As the day progressed, Astha found herself unable to stop glancing at the golden pen. She twirled it between her fingers absentmindedly during meetings, traced the engraving on the side during quiet moments, and kept returning to the note that had come with it.
Golden words should be written in gold.
It wasn’t just a gift. It was a statement. A reminder. A belief in something she had long since stopped believing in—her own words.
Meanwhile, Arin was experiencing his own distractions. The touch lamp on his desk glowed softly whenever he tapped it, casting a warm light over his papers. He was used to working under sterile, clinical lights, but this? This was different. This was comfort. A small, thoughtful gesture that felt strangely intimate.
Later that day, as Astha was settling at her desk, Priya from the HR department stopped by, peeking at the golden pen and the diary Astha had received earlier. “That’s a beautiful set,” Priya noted, leaning against the desk. “Someone must really admire your work.”
Astha smiled faintly. “It’s thoughtful, isn’t it? Do you think it’s someone from editorial? Or maybe Vinod from accounts?”
Priya smiled. “Could be. Or it could be someone else entirely. Guess you’ll just have to find out.”
Astha tapped the pen thoughtfully against her desk. “I will.”
Arin, passing by at that moment, overheard the conversation. He hid his smile as he walked past, amused by her growing curiosity.
Later that afternoon, Astha received her edited article back from Arin. As she skimmed through the revisions, a crease formed between her brows. Some of the corrections made sense, but others? Others she didn’t agree with at all.
Picking up the article, she strode into his office. “I don’t agree with this change,” she said, pointing at one section. “This paragraph was already strong.”
Arin leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping against his desk. “It’s strong, but it could be more powerful. I know you can write with passion, with force, but you hold back. Why?”
Astha blinked, caught off guard. “I don’t hold back.”
Arin tilted his head. “You do. I’ve read your articles, Astha. They’re excellent, but I can tell when someone is writing cautiously—afraid to go too deep. You don’t need to.”
She frowned, gripping the paper a little tighter. “I write as I see fit.”
“And I think you see a lot more than you allow yourself to say,” Arin countered, his voice quiet but firm.
Astha stared at him for a long moment before shaking her head. “You assume too much.”
Arin simply smiled. “And you deflect too much.”
She sighed, exasperated, but took the article back with her, unable to shake the feeling that he wasn’t entirely wrong.
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