Ethan came over before we left. There was a brief exchange between him and Noah—quiet, sharp. Ethan slipped a small key into Noah's hand, then nodded once before turning and walking away.
At this point I stopped trying to understand this man.
Noah turned back to me with a crooked smile. "So, where were we?"
I blinked. My head still half spinning.
We made our way to Noah's apartment.
I had never been there before. It was messier than I imagined, smelled faintly of paint and something woody. The space felt lived in—chaotic, like him.
Paintings were everywhere. Leaning against walls, hung from clips, stacked on ledges. The colors were wild, sharp, gentle, and untamed all at once.
I strolled through the apartment slowly, taking my time to soak in each canvas.
Noah appeared beside me with two cups of tea. "It's a mess, I know."
"It's magic," I whispered, taking the cup.
He smiled softly. "Glad you think so."
"So," I said, eyes twinkling, "do you have any plans for the rest of the night?"
He tilted his head. "Not really. Why?"
"Perfect. Let's paint."
He looked adorably confused. "You want to paint? Now?"
"It's been years. Last time was probably school. I'm not great, but if you promise not to mock me, I'll try."
We sat across from each other, canvases between us.
An hour and a half passed. Noah finished early. I wasn't done, so he just sat there, watching me. Quietly. His eyes... soft. In love. Focused.
When I finally looked up, he was staring.
"Okay," I said, heart thudding. "Let's show each other. You first."
He turned his canvas around.
I gasped.
It was me.
But more than me. It was me. My smile, my eyes, but also my chaos. My strength. He had painted not just my face, but my soul.
I stared at the strokes, stunned. "You... you're a magician. I don't even know what to say."
He simply smiled. "I know."
"Okay, your turn," he said.
I hesitated. "It's... not good."
"Let me see."
I slowly turned it around.
It was a cartoonish version of him, with curly hair and exaggerated expressions. It looked nothing like him. More like a comic strip sidekick.
"See," I rushed. "Not a painter. Definitely not good."
Before I could say more, he hugged me from behind and kissed my cheek.
I froze. "Wait, you're not mad?"
"Mad? Thank you."
"For drawing you like a failed comic book character?"
He chuckled. "For drawing me. At all."
I felt a lump in my throat.
"I can't be Emrik Sovaire in one night," I said lightly. "But can you teach me a bit?"
His expression shifted.
"You're interested in art?"
"I love art. I don't follow it, but... Dia already has names for her future kids with Sovaire."
He laughed, shaking his head. "Alright then. Let's begin."
He brought out a fresh palette and began mixing colors.
Then he came up behind me, one hand guiding mine on the brush, the other holding the palette. I could feel his breath on my neck.
My brain couldn't function.
He was calm, focused. Patient like a teacher guiding a toddler.
I was melting.
After half an hour, we were almost done. I stepped back for a second, tripping on his foot. He caught me by the waist, but the palette tilted and splashed my shirt.
He panicked. "I'm so sorry! Your dress—"
I looked down, then smirked, dipped my finger in paint, and swiped it across his cheek.
He blinked. Then grinned.
Paint flew. Laughter echoed.
We turned the night into a private Holi.
Eventually, breathless and stained, we collapsed onto the sofa.
Our stomachs growled in unison.
"Pizza?" he offered.
"Please."
He ordered. I flipped through channels till it arrived.
We ate like starved teenagers. Elbows flying, crusts stolen.
And then we just... talked.
About life. Painting. Pressure. Passions. Scandals.
He told me how painting saved him. I told him how chaos always found me.
At some point, he drifted to sleep.
Curled up on the couch, mouth slightly open, hair a mess.
I couldn't stop staring.
He looked like peace. Like home. Like safety wrapped in color and comfort.
It was 5:30 AM.
I had to be at the office by 9.
I grabbed a sticky note and scribbled:
Thanks for the colors, the paint, the mess, and the comfort.
Didn't want to wake you. But this was a night I won't forget.
PS: I still think your smile is unfairly attractive.
—Sana
I left it beside him, quietly walked out, and grabbed a cab.
