The following morning, Arin arrived at the office to find Astha already at her desk, her fingers flying over the keyboard. She looked calm, composed—but Arin wasn’t fooled. He knew she was plotting.
She had to be.
The sewing kit had been too clever, too pointed. He was certain it had come from her, and he wasn’t about to let that go unnoticed.
With a smirk, he strolled past her desk and leaned in just enough for her to hear. “I have to say, Mehra… thoughtful gift.”
Astha didn’t look up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Verma.”
Arin folded his arms. “Really? No idea at all?”
She finally glanced at him over the rim of her glasses. “If you’re referring to your Secret Santa gift, I hear HR is keeping track of them. Maybe you should check with them.”
Arin chuckled. “Oh, I don’t need HR. I think I already know who sent it.”
Astha turned back to her screen, feigning indifference. “Then why are you still talking to me about it?”
“Because,” Arin said, lowering his voice slightly, “it’s fun watching you pretend.”
She let out an exaggerated sigh and shook her head. “You are exhausting.”
“And yet, you keep playing along,” he pointed out smoothly.
Astha didn’t reply, but Arin caught the tiniest twitch of a smile before she returned to her work.
By lunchtime, Arin had decided that if Astha was going to challenge him, he’d return the favor.
While the office was busy, he slipped a small envelope onto her desk. It was sealed with no name, just a single phrase written in neat handwriting:
For someone who edits the world but never lets it edit her.
Astha frowned as she picked it up, eyeing it warily before opening it. Inside was a tiny, beautifully crafted eraser in the shape of a quill.
She stared at it for a long moment, reading and re-reading the note. Then, with the slightest shake of her head, she let out a soft laugh.
So, that’s how he wanted to play.
Fine.
Game on.
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