The winter sun of Delhi was gentle that morning, casting a golden glow over the city. The crisp air carried the faint aroma of street-side chai and freshly baked bread from the bakery down the lane. It was one of those mornings where the city seemed to move a little slower, as if giving people the chance to breathe before the chaos began.

Isha Malhotra walked briskly across Connaught Place, the heels of her brown ankle boots clicking against the pavement. Her maroon overcoat hugged her frame, and a thin silk scarf was wrapped neatly around her neck. She wasn’t the kind of woman who drew attention because of flashy clothes — it was the quiet confidence in her stride, the determined glint in her eyes, that made people turn for a second look.

Her phone buzzed in her hand. A message from her younger sister lit up the screen:

> “Didi, mat bhoolna — 5 baje ka meeting hai! Don’t be late this time.”

The air between them crackled with tension, and neither of them dared to move.

Isha smiled faintly. Trust her sister to keep her schedule in check. She had always been the responsible one in the family, but lately, the weight on her shoulders seemed heavier than usual.

Today, however, wasn’t just any day. Today, she was stepping into a world she had only seen from afar — the world of him.

Across the city, inside the sleek glass building of Malhotra Enterprises, the man himself was already at work. Arnav Malhotra, the 32-year-old CEO, stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, sipping his black coffee. His reflection in the glass was sharp — neatly combed hair, tailored charcoal suit, and eyes that looked like they could read a person’s mind before they even spoke.

Arnav was known in Delhi’s business circles as a man who got what he wanted. Ruthless in negotiations, impossibly composed under pressure, and — if gossip was to be believed — holding secrets that no one dared to ask about.

He checked his watch. 9:45 a.m. Time was money, and Arnav never wasted either.

“Sir, your 10 a.m. meeting will be in Conference Room B,” his assistant Meera said, stepping into the room.

“Cancel it. Reschedule for tomorrow.”

Meera blinked. “But sir—”

“Tomorrow,” Arnav repeated, his tone leaving no space for argument.

It wasn’t like Arnav to cancel meetings. But today, there was something else occupying his mind — something, or perhaps… someone.

Isha reached the towering building of Malhotra Enterprises just as the morning rush was thinning. She paused at the entrance, her breath clouding in the cold air. The building was intimidating in its perfection — shimmering glass panels reflecting the winter sunlight, the revolving doors spinning with a quiet authority.

For a brief moment, she hesitated. She had prepared herself for this meeting for days, rehearsed every possible scenario, but now, standing here, her heart thudded against her ribs.

“Come on, Isha,” she whispered to herself, squaring her shoulders.

Inside, the lobby smelled faintly of sandalwood and leather. A massive chandelier hung above, its crystals catching the light in a hundred different ways. Every sound seemed muted here — the soft click of heels, the low hum of conversation, the occasional ding of the elevator.

She approached the reception desk. “I’m here for an appointment with Mr. Arnav Malhotra.”

The receptionist glanced at her politely before checking the system. “Your name, ma’am?”

“Isha… Isha Kapoor”

The receptionist’s hands stilled for a fraction of a second before resuming. “Of course, Ms Kapoor . He’s expecting you. Please take the elevator to the 18th floor.”

As the elevator doors slid shut, Isha caught her reflection in the polished steel. Her face was calm, but inside, her thoughts raced.

Why did her name — their shared surname — seem to stir a flicker of recognition in people? Why did even the receptionist hesitate?

The elevator chimed, and the doors opened to reveal the hushed elegance of the executive floor. Meera, Arnav’s assistant, was waiting. “This way, Ms. Kapoor .”

The office door swung open, and there he was.

Arnav looked up from the file in his hand, his expression unreadable. For a few long seconds, neither of them spoke. The silence between them wasn’t awkward — it was charged, almost electric.

Finally, he gestured to the chair opposite his desk. “Please, sit.”

Isha sat down, her palms resting on her lap. She had come here with a purpose, but the weight of his gaze made her feel as though every secret she’d kept was laid bare.

“So,” Arnav began, his voice deep and steady, “you wanted to speak to me about something important.”

Isha nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yes. But before I do… I think you should know — this isn’t a business proposal. It’s personal.”

Arnav’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his composure never cracked. “Personal?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “Very personal.”

