The conference hall at The Oberoi in Mumbai had that polished, intimidating kind of charm that only five-star hotels managed to pull off. Spotless marble floors, crystal chandeliers, an endless spread of tiny sandwiches and coffee cups that were somehow always full—everything screamed corporate networking event.

Sana Kapoor hated corporate networking events.

She balanced her cup of cappuccino carefully, trying not to spill a drop on her cream blazer. A blazer, by the way, she had ironed twice this morning because, apparently, creases loved her more than her ex ever had. She exhaled slowly, scanning the sea of name tags around her.

Strangers in suits. Forced smiles. The occasional fake laugh that echoed too loudly in the acoustics of the hall.

God, why am I here again?

Oh right—because her manager insisted. "A great opportunity to meet cross-branch colleagues," he had said, which was corporate-speak for mingle, pretend to be friendly, and don’t embarrass us.

Sana adjusted her blazer sleeves, forcing her mouth into that polite half-smile she had perfected over three years of office life. She hated small talk, but she hated being seen as unfriendly even more.

That’s when she heard it.

“Sana Kapoor?”

The voice was deep. Confident. The kind that made you straighten your posture without realizing it.

She turned.

And paused.

The man standing in front of her looked like he’d just walked out of one of those glossy management magazines. Tall—easily over six feet. Broad shoulders that filled out his charcoal suit in a way that had to be deliberate. Black hair styled in that annoyingly perfect balance between effortless and expensive.

And his eyes—warm brown, steady, and unhurried—were fixed on her like he had all the time in the world to read her.

“Yes?” Sana managed, quickly pulling her professional smile back into place.

He extended a hand. “I’m Arjun Malhotra. From the Delhi branch.”

Oh.

Right.

The Arjun Malhotra.

She’d heard his name before. In meetings. In whispers around the coffee machine. The rising star of the Delhi office. Sharp, ambitious, with a reputation for delivering impossible projects on impossible deadlines. And apparently, also for being “dangerously charming,” though Sana had dismissed that as pure office gossip.

But now… standing in front of him, with that hand extended and that calm smile—she wasn’t so sure anymore.

Her fingers slipped into his grip. Firm. Warm. Just the right amount of pressure. None of that limp handshake nonsense, none of that aggressive bone-crushing either.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Malhotra,” she said, her tone even.

“Arjun is fine,” he corrected smoothly, with a faint curve of his lips. “I believe we’ll be collaborating on the client integration project next quarter.”

“So I’ve heard.” She gave a small nod, pulling her hand back and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m sure it’ll go smoothly.”

One eyebrow lifted. “Do you always sound this confident before a project even starts?”

Sana blinked.

Was he… testing her? Already?

She tilted her head, not missing a beat. “Do you always test people in the first five minutes of meeting them?”

His smile widened just a fraction—controlled, measured, like he wasn’t used to people pushing back but wasn’t annoyed by it either. In fact… he looked amused.

“Touché,” he murmured.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The hum of conversations around them filled the space—the clinking of cups, the rustle of papers, someone laughing too loudly at something clearly not funny.

But his gaze lingered. Not in an inappropriate way. Just… steady. Like he was cataloging her, assessing her, filing her away in some mental folder labeled Sana Kapoor.

And she hated how aware she was of it.

Before she could come up with something witty—or at least neutral—to say, a colleague passed by, calling his name.

“Arjun! They’re starting the presentation.”

Arjun gave Sana a small nod, professional but—was it her imagination or did his eyes soften for just a second?

“See you inside,” he said, his voice low, before turning away.

Sana exhaled, realizing only then that she’d been holding her breath.

She lifted her cup of cappuccino again, trying to focus on the comforting bitterness of coffee instead of the way her pulse had just tripped over itself. She adjusted her blazer sleeves for the third time, silently cursing the air conditioning for being too cold.

But then—out of the corner of her eye—she saw it.

Arjun.

Already halfway across the hall, blending seamlessly into a small cluster of suits. Laughing at something one of them said, nodding along, every bit the polished professional.

Except—

For a fraction of a second, he glanced back.

At her.

It was quick. Barely there. A flicker. But unmistakable.

Almost like a check.

Almost like curiosity.

Almost like—something else.

Sana blinked, gripping her coffee cup a little tighter.

