The next morning, Astha arrived at the office determined to ignore the lingering heat in her cheeks from last night’s conversation with Arin. Their drive to the office was filled with silence and Astha preferred that. She wasn’t a schoolgirl blushing over some harmless teasing. She was a grown woman with a career and responsibilities.
Yet, the memory of his smirk, the way he had studied her reaction with quiet amusement, played on repeat in her mind.
She shook her head and focused on her work.
As she settled into her seat, another small package sat neatly on her desk.
Her breath hitched for a fraction of a second before she regained her composure.
She unwrapped it carefully, revealing a small, elegant bookmark—gold with intricate engravings of stars, mirroring the earrings she had received earlier. Attached to it was a note:
For the woman who writes stories but doesn’t realize she is one herself.
Astha exhaled, staring at the words longer than she should have.
This was getting ridiculous.
Her secret Santa clearly knew her well, too well.
She glanced around the office, but no one was paying her any particular attention. Arin was in his cabin, deep in work. Priya was laughing at something on her phone. The rest of the office was going about their day as usual.
She tapped the note against her desk, lost in thought.
Meanwhile, across the room, Arin found another package on his desk.
He raised an eyebrow. This game wasn’t over yet.
Inside was a pair of sleek black sunglasses with a note tucked beneath them:
You should wear these, Mr. Editor. You’ll look cooler when you’re not intimidating people with your intense stare.
Arin let out a small chuckle, shaking his head.
He slid the glasses on and leaned back in his chair, amused by the reflection of himself in his laptop screen.
A moment later, his phone buzzed.
A message from Astha.
Astha: Whoever my secret Santa is, they need to stop being poetic. It’s getting out of hand.
Arin smiled and typed back.
Arin: Why? Not a fan of being appreciated?
A pause. Then another message popped up.
Astha: I’m not a fan of mysteries I can’t solve.
Arin exhaled, glancing at the note that had come with his gift.
So, she wanted to solve the mystery?
Maybe he would make that a little harder for her.
That evening, as they drove home, the air between them was lighter than usual.
Astha was still contemplating her secret Santa dilemma when Arin, still wearing the sunglasses, turned to her with an exaggerated smirk. “So, what do you think?”
Astha rolled her eyes. “You look ridiculous.”
He chuckled. “Not what my secret Santa thinks.”
Astha shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re enjoying this so much.”
“Oh, I am,” he admitted. “And you? Have you figured yours out yet?”
Astha exhaled. “No. And at this point, I don’t think I care anymore.”
Arin glanced at her, amused. “Really?”
“Yes,” she muttered. “It’s just some office game. Whoever it is, they’ll reveal themselves in two days anyway.”
“Hmm,” Arin mused. “So you’re just going to wait?”
“Yes,” she said firmly.
But as she said it, Arin could see the slight crease in her brow—the tiniest sign of intrigue.
She was more curious than she let on.
And for the first time in his existence, Arin found himself looking forward to a moment in time that hadn’t happened yet.
Because when she finally learned the truth, he wanted to be there to see it.
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