She left.
Angry. Confused. Defensive.
But she didn't go far.
She sat near her window — the one that faced his building.
She told herself she wasn't waiting.
She was.
Every passing car made her look up.
Every sound of a lift door.
Every shadow.
Why do I even care? she thought.
Minutes passed.
Then a cab stopped.
Her heart reacted before her mind did.
It was him.
He stepped out.
Not heavily drunk.
But not steady either.
He paid the driver, fumbled slightly, walked toward the entrance. She watched carefully.
He reached his door.
Tried to unlock it.
Missed.
Tried again.
Dropped the keys.
She was already on her feet.
She didn't think.
She just went.
He didn't notice her until she picked up his keys.
"Aakrati?"
His face changed instantly.
Not guarded.
Not dominant.
Soft.
Relieved.
He smiled — genuinely.
"Aakrati… I missed you."
The way he said it wasn't dramatic.
It was honest.
She froze.
He leaned slightly against the wall, looking at her like she was the only stable thing in that moment.
"I'm so happy to see you," he said quietly. "Why do you always push me away?"
Her throat tightened.
"Do you know how much it hurts?" he continued. "I don't like people easily."
His voice wasn't loud. Just tired.
"Everyone usually likes me," he admitted with a faint laugh. "But I don't… I don't feel things like this easily."
She stared at him.
He looked different tonight.
Less controlled.
Less strategic.
More real.
"This place…" he gestured vaguely, "it's not good. People aren't the same. There's politics. There's competition. Smiles that aren't real."
His eyes met hers again.
"I used to work happily before. People respected my work. Here, they build against you."
He exhaled slowly.
"The only good thing that happened here was you."
Silence.
Her heart skipped.
"But why did you blame me?" he asked, and this time there was no anger. Only hurt.
"Did I do something wrong?"
She didn't know what to say.
"Are you hurt?" he asked softly. "Tell me. I'll fix it. Whatever it is. I'll fix it."
That wasn't dominance.
That wasn't ego.
That was someone who didn't understand why the one person he valued saw him wrongly.
She had never seen him like this.
At office — composed.
During arguments — intense.
In confrontation — dominant.
But right now?
He looked calm.
Grown.
Almost gentle.
And that confused her more.
God knows what this man is, she thought.
Dominant? Calm? Childish?
Or just layered?
He smiled at her again — tired but warm.
And for the first time, she didn't feel threatened.
She felt… chosen.
He liked me this much?
Not because she was pretty.
Not because she gave attention.
Not because she was convenient.
But because he saw her.
And that scared her more than anything.
Because this —
This was the type of man she secretly wanted.
Not someone who chased her.
But someone who valued her.
Not someone who touched without permission.
But someone who asked what hurt her.
Not someone who worshipped blindly.
But someone who stayed.
And yet…
She had pushed him away.
Standing there, holding his keys, watching him look at her like she mattered —
For the first time, she wasn't thinking about protection.
She was thinking about possibility.