Don’t overthink it, she told herself firmly. It was nothing. Just… nothing.

Still, as she walked toward the conference room, her professional smile back in place, she couldn’t shake the thought.

Maybe it was nothing.

Or maybe—just maybe—it was the start of something.

---

Two weeks later.

Y Branch, Mumbai.

The fluorescent lights in the training hall buzzed faintly overhead, matching the hum of the projector that had been running far too long. The trainer—a man with a voice so flat it could put caffeine to sleep—clicked to yet another slide. Pie chart number… thirty-seven? Thirty-eight? Sana had lost count somewhere after lunch, and honestly, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know anymore.

Her notes had devolved into little doodles on the margins of her notebook: arrows stabbing at pie slices, tiny caricatures of people drowning in PowerPoint slides. She stifled a yawn and tried to look alert.

When the trainer finally announced a break, Sana didn’t wait for the polite applause. She shoved her pen into her bag, stood up, and made a beeline for the coffee counter outside the hall.

“If I have to see one more pie chart today,” she muttered under her breath, “I might actually scream.”

“Careful, Ms. Kapoor.”

The voice came from her left. Smooth. Familiar. Infuriatingly amused.

She turned—and of course.

Arjun Malhotra.

Looking annoyingly fresh, as if he hadn’t just endured the same three-hour torture session. His navy suit was crisp, his tie perfectly in place, and somehow, his hair hadn’t rebelled against the humidity like everyone else’s had.

“Ruin your professional image,” he finished, his lips curving in that understated way of his.

Sana narrowed her eyes at him. “Better than ruining my sanity.”

She reached for the coffee pot and poured herself a cup, willing her hand not to shake from sheer exhaustion.

Arjun leaned casually against the counter, watching her with the kind of relaxed posture that screamed I’m not even trying, but yes, I noticed your sarcasm and I find it entertaining.

“What brings you here?” she asked, blowing on her coffee before taking a sip. “X branch takeover?”

“Quarterly review.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but his eyes glinted with amusement. “And you?”

“Process alignment meeting.” She rolled her eyes. “Which is a fancy way of saying… more pie charts.”

That earned her a chuckle. A real one this time, not the polite corporate kind. The sound was low, warm, and annoyingly pleasant.

“You don’t hold back, do you?” he said, tilting his head slightly.

Sana lifted her cup and smiled faintly over the rim. “Life’s too short for sugarcoating, Mr. Malhotra.”

His eyebrow lifted at the deliberate formality. “Arjun,” he corrected again.

Of course. The reminder. He’d said the same thing the first time they met, two weeks ago. Sana had pretended not to notice then. She pretended not to notice now.

But when his gaze lingered on hers for a beat longer than necessary, she felt a flicker of something. Something that made her look away too quickly, busying herself with grabbing a stirrer.

“Sugar?” he asked casually, reaching past her to pluck two packets from the counter. Their shoulders brushed—lightly, fleeting—but she felt the warmth of it travel straight through her blazer sleeve.

She cleared her throat. “No, thanks. Black.”

“Figures,” he said, tearing the packets open for himself. “Straightforward, no frills, no fuss.”

“Are you trying to psychoanalyze my coffee preferences?”

“Maybe,” he said lightly. “Better than analyzing pie charts.”

That made her laugh, short and unexpected. She quickly covered it with a sip of coffee, but his smirk told her he’d noticed.

“See you in the meeting after lunch,” he said as he stirred his own cup. “Try to survive.”

“Only if they reduce the charts by half,” she replied, already turning to walk away before he could see her smile.

But just as she was halfway across the hall, his voice carried after her.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

She didn’t turn back.

Not because she didn’t want to. But because turning back would mean admitting she wanted to.

Instead, she smiled into her coffee cup, the bitter warmth grounding her even as something lighter—something she wasn’t ready to name—curled quietly in her chest.

---

Later that afternoon

The meeting resumed, and true to form, the slides began again. But somewhere between chart twenty-one and twenty-two, Sana noticed something strange.

The next slide didn’t have a pie chart.

It had a bar graph.

Her lips twitched.

She risked a glance across the table, and there he was—Arjun, pen poised neatly over his notebook, expression composed. Except for the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth.

Like he knew.

Like he’d done it.

Sana quickly looked back at the screen, fighting a laugh.

