The thing was, I had always wanted to be Mehul’s friend.

That was it. Nothing more.

At first, it was just curiosity. He was different—quiet, unreadable, always keeping people at a distance. I had wanted to break through that. Not because I expected anything in return, but because… I liked the challenge.

I liked the way he never humored unnecessary conversations.
I liked that he never faked a smile or forced small talk.
I liked that when he spoke, he meant every word.

I had told myself that was all it was.

But lately…

Lately, I wasn’t so sure anymore.

I wasn’t sure when I started waiting for him to glance up when I walked into the room.
I wasn’t sure when I started noticing how he held his coffee, how he tapped his fingers when he was deep in thought.
I wasn’t sure when I started wanting more.

And today, it hit me harder than ever.

The office was buzzing as usual—phones ringing, people hurrying past, the smell of coffee hanging in the air. But as I stepped in, my attention went straight to him.

Mehul was at his desk, sleeves rolled up, his fingers moving effortlessly over the keyboard. The soft glow of his monitor reflected in his amber eyes , his brows slightly furrowed in focus.

It was a normal sight.

And yet, my stomach flipped.

I tried to shake it off, act normal. But then, he gently brushed his hair with  his hand, absentmindedly.

And for some ridiculous reason, that small movement completely threw me off.

I forced myself to keep walking, gripping my file a little too tight. Breathe, Vihaan.

I stopped at his desk. “Morning.”

Mehul didn’t look up. “Morning.”

Just one word. And yet, my heartbeat reacted anyway.

I should’ve just walked past. Pretended he was like everyone else.

But, of course, I didn’t.

“I made the slide corrections,” I said, placing a file on his desk.

Mehul took it without a word, flipping through the pages.

I should’ve left.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I watched.

The way his fingers moved, quick and precise.
The way his wrist flexed slightly when he turned a page.
The way he read with complete focus, as if nothing else existed.

And suddenly, I wasn’t breathing properly.

He reached for his pen.

I don’t know why I watched so closely.

But I did.

The way his fingers curled around it.
The way the muscles in his forearm shifted slightly when he moved.
The way he made small, neat corrections without a single hesitation.

It was just a pen. Just a stupid, ordinary movement.

And yet, I felt completely thrown off.

I cleared my throat. “You’re fast.”

Mehul didn’t look up. “You’re slow.”

I let out a short, breathless laugh, trying to cover the fact that my brain was still catching up.

“I’m thorough,” I corrected.

Mehul finally glanced up.

And something about the way he looked at me—like he was seeing right through me—made my chest feel tight.

“Is that what you tell yourself?” he asked.

My brain shut down.

What was that supposed to mean?

Was that a joke? A tease?

Or worse—was it nothing at all?

I had no idea.

And that was a problem.

Because suddenly, I wanted to know what he actually thought of me.

And that realization was far more dangerous than anything else.

I went back to my desk, fully intending to move on, forget about it, and be normal.

Instead, I sat there, completely lost in thought.

Because now, it wasn’t just about noticing him.

Now, it was about how I felt when he noticed me.

And the worst part?

I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to stop.

Or if I wanted more.