Raghav Malhotra was charming, quick-witted, and unashamedly flirtatious. Arin disliked him immediately.
At first, he dismissed it as professional disinterest—he didn’t care what kind of man Raghav was. But the irritation began to simmer the first time he saw Astha laughing at Raghav’s jokes.
Then came the assignment.
Astha and Raghav were tasked with covering a feature on local artists, requiring them to spend a full day outside the office, interviewing and documenting their subjects.
Arin didn’t like it.
He told himself he was being unreasonable. Astha was a grown woman; she had worked with other male colleagues before. And yet, when she left that morning with Raghav, a gnawing frustration settled deep within him.
That night, as he leaned against his balcony, waiting, he told himself he wasn’t waiting—he was simply outside for fresh air.
Then he saw her return.
Her hair was slightly tousled, her eyes bright, and there was an easy smile on her face as she took off her sandals and stretched.
“Had fun?” Arin asked, his voice carrying through the night air.
Astha looked up, startled, before smiling. “Oh, you’re still awake?”
He shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”
She leaned against the balcony railing. “It was good. Raghav is a funny guy with an amazing sense of humor.”
Something in Arin’s jaw tightened. “I see.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What’s with that tone?”
“Nothing.”
Astha smiled. “Are you jealous, Verma?”
Arin met her gaze, his expression unreadable. “I don’t get jealous.”
Astha chuckled. “Right.”
But the conversation stayed with Arin long after she had gone inside. Because for the first time, he questioned whether that was really true.
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