The room felt smaller now, the air thicker. Outside, the city moved on, oblivious to the storm that was quietly gathering inside this office.

Arnav leaned back in his chair, studying her carefully. “Then perhaps you should start from the beginning, Ms. Kapoor

She met his gaze, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. “The beginning,” she said, “is a secret I’ve carried for years. And… it’s about you.”

The air between them crackled with tension, and neither of them dared to move.

To be continued ~~

For a moment, Arnav didn’t move. His fingers drummed slowly on the armrest of his chair, a habit Isha remembered well from the days when he was holding back his words.

“A secret?” he asked finally, his voice calm, but his eyes sharper now. “About me?”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She had thought of this moment for years — rehearsed it in her mind, rewritten it a hundred different ways — yet, here in his presence, her chest felt tight, the words stuck like thorns in her throat.

“Yes,” she said at last, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “It’s something I should have told you a long time ago. Something I should never have kept from you.”

Arnav leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the desk. “Then tell me now, Ms. Kapoor. Or are we still playing the same game from years ago?”

The jab was deliberate. And it landed.

Her fingers curled into her lap. “I left because I thought it was the only way to protect him.”

“Him?” Arnav’s brows drew together. “Who exactly are we talking about?”

Isha’s voice trembled, but she didn’t look away. “Our son.”

The words fell into the space between them like stones into still water, ripples of shock spreading outward.

Arnav froze. For a fraction of a second, his usually unreadable expression faltered — just enough for her to see the disbelief, the sudden tightness in his jaw. “Our… what?”

“Our son,” she repeated, more firmly this time. “His name is Aarav. He’s four years old. And he’s yours, Arnav.”

Silence.

Not the comfortable kind they used to share when words weren’t needed — but the heavy, suffocating kind that made every breath feel like a betrayal.

“You’re telling me,” Arnav said slowly, as if tasting each word, “that you’ve kept my child from me for four years?”

“I—” she began, but he cut her off with a sharp raise of his hand.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” His voice was no longer calm; it was controlled fury. “Four years, Isha. Four years where I didn’t even know he existed. Where I didn’t—” He broke off, shaking his head as if the thought itself was unbearable.

Her eyes stung, but she held her ground. “I did it to protect him.”

“From me?” His voice was like ice now.

“No!” she said quickly. “From… from the life you lived back then. The people you dealt with, the business risks, the constant scrutiny. I was scared, Arnav. Scared of what that environment would do to him.”

He laughed bitterly, though there was no humor in it. “So instead, you thought the better option was to make me a stranger to my own child.”

She flinched. “I know it was wrong. But I can’t change the past. All I can do now is ask you to be part of his life. He needs a father. And you’re the only one he’ll ever have.”

Arnav stood abruptly, moving to the window. His reflection stared back at him — the same man he’d been an hour ago, yet somehow entirely different.

“He asks about you,” Isha continued quietly. “Every time he sees another child with their father, he asks me… where his papa is. And I—” her voice cracked—“I can’t lie to him anymore.”

Arnav kept his back to her, his shoulders rigid. “And what exactly are you asking for now, Isha?”

She swallowed hard. “I want you to marry me.”

He turned sharply, eyes narrowing. “So this is about convenience? About giving your son — our son — a socially acceptable family name?”

“It’s not about convenience,” she said, her voice rising for the first time. “It’s about giving him a family. About giving him you.”

They stood in a standoff, the space between them thick with years of unsaid words and unanswered questions.

Finally, Arnav spoke, his tone colder than the Delhi air outside. “You’ve dropped a bomb on my life, Isha. Don’t expect me to decide in a day whether I want to live with the fallout.”

“I’m not asking you to decide today,” she said softly. “I’m just asking you to think about him. Not me. Not us. Just him.”

Without waiting for permission, she stood, her movements slow but deliberate. At the door, she paused. “He has your eyes,” she whispered. “Every time I look at him, I see you.”

And then she left, the click of the door sounding far louder than it should have.

Arnav stood motionless, the echo of her words swirling in his mind. Our son. Four years old. Aarav.

In another part of the city, in a modest apartment, little Aarav sat cross-legged on the floor, building a tower out of colorful blocks. “Mumma,” he called out in his sweet, lisping voice, “will Papa come today?”