Alex opened the door. His eyes widened at the sight of me—paint-stained, messy-haired.
"Long night?"
"You could say that."
"Dadi's asleep. But Dia... God knows where she is. Not picking up either."
Panic flickered in my chest. I tried calling. No answer.
But I pushed the thought down and went to shower.
Just as I finished getting ready, Dia walked in.
Alex yelled first. "Where the hell were you?! Dadi doesn't know. We didn't know. You didn't tell anyone!"
She winced. "I was with Aryan."
I nearly dropped my hairdryer. "What?"
"We just... hung out. Talked. And... yeah. I found him attractive. It just happened."
Alex went pale. "Wait. You slept with him?"
She shrugged. "He's also an Emrik Sovaire fan. That counts for something."
I had no words.
I checked the time.
"Okay. Let Dadi sleep. We'll deal with your wild love life later. I'm already late."
Because truly...
This house? Never a dull moment.
And my life?
Definitely not a painting.
More like a paint explosion.
At the office, I stared blankly at my laptop screen. Half a spreadsheet blinked back at me, the other half of my brain still tangled in last night's paint-stained chaos.
Sleep? What even was that? I'd barely managed an hour before I had to drag myself here—hair slightly damp, shirt mildly wrinkled, and brain running on fumes and the faint scent of acrylic paint.
The big collaboration project had officially kicked off, and the office was in full-blown chaos mode. Teams were forming like political alliances. Desks were buried under color-coded spreadsheets, abandoned coffee cups, and employees who hadn't blinked since sunrise.
I ducked into a corner, opened my laptop, and told myself: Just focus. Be professional. Be normal. Be boring, if you have to.
Unfortunately, "boring" wasn't exactly part of my personality DNA.
I spotted Aryan across the floor—but he didn't acknowledge me. Maybe he didn't see me. Or maybe… he was actively avoiding me. My brain immediately spiraled. Is this about Dia? Did something go wrong? Or are they keeping it quiet?
Before I could overthink it any further, Raha swooped in beside me, eyes gleaming like she'd had three coffees and a juicy secret.
"So... about Alex," she said casually, like she wasn't already bursting with questions. "Does he always talk like that? Has he always been this chaotic? What's his skincare routine?"
I blinked. "Why?"
"We've been texting since last night," she said, grinning.
I blinked again. "Raha, Alex is currently unemployed and—let's be honest—a literal man-child."
She shrugged, eyes still sparkling. "Isn't it kind of sexy, though?"
I stared at her.
She grinned wider. "I don't know. Maybe there was something in the air last night."
I was summoned to his office.
I stepped in. The air was heavy with tension and citrusy cologne.
"You'll be my point of contact for the design and narrative briefs," he said, not looking up from his screen.
"Got it," I replied.
He finally looked at me. His green eyes scanned my face for a beat too long.
"Also," he said, pausing, "personal distractions aren't welcome in this project."
My stomach dropped.
"Excuse me?"
He leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands. "You heard me. Keep it professional, Miss Kapoor."
Something snapped.
"You mean like how you stared at me all night and then watched me kiss my boyfriend like a creep?"
He raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't staring."
"You were glaring."
"I was observing."
"Staring."
"Professional supervision."
"You're impossible!"
He leaned forward. "Then stop looking for me in a crowd if you hate it so much."
I froze.
His words hit me like a gust of cold wind.
"I don't look for you," I lied.
He didn't reply.
Just returned to his laptop like I hadn't just spiraled on the office floor in front of him.
The next two weeks were hell.
We worked late. We sent decks back and forth like missiles. We barely spoke beyond monosyllables.
And yet, I could feel it. Every time he walked by. Every time his hand brushed mine as he passed files. Every time our eyes met across the boardroom table.
It wasn't tension. It was electricity. The kind that short-circuits you from the inside.
The first sign that something was wrong came in the form of an email.
Subject line:
RE: Restructure - Lead Change (Project Aether)
From: Ethan Agarwal
To: Core Team
CC: Me.
I skimmed it once.
Twice.
Then read it again—because surely, I was hallucinating.
