to Ethan? Boom. Gone."
Apparently, someone even started a betting pool.
Odds on "She comes back with a legal team" were climbing.
Odds on "She never existed in the first place and we hallucinated her" were… uncomfortably high.
No one knew the truth.
Not the gossip group chat.
Not the HR auntie.
Not the new intern who spelled Ethan's name as Ethen.
No one knew the truth.
Except maybe Ethan.
But in typical Ethan fashion, he'd said nothing.
6:45 PM
I showed up.
Not because I wanted to.
But because hiding felt worse than facing it.
And because Dadi used emotional blackmail and guilted me with turmeric milk.
The elevator dinged on the 7th floor.
I stepped out, chin up, pretending not to care.
People stared.
Of course they did.
I walked to my desk. Aryan gave me a cautious thumbs-up. Raha mouthed "You good?" I nodded. Kinda.
Then Ethan's assistant appeared.
Of course.
"Mr. Agarwal would like to see you."
Of course he would.
In the Ethan's Den
He didn't look up when I entered.
Figures.
I stood still. Waiting.
Silence.
"Thanks for checking on me," I said finally, voice flat.
"I didn't do it for you," he replied without missing a keystroke. "I did it so Dadi Achar wouldn't blacklist my company from every Diwali sweets order in the city."
I blinked. "You called her for sweets insurance?"
He paused. Then, without looking at me, said quietly, "I called because I didn't know if you were okay."
That made me pause.
He finally looked up.
Eyes tired. Tie loosened.
Ethan 2.0 — Slightly Less Robotic Edition, still slightly infuriating.
"You weren't at work," he said. "You didn't reply. You ran out of a meeting like someone lit your file on fire."
"Maybe someone did."
"I didn't mean to lie to you, Sana."
"You didn't lie," I said, my tone sharper than I intended. "You just decided I didn't deserve the truth."
His jaw tightened.
I didn't give him time to respond.
"When did you know?" I asked.
He hesitated. Then admitted, "I figured it out in Chennai. The day we left Chennai."
I nodded slowly. "And you still didn't tell me."
"You were already overwhelmed," he said. "It wasn't the right moment."
"No," I said coolly. "It wasn't the convenient moment. For you."
He didn't argue.
I folded my arms, staring at him. "It wasn't just about the photo. Or the rumors. It was about how everyone knew something about my life—except me."
Silence.
"I'm tired, Ethan. Tired of being the last to know in a story I didn't even ask to be part of."
He nodded once. Slowly.
"I know," he said.
Then I remembered every time he made me feel small. Disposable. Just a secretary.
I stepped back.
"I don't know what you're doing, Ethan. But it's not fair."
"I know."
"I'm still angry."
"I know."
"And I don't know how to come back from this."
"I don't either."
But he said it quietly.
Like it hurt.
Like—for once—he wasn't playing a part.
When I stepped out of Ethan's cabin, the air felt heavier than when I went in.
Not because of what he said.
But because of what I didn't.
I didn't yell.
Didn't cry.
Didn't let him see how much I wanted to scream.
I just walked out.
And for once, I didn't overthink.
I pulled out my phone.
No long texts. No paragraphs. No explanations.
Just one line:
"Meet me at Blue Door Café. 7 PM."
I didn't expect him to show up early.
But of course he did.
When I walked in, Noah was already there — in his usual leather jacket, spinning a spoon in his coffee like it held the secrets of the universe.
He stood up when he saw me.
Smiled. Softly.
I didn't smile back.
We sat.
Silence stretched like melted sugar — slow, sticky, hard to escape.
He spoke first.
"You look like you haven't slept."
"I haven't," I said. "You?"
He shrugged. "Define sleep."
We stared at our menus without reading them.
Then he said, almost casually, "You know what's funny? Everyone in the office thinks Ethan is a robot."
I raised an eyebrow.
"And apparently," he continued, "the man who claims Ethan is his everything... is also a proud founding member of the Robot Hate Club."
I blinked. "You?"
He grinned sheepishly. "Guilty."
I exhaled through my nose. "Why?"
"Because it was fun," he admitted. "Teasing him. Watching him get flustered. No one knew he was my brother — and I liked it that way."
He looked down. Turned the spoon again.
"I did the same with you. At first."
At first.
"But then... you were different. You made me laugh, and challenge me, and look at things a little sideways. And I started liking you. And I didn't want that to be about him. I didn't want you to like me less because of who I was related to."
He looked up. "I was going to tell you. The day after that dinner. I swear, Sana."
Silence again.
"I rushed the proposal," he added, more to himself than to me. "It was stupid. Impulsive. I just... I was scared I'd lose you before I got the chance to say what I felt."
His voice cracked slightly. "I'm sorry."
I stirred my coffee.
Didn't sip.
Just stirred.
"I believe you," I said finally. "But I still need space."
He nodded.
"I need time. A break. A breath. It's been... a lot."
"I know."
"I'm not ghosting you," I added. "But I'm not ready for us right now."
He met my eyes. "I'll wait. Even if we don't end up where we thought... I'm still glad I met you."
I looked away.
Because that almost broke me.
"Thank you for coming," I said.
And I meant it.
We didn't hug.
Didn't promise anything.
We just sat.
Two people trying to remember how to be okay again — even if just for one quiet evening.