20

The classroom had mostly emptied, but Tara and Aryan lingered near Professor Mark's desk as requested. He was sitting with his usual calm demeanor, reviewing some notes, before looking up at them with a warm smile.

"That was impressive work today, you two," he said. "You seem to work... well together."

The pause was so brief, it could have been nothing—or everything. But it passed quickly, and he moved on before either of them had time to overthink it.

"I actually called you over because there's an opportunity I wanted to offer you both," Mark continued. "There's a new business opening up in the city—a small restaurant. They reached out to the university looking for a couple of capable students to handle their website development, front to back. It's a full-stack project—design, coding, deployment—the whole package."

Tara straightened a little, her attention fully locked in now. Aryan, beside her, nodded along, equally interested.

"It's paid," Mark added, his smile growing. "And beyond that, it's actual work experience. You can put it on your resume as employment, not just coursework. It's a good way to get your foot in the door for more freelance projects—or future jobs."

Tara's mind was already racing through the implications. This was exactly the kind of thing she needed—something real, something tangible for her future.

Mark leaned back slightly. "There's a bit of fieldwork involved. You'd need to visit the restaurant once or twice—get a feel for their brand, take some photos, understand their needs. Travel costs will be covered. And you'll handle the client directly—deadlines, meetings, everything. I'll oversee it from a distance, but the responsibility will be yours."

He paused briefly, looking at both of them. "I thought of you two because your project stood out today. It showed... a certain understanding. Good communication. That's rare."

It was a simple observation—one that could easily be interpreted as praise for their teamwork. But for Tara, it landed differently. Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe Mark just had that quiet intuition some professors seemed to possess.

But he didn't linger on it. He was professional.

Mark leaned forward with a light smile, his eyes kind but expectant. "So, I need to confirm with the client soon. What do you say? Are you both interested?"

Tara hesitated. Her fingers lightly gripped the strap of her bag. It was a big opportunity—something she couldn't afford to pass up—but working closely with Aryan like this? Every day? She wasn't sure she could handle that.

She opened her mouth, ready to stall, maybe ask for some time to think it over. But before she could say anything, Aryan's voice cut in, steady and confident.

"We're in," he said.

Tara turned her head sharply, eyes narrowing slightly. He met her gaze—calm, certain, but with a knowing softness. He'd read her mind, like he always used to. He knew she wouldn't say no, not to this. He also knew she was hesitating because of him.

He had made the choice for both of them. And, frustratingly, he wasn't wrong.

She looked at Mark, and smiled, "Yeah."

Mark seemed pleased. "Perfect. I'll email you the details later today. The business is eager to get started, so expect to hear from them soon."

He gathered his papers but paused briefly, looking up at them with a thoughtful smile. "Good partnerships... they're rare. When you find one that works, hold on to it."

It was a simple, professional sentiment—but Tara couldn't shake the feeling that it was more than that. She bit the inside of her cheek, forcing a polite nod.

"Thank you, Professor," Aryan said with his usual charm, while Tara quietly echoed the same.

As they walked out of the classroom together, she kept her pace quick, trying to avoid any conversation. But Aryan, walking beside her, glanced at her with a small smile.

"Why did you say yes for me?" She snapped.

"You were gonna say yes anyway," he murmured.

She shot him a look, but there was no heat behind it—only exhaustion. "You don't know everything, Aryan."

He gaze on her tightened. "I know you."

She didn't reply. She didn't need to. They both knew he was right.

~•~

When they reached back to their studios, both their phones rang almost simultaneously—it was the business they had just agreed to work with, sending over the initial details and asking for a preliminary discussion. Aryan glanced at Tara, holding up his phone.

"We should probably start discussing this," he said casually.

Tara let out a long sigh. She knew exactly what she had signed up for. There was no getting out of it now.

"Fine," she muttered, already mentally preparing herself.

Aryan leaned against his doorframe, smirking. "Come over in thirty minutes?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Your place is still a mess."

He laughed, scratching the back of his head. "Fair point."

She paused, battling the annoyance and the inevitable acceptance. "Just... come to mine in thirty."

With that, she turned around and went inside her studio, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Once alone, she pressed her back against the door, eyes closed for a second. This was all happening too fast. She needed to breathe. She needed to stop feeling. She needed to not care. But the problem was—she did care. And that scared her.

She shook off the thoughts and went to shower. As the warm water cascaded over her, she stared at the tiles, thoughts swirling in her mind. Why was life dragging him back into her orbit when she had tried so hard to push him out? She felt exhausted—emotionally drained from fighting feelings she thought she had buried.

"Why is this happening?" she muttered under her breath, eyes stinging slightly from the weight of it all.

After her shower, she slipped into simple gray shorts and an oversized white t-shirt, leaving her damp hair up open. She tried to shake off the heaviness in her chest as she moved to the kitchen. She took out some ginger and started grating it for chai—her usual comfort when her mind was this messy.

Just as she was about to put the kettle on, a knock echoed through the room. She inhaled deeply, bracing herself, and opened the door.

Aryan stood there, dressed simply in a black tee and matching track pants, his hair slightly messy, his face relaxed yet effortlessly attractive. Something about the casualness of it made her heart stumble for a second. He looked good. Too good.

She blinked, clearing her throat. "Uh... sit," she said quickly, stepping aside.

He walked in and closed the door behind him, setting his bag on the couch. He opened her laptop and powered it on. "So," he started, but when he lifted his eyes, he noticed her fully immersed in making chai, carefully watching the ginger brew.

He got up, moving towards her, his footsteps light but deliberate. He stopped beside her, watching her hands work with practiced familiarity.

"Can I help?" he asked softly.

Tara, without looking up, replied, "I don't need your help."

Aryan chuckled under his breath, that low, familiar laugh that made something stir in her chest. He reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering for a brief second longer than necessary.

"I missed this," he murmured, his voice low.

Her body tensed. She took a small step back, trying to put some distance between them.

"Stop it, Aryan," she said quietly, trying to sound firm but falling slightly short.

He didn't push. He simply looked at her, his gaze softer than she remembered. "Let me make the chai. Let me be useful."

"I said I'll do it," she snapped, though there was less bite in her words.

"I know," he said, switching to Marathi, his tone gentle, "Mala help karu de—let me help."

She sighed heavily, knowing he wouldn't stop until she let him. Defeated, she stepped back and dropped into the chair nearby.

"Fine," she muttered.

Aryan smiled slightly and took over. He worked with surprising ease, measuring the water, adding the tea leaves, sugar, milk—just the way she liked it. The smell filled the room, wrapping her in warmth. She watched him quietly, the familiarity of it all tugging at something deep within her.

A few minutes later, he brought over two cups, handing her one. She took it hesitantly, and as soon as she sipped it, her eyes flicked to his.

It was perfect.

He noticed her subtle approval and leaned slightly closer. "I never forgot how you like your chai, baby."

Her heart jumped at the word—baby—the way it used to roll off his tongue so easily. She quickly looked away, masking her feelings with an eye roll.

"We should work," she said, cutting through the tension.

Aryan simply smiled. He heard what she said, but he also heard everything she didn't say.

"Okay, star," he said softly, moving back to the laptop.

As he opened the project details, Tara stared into her cup for a moment, her fingers wrapped tightly around it—searching for warmth, or maybe comfort, from something that felt so dangerously familiar.

💜