Ethan had restructured the core leadership. I was still on the team, but I wasn't the narrative lead anymore.
Aryan was.
I wasn't demoted.
But I wasn't trusted either.
I walked into his cabin before I could think.
He looked up—unbothered, casual, like he hadn't just pulled the rug from under me.
"You changed the structure," I said, trying to keep my voice calm.
"I did."
"You didn't tell me."
"I don't have to."
I blinked. "Wow. Okay. So that's how it is now?"
He didn't flinch. "It's not personal, Sana. Aryan's better suited for the client end. You're better at handling creative execution."
"That's convenient," I muttered. "Especially after lecturing me on professionalism last week."
He sighed and leaned back. "If you're going to treat this like a personal insult, maybe you're proving my point."
I wanted to scream. Throw something. Cry.
But all I did was nod.
"Noted."
And I left.
Later that evening, Noah picked me up from work. He had that stupidly sweet grin on his face and two lattes in a drink tray.
"You look like a person who's silently plotting murder," he said, handing me one.
"Maybe I am."
"Should I be worried?"
"Only if your name starts with E and ends with 'makes my life a nightmare.'"
He laughed. "Oh no. What did the Dark Lord do this time?"
I told him everything.
Well… most of it.
Noah was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, "You know, you don't have to prove anything to Ethan. You've already proven yourself."
I looked out the window. "Doesn't feel like it."
"You're enough," he whispered, lacing his fingers through mine. "With or without his validation."
That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
I had two men in my life.
One who saw the chaos and loved me anyway.
And one who saw the chaos and tried to manage it before it burned everything down.
Noah held my hand in storms.
Ethan tried to build me a shelter before the storm hit.
One gave me space.
The other took it, thinking it was care.
I was tired of being a project.
I wanted to be chosen—not for potential, not for management—but for who I was. Even if I was messy. Even if I made mistakes.
I needed to choose, too.
And for that—I needed clarity.
Friday hit like a truck.
Meetings. Deadlines. Passive-aggressive emails. A spreadsheet that looked like it was coded in ancient Sumerian.
I worked late again.
The lights dimmed around the office one by one, until only my cubicle and the hallway to Ethan's cabin were still lit.
I was about to pack up when I heard footsteps.
Ethan.
Of course.
He walked past, then doubled back.
"You're still here."
"So are you."
He walked over. Glanced at my screen. "That's the wrong data sheet. You're referencing Version 3B instead of the revised 4C."
I sighed. "Of course I am."
He didn't laugh. Just hovered silently.
And then he said, "You don't trust me anymore."
I froze.
"Should I?" I asked, meeting his eyes.
"I didn't do it to punish you, Sana. I did it to protect you."
"What does that even mean?"
"I can't afford any slip-ups on this project. Not with my father watching. Not with half the board ready to see me fall. And I know what happens to you when you get... caught in the chaos."
I stepped back. "That's not your decision to make. You don't get to protect me by pulling me down."
"It wasn't a demotion."
"It felt like one."
He stared at me—like he wanted to say more.
But he didn't.
He left.
Again.
The weekend came.
For the first time in weeks, the house was quiet.
Alex was job-hunting. Dia was sleeping off a hangover. Dadi was out with Ramamurthy uncle.
Noah and I sat on the terrace. Legs tangled, heads resting against each other.
He looked at me for a long second and then said, "Take Monday off."
I blinked. "What? Why?"
"I want to take you somewhere," he said, his fingers brushing mine. "Just for a weekend. Just us. Away from all this. Somewhere with bad Wi-Fi and better sunsets."
I tilted my head. "You're asking me to take leave... in the middle of this project? Ethan might assassinate me in the hallway."
"I'll talk to him, and if its urgent you can work from there for a while" Noah said calmly. "I mean it. Trust me."
I smiled, resting my head on his shoulder. "That sounds... nice."
"Just nice?"
"Fine. Romantic. Idyllic. Borderline dramatic."
He kissed my temple. "Perfect."
But as the sun dipped lower, a knot curled tight in my stomach.
Because the more I leaned into him, the louder my conscience got.
Screaming one thing.
You're not being honest.