Maa, I want this car!” little Devansh said, his eyes sparkling as he showed her a picture in the newspaper—his tiny finger pointing to a bright red toy car.

His mother smiled faintly, brushing her hand gently over his cheek. “But beta… you know your father doesn’t like these kinds of toys.”

It wasn’t that a toy could ever be a problem. But she knew her husband too well—he didn’t just dislike things. He disliked happiness. If someone smiled, he found a way to take it away.

Hearing her words, Devansh’s small face fell. He looked down at the floor, his little shoulders drooping. He had come to her with so much hope.

She was in the middle of chopping bhindi when she saw the sadness cloud his face. Setting the knife aside, she bent down, cupping his cheeks.

“What if…” she lowered her voice conspiratorially, “…we don’t tell him? You can play with it during the day while he’s gone.”

His eyes widened, his frown flipping into a grin. Two little teeth missing from the sides only made his smile more precious.

He threw his arms around her neck, and she hugged him back—tight, warm, full of love.

---

That night, after finishing her chores, Devansh’s mother opened her wardrobe. She slid her hand past the neatly stacked sarees until her fingers found the very last one at the bottom. Hidden beneath its folds was a small, crumpled note—₹500 she had somehow managed to save.

Unfolding the note, she tucked it into the corner of her dupatta, tying a firm knot at the edge to keep it safe.

Just as she finished, she heard something crash onto the floor in the other room.

Her heart sank. She didn’t need to check. She already knew—her husband was home. And from the sound of it, he was drunk.

She stepped out of her room just in time for her husband to hurl a vase at her.

It shattered against her head with a sickening crack.

Warm blood trickled down her forehead instantly, blurring her vision. She clutched at the wound, wincing at the sharp, searing pain.

Her drunken husband didn’t even flinch. Without a glance at her, he shoved her aside and stumbled toward the bed. Collapsing on it, he let out a satisfied sigh—snoring within moments, as if nothing had happened.

Meanwhile, his wife knelt on the floor, her dupatta pressed to her bleeding head. She knew the cloth wouldn’t help much; the wound was deep. The metallic scent of blood hung in the air.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the small figure of Devansh stepping out of his room.

She had put him to bed earlier, but the loud crash must have woken him.

“Maa! What happened?” he cried, running to her side. His small hands trembled as his eyes filled with tears. He was only ten, but already old enough to know this sight too well—his mother hurt, again and again.

“It’s nothing, beta,” she whispered, forcing a smile to hide her pain. She couldn’t bear to see him cry. But lies were useless here—he had grown up watching her suffer both physically and emotionally, every single day.

“I’ll get something, Maa!” he said, determination replacing his fear.

He sprinted to his room—the one he shared with his older brother. He went straight to the drawer where he had last seen the first aid kit… but it was gone.

Frantically, he turned to his brother, who was sprawled in bed, sleeping soundly. “Bhaiya, wake up!” Devansh shook him by the arm.

With a groggy scowl, his brother pushed him away. “Go away,” he mumbled, turning over. The shove sent Devansh stumbling to the floor.

He didn’t try again. There was no point.

Instead, he began searching on his own—checking under the bed, opening cupboards, and finally, finding the kit shoved behind a table. His brother’s doing, no doubt.

Clutching it tightly, he rushed back to his mother.

Panting, he handed her everything she asked for. She took it from him gently, her fingers trembling as she began bandaging herself—because no one else would.

________

Present

________

“What the hell… I messed up on my very first day,” Aarohi groaned, pressing her palm dramatically to her forehead.

She strode straight to the lobby where candidates were waiting for their interviews. The air was thick with nervousness—most people sat upright, clutching their files like lifelines. But Aarohi? Her nervousness wasn’t for the interview. No. It was for the man she had just embarrassed herself in front of.

In her head, a hundred what-ifs fought for dominance.

What if he already hates me?

What if he tells the HR to reject me without even looking at my CV?

What if he humiliates me in front of the entire staff?

“Ugh, stop it!” she muttered to herself, shaking her head like she could physically knock the thoughts out.

She was so lost in her spiraling self-talk that she barely registered someone calling her name.

“Miss Aarohi Kaushik?”

