Chapter 2 – Coffee Between Meetings

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.

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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.

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