Isha, standing in the doorway, forced a smile. “Maybe soon, beta. Maybe soon.”

But her heart whispered a silent prayer — that this time, she hadn’t come back too late.

To be continued ~~

ISHA'S POV

(Flashback)

The first time I saw him, I was late.

Not fashionably late, not “two-minutes, sorry-I-got-stuck-in-traffic” late… but embarrassingly late. The kind of late where everyone in the conference room turns their head in unison, silently judging you.

And there he was.

Arnav Malhotra.

The youngest CEO in the city’s media industry, the man everyone whispered about — half in awe, half in envy. His crisp charcoal suit fit like it had been designed on his frame. His watch probably cost more than my monthly rent, but it was his eyes that caught me off guard — deep, unreadable, like they held a thousand unspoken words.

“Ms. Kapoor,” he said without looking at the folder I nervously clutched. “You’re late.”

I could have melted right there. Not out of attraction — at least not yet — but out of pure humiliation.

“I— I’m sorry, traffic—”

“Save it,” he cut in smoothly, sliding a pen across the table toward me. “Sign the NDA. If you’re going to work under me, punctuality is not optional.”

The words under me made my brain short-circuit for a fraction of a second. And no, not in the way you’re thinking — though later, much later, they would mean something entirely different.

That day, I hated him.

But fate… oh, fate has the sense of humor of a drunk stand-up comedian.

---

Three weeks later, I was sitting in his office, juggling client files, and Arnav Malhotra — the man who didn’t believe in “wasting time” — was asking me if I wanted coffee.

“You’re smiling,” I teased, because the sight was rare.

“I’m trying not to,” he replied, looking dead serious. “People will start thinking I’m human.”

That was the first crack in the ice.

---

Over the months, we became… something.

Not quite friends, not just colleagues. There was a thread pulling us closer, though neither of us dared name it. He started waiting for me in the mornings so we could walk into the office together. I started keeping an extra sugar sachet in my drawer because he always forgot his.

He had this way of making me feel like I could conquer anything, just by looking at me. And sometimes, I’d catch him watching me during meetings — not in that casual, absent-minded way, but like I was the only thing worth noticing.

---

The night it happened — our night — we weren’t even supposed to be alone.

It was raining. The rest of the team had left after a product launch celebration, but we stayed behind, working through client reports. The power flickered, the city went dark, and in that quiet glow of the emergency lights, something shifted.

“I think you like storms,” he said suddenly.

I smiled faintly. “Why?”

“Because you’re not afraid of them,” he replied, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it.

And before I could think, before I could remind myself that he was my boss, he closed the distance between us.

The kiss was slow, deliberate — like he was memorizing me. And when we broke apart, both of us knew nothing would be the same again.

---

We didn’t announce it to the world. We didn’t need to. The stolen glances, the late-night calls, the way his hand would brush against mine under the table — it was ours, and ours alone.

We were happy. God, we were so happy.

Which is why the end hurt even more.

---

It was barely three months after that night when everything began to crack.

His company hit a crisis. Shareholders were breathing down his neck. I was juggling deadlines, trying to shield him from extra stress. But somewhere in the chaos, we stopped talking — not the surface-level, “How’s your day?” talk, but the real, soul-deep kind.

Then came the argument.

I don’t even remember what started it — maybe a delay on my side, maybe his impossible standards that week — but I remember his voice, cold and sharp:

“Maybe this was a mistake, Isha.”

And I, stupidly proud and terrified of hearing him say more, replied:

“Maybe it was.”

We didn’t fix it. Neither of us called. Neither of us showed up at the other’s door.

---

A week later, I found out I was pregnant.

I remember staring at the two pink lines, my hands shaking so hard I could barely hold the test. Every instinct screamed to tell him. But then I remembered the way he had looked at me that last day — distant, tired, as if letting me go was easier than fighting for me — and I froze.

He had a company to save. A life I didn’t fit into anymore. And I… I didn’t want my child to be someone’s unwanted responsibility.

So I walked away. I left the city, left the whispers, left him.

---

Back in the present, sitting across from him now — years later — I can still hear the echo of that last unspoken goodbye.

And yet, I’m here.

With the one truth I can’t hide anymore.

Our son needs his father.