At first, she ignored it, thinking it was part of her imagination.

“Miss Aarohi Kaushik?” The voice came again, louder and closer this time.

Her head snapped up. “Ye–Yes!” she stammered, jumping to her feet so quickly that the stack of files in her hands nearly slipped to the floor.

She bent down to catch them just as the man calling her name crouched to help.

“Oh! I—thanks,” she said awkwardly as they both stood up, him handing over the files he’d gathered. She tucked them into her clear bag, securing them with more care than she usually had for her phone.

“It’s okay, no problem,” he replied politely, then gestured toward a corridor. “That way, please. The interviews are happening in Cabin 12.”

Aarohi’s heart skipped as she walked toward the glass door at the end. Because through its reflection… she saw him.

Devansh Oberoi.

The man from the elevator.

The man she had… spoken absolute gibberish to.

Her lips moved in a silent prayer. God, if You really exist, please make him forget everything. Or at least make him too busy to notice me.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open.

“May I come in, sir?” she asked, voice as polite as she could make it.

Devansh didn’t look up, simply nodded while reading her resume. “Sit.”

She sat, her back straight, her legs crossed at the ankle like she’d read in all those how to ace your interview articles.

“So, Miss Aarohi Kaushik,” he began, pushing his chair slightly closer to the desk, his elbows resting on it. His eyes finally met hers—and it felt like they pierced straight through to her soul.

“Yes, sir,” she replied, her voice a little shakier than she wanted.

“We’ve met before, haven’t we?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“Yes, sir… in the elevator,” she admitted, her last words softer, like she hoped they’d get lost in the air before reaching him.

But Devansh’s gaze didn’t falter. “No. Before that.” His tone dropped, almost like he was speaking to himself. Then he leaned back slightly, crossing one leg over the other, his eyes returning to her resume.

Before that? Aarohi blinked, confused. She was pretty sure she’d remember seeing this man anywhere else. It wasn’t like he was the kind of face you’d forget.

“So why are you applying here?” His voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

“It’s my dream company,” she said quickly. “I’ve always wanted to intern here. And… um… even if it’s a secretary role, I have no problem with that.” She tried to smile confidently, but her brain was screaming at her. What are you even saying?

Devansh’s expression remained unreadable. He set her resume aside. “You can go.”

She blinked. “Sir?”

“You can go,” he repeated, this time looking directly at her.

“Oh… okay. Thank you, sir,” she said, standing up, though her mind was still spinning.

By the time she stepped out of the cabin, she was convinced—this was a disaster. Everyone else’s interviews seemed to last at least twenty minutes. Hers? Barely five. No one gets hired after five minutes.

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and made her way toward the elevator.

As she stopped in front of it, she noticed someone standing beside her. Recognition hit—him. The man she had met earlier, before the interview.

He looked at her. She immediately looked away, then—out of sheer stupidity—looked back and scanned his face like she was trying to memorize it. He raised an eyebrow, and she quickly turned away again, squishing her lips together in embarrassment.

The elevator arrived, and they both stepped inside.

“Which floor?” he asked, glancing at her.

“Uh… first floor,” she said, fumbling over her words.

She was still lost in her thoughts about her failed interview when his voice broke through.

“How was your interview?” he asked casually.

She gave him a small, awkward smile. “I don’t know… maybe a disaster,” she admitted, turning her gaze forward again.

He chuckled, and she whipped her head around. “Wait—why are you laughing?”

“Nothing,” he said with a teasing smile. “You’re just… cute when you pout like that.”

Her eyes widened. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she quickly turned her face toward the side of the elevator, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

But of course, he did.

To break the tension, he extended his hand toward her. “By the way, I’m Kunal.”

She looked at him for a moment, then shook his hand. “I’m Aarohi.”

“Ooo-kay… it’s really nice to meet you,” he said with a grin before stepping out at the fifth floor.

Aarohi stared at him until the elevator doors closed again.

Then it hit her.

“Wait… did he just call me cute

?” she whispered, her hand flying to her face, which was burning like fire.

A second later, she smacked her own cheek lightly. “Shut up, Aarohi. You can’t trust anyone.”