Great, she thought, sipping her coffee. Now he’s in on the joke.

And somehow, that made the meeting a little easier to survive.

---

The return flight from the annual strategy meet was supposed to leave at 6:15 p.m.

It was now 8:00.

The lounge at Z Airport hummed with the dull sounds of travel—rolling suitcases across tiled floors, boarding announcements echoing overhead, the occasional crying toddler testing the patience of an entire gate. The air smelled faintly of strong coffee and overused air-conditioning.

Sana Kapoor shifted in the hard lounge chair, crossing and uncrossing her legs for the tenth time in fifteen minutes. Her cream blazer hung over the backrest in defeat, and her once-neat ponytail had loosened into something messier, strands falling annoyingly into her face.

Her phone screen glowed in her hand, thumb scrolling through social media, though she wasn’t really reading anything. Memes, vacation photos, ads for skin serums—nothing stuck. She was tired. Tired of the day-long sessions. Tired of the small talk. And most of all, tired of waiting for an airline that seemed to think time was optional.

She let out a sigh, just as a familiar voice cut through her fog.

“Guess we’re not leaving anytime soon.”

Her head snapped up.

There he was.

Arjun Malhotra.

Hands casually in his pockets, his carry-on slung over one shoulder, suit jacket folded neatly over his arm like it belonged in a magazine ad. He looked—annoyingly—fresh for someone who had also just sat through twelve hours of endless presentations.

“Seems that way,” Sana said dryly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Maybe they’re waiting for a full moon to take off.”

That earned her a low laugh, the kind that rumbled in his chest. It wasn’t loud, but it was warm enough to tug at the corner of her mouth.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, nodding to the empty chair beside her.

She shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant even as her pulse inexplicably quickened. “Suit yourself.”

He dropped into the seat, setting his bag by his feet. For a moment, they sat in silence. Not uncomfortable silence—just the kind filled by the background noise of the airport. A boarding call for some other flight rang out, muffled by the chatter of tired passengers. Somewhere nearby, a man argued with his wife about boarding passes.

Sana sipped from her overpriced airport coffee cup, focusing on the bitter taste rather than the awareness that Arjun Malhotra was sitting next to her.

Then his voice came again, quiet, curious.

“You don’t like these events much, do you?”

Her head turned slightly. “What gave me away? My sarcasm or my constant attempts to escape the crowd?”

His lips quirked. “Both. Most people force small talk at those things. You just… don’t bother.”

“Not with strangers,” she replied smoothly.

He leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him like he had all the time in the world. “And I’m still in the stranger category?”

Sana smirked into her coffee cup. “We’ve met twice. I don’t give promotions that fast.”

That pulled a chuckle from him, one that made her stomach flip annoyingly.

“Fair enough,” he said, eyes glinting. Then, after a beat, he added softly, “You’re different.”

The words hung between them.

Her brows lifted. “Different how?”

He tilted his head, studying her in that quiet, steady way that made her want to fidget under the weight of it. But she didn’t. She held his gaze.

Finally, he shrugged lightly. “Not sure yet. But I’ll figure it out.”

Something in the way he said it—calm, certain, like it wasn’t a casual comment but more of a promise—made her heart skip.

She arched a brow, deflecting. “Sounds like you’re running a case study on me, Mr. Malhotra.”

“Arjun,” he corrected automatically, just like before.

She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t argue this time.

Before she could come up with a comeback, the announcement system crackled overhead.

“Attention passengers on flight 6E-212 to Delhi. Boarding will now commence at Gate 14. We apologize for the delay.”

Relief rippled through the lounge as people began gathering their things, stretching, groaning, shuffling toward the gate.

Sana stood, slipping her blazer back over her arm, grabbing her bag. Arjun picked up his carry-on, and for a moment, they moved in sync, stepping out of the lounge and into the steady flow of passengers.

Side by side.

Not quite strangers anymore.

As they walked toward Gate 14, Sana glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He looked straight ahead, but the faintest smile curved at his lips—as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

She looked away quickly, hiding her own smile.

Airports were strange places, she thought. Places where time stalled, where strangers sat shoulder-to-shoulder, where delays forced conversations that wouldn’t otherwise happen.

Maybe she still hated pie charts. Maybe she still hated long corporate events. But delays?

Maybe delays weren’t always so bad.

---