The next morning, the office was buzzing. With only one day left before the big Secret Santa reveal, everyone was excitedly trying to guess their mystery gift-givers. Astha, however, remained stubbornly indifferent—at least, on the surface.
She wasn’t about to admit that every time she walked into her office, a small part of her anticipated another gift, another note.
She wasn’t going to admit that she wanted to know.
And she definitely wasn’t going to admit that the thought of Arin being her Secret Santa made her heart race in a way she wasn’t comfortable with.
But she pushed all of that aside as she got to her desk, determined to focus.
Until she saw another package sitting there.
A small, flat envelope, tied with a golden ribbon.
She hesitated before opening it, as if acknowledging it would somehow make this whole thing more real.
Inside was a simple sheet of paper with another handwritten note.
“Some stories need to be told, but some stories just need to be felt.
So tell me, Astha—what does your story feel like?”
Astha inhaled sharply, her fingers tightening around the note.
This was different.
This wasn’t just a playful tease or a poetic compliment.
This was personal.
Her eyes darted toward Arin’s cabin. He was typing away, looking perfectly unbothered, as if he hadn’t just managed to throw her into a complete spiral.
She was not going to react.
She was not going to let him—or whoever this was—get under her skin.
So, she did what she did best.
She rolled her eyes, crumpled the note in her hand, and tossed it into the drawer.
But she didn’t throw it away.
Meanwhile, Arin had received a package of his own.
He unwrapped it to find a sleek, navy-blue coffee mug with bold golden letters that read:
“Rules are good, but breaking them is fun.”
A slow, knowing smirk crossed his face.
Attached to the handle was a note:
“Here’s something to sip while you learn to relax. You can start by not editing this note.”
Arin let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.
His Secret Santa—Astha—was more amused by this than she let on.
But more than that, she was intrigued.
And that’s what he wanted.
That evening, as they drove home, the tension was different.
Lighter. Charged.
Astha was quiet, fingers drumming lightly against her lap, lost in thought. Arin stole a glance at her, waiting, knowing she wanted to say something.
Finally, she exhaled and turned to him. “You really enjoy this, don’t you?”
Arin raised an eyebrow. “What exactly?”
Astha narrowed her eyes. “This… game.”
Arin smiled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mehra.”
She huffed. “Fine. Play dumb. In a few hours, this whole thing will be over, and then we’ll see who was enjoying it more.”
Arin chuckled. “You sound very certain.”
“I am certain,” she insisted. “Because whoever my Secret Santa is, I—”
She stopped mid-sentence, catching herself before she said too much.
Arin caught it. He saw the way her fingers tightened just slightly around her bag, the way she looked out the window a second too long.
And suddenly, he wanted to drag this out just a little more.
Because for the first time, Astha Mehra wasn’t running away from something uncertain.
She was running toward it.
And he was more than willing to let her catch up.
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