Category: Online novel

The office buzzed with anticipation. An announcement had been made earlier in the day—this was it. The last gift from each Secret Santa would finally reveal the sender’s name. No more guessing, no more mystery. Just the truth.

Astha pretended to be indifferent. Let’s just get this over with. But a tiny part of her—one she refused to acknowledge—was oddly excited.

At her desk, a neatly wrapped package with her name on it waited. She turned it over, hesitating for just a second before opening it.

Inside was a handmade candle, simple yet elegant. She turned it in her hands, admiring the craftsmanship before unfolding the note attached:

You light up the world.

And at the bottom, written in confident strokes: Arin.

Astha’s lips parted slightly. I knew it.

She turned toward his cabin, narrowing her eyes. Arin was casually typing away, completely unfazed, as if he hadn’t just managed to throw her into a complete spiral.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. Of course, it was him. Who else would write something like this?

Meanwhile, at Arin’s desk, he unwrapped his own package. His eyebrows lifted as he pulled out a T-shirt that read:

“The Boss is Always Right. If the Boss is Wrong, Refer to Rule No.1”

A slow smirk spread across his face. Attached was a simple note, signed without flourish:

Astha.

He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. She was impossible. And he loved that about her.

On their way home, the moment Astha settled into the car, she turned to Arin with her arms crossed. “I knew it was you.”

Arin suppressed a smile as he adjusted the steering wheel. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” She huffed. “You were the only one capable of sending something that sentimental.”

He glanced at her with amusement. “And you? A T-shirt declaring my absolute authority? Not exactly subtle, Mehra.”

Astha smiled. “You like it, don’t you?”

He chuckled. “I do. Very much.”

Astha sighed dramatically. “And to think I spent days trying to figure it out. The earrings should have been the biggest clue, but I convinced myself you were too serious for such things.”

Arin raised an eyebrow. “So you underestimated me?”

“Let’s just say I had my doubts.” She gave him a sideways glance. “And what about you? When did you figure out it was me?”

Arin grinned. “Oh, the moment I got the ‘Cool’ pendant and Mentos. That had ‘Astha’ written all over it.”

Astha rolled her eyes. “I was trying to make you less intense.”

“And yet, here we are.” He gestured toward his new T-shirt. “Apparently, I’m always right.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

Arin leaned back, a smug look in his eyes. “Too late.”

She exhaled, shaking her head as she turned to look out the window. “Well, it’s over now. No more mysteries.”

Arin’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel, an unreadable expression flickering across his face. “Is that what you wanted?”

Astha didn’t answer immediately. She wasn’t sure.

But for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea of not knowing what happens next.

And Arin? He wasn’t quite ready to let this game be over.

Not just yet.

The car ride home was filled with endless back-and-forth banter. What had started as a simple exchange about the Secret Santa gifts had now turned into a full-blown contest of wit and sarcasm. Astha found herself laughing more than usual, and Arin, fueled by her laughter, kept the jokes coming. Their conversation had grown easier, more natural, as if they had known each other for much longer than they actually had.

For once, there were no walls between them. Just effortless companionship.

“So,” Arin mused as he drove, glancing at her. “You really suspected me all along?”

Astha scoffed. “Of course, I did. But you’re a good actor, Verma. That deadpan expression of yours never gave anything away.”

Arin smiled. “I take that as a compliment.”

She rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t. It was annoying. Every time I tried to guess, you sat there like some enigmatic mystery novel villain.”

Arin chuckled. “And yet, you doubted yourself.”

She huffed. “Only because I thought you were too serious for all this.”

He pretended to be offended. “Too serious? I gave you poetic notes, earrings, and a handmade candle, and you thought I wasn’t capable of fun?”

Astha gave him a sideways glance. “That’s precisely why I doubted it. You went too far with the sentimentality. It didn’t match your usual brooding, bossy self.”

Arin shook his head. “And you? A T-shirt declaring me always right? That had your sarcasm all over it.”

Astha grinned. “What can I say? I’m just looking out for you, Verma. Making sure you never forget the rules.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I won’t. Trust me.”

They continued teasing each other about the previous gifts—Arin playfully accusing her of sending the ‘Cool’ pendant just to mess with him, while Astha claimed she had nearly suspected Priya before realizing only Arin would be bold enough to send something so perfectly crafted to rile her up.

By the time they reached their apartments, neither of them wanted the conversation to end. It had been easy, light, and unexpectedly enjoyable.

The next morning at the office, Astha was informed of an assignment—she and Arin had to travel to Udaipur to cover a story, a directive from the head office. The announcement didn’t bother her much; she loved traveling. What did surprise her, however, was Arin’s insistence that they take a car.

“We should drive down,” he suggested casually. “It’s more convenient.”

Astha snorted. “You should drive down. I, however, love a good bus ride.”

Arin looked at her, baffled. “You prefer a bus over a car?”

“Absolutely,” she said with a grin. “It’s part of the adventure.”

Arin sighed, already regretting this conversation. “Fine. Do what you want. I’ll see you in Udaipur.”

Astha smiled and waved him off, enjoying how much it unsettled him.

---

The next day, Arin found himself at the bus station, dialing Astha’s number.

“Which bus are you on?” he asked, still hoping she had changed her mind.

“The one headed to Udaipur,” she replied nonchalantly. “Look up.”

Arin tilted his head upward, scanning the top of the buses.

And then he saw her.

There she was, sitting on the roof of the bus, surrounded by other passengers, grinning down at him like a victorious warrior.

His eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

Astha laughed. “Welcome to the real way to travel, Verma. Now hurry up and climb on before we leave you behind.”

Arin groaned, rubbing his temples. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are, debating whether to join me or not.”

Arin stared at her for a long moment before shaking his head in amusement.

This woman was going to be the death of him.

But damn if he wasn’t enjoying every second of it.

Astha tapped her fingers on the table, staring at the lunch pack as if it might reveal its sender if she glared at it hard enough. She knew most of the office had been excited about the Secret Santa game, but this was different. This wasn’t a random coffee mug or a novelty keychain.

This was thoughtful. And that made her uneasy.

She glanced around the office, scanning faces, trying to catch anyone watching her. But everyone seemed preoccupied with their work. No one looked guilty. No one even seemed remotely interested

in the fact that she had just received an anonymous meal tailored to her exact taste.

“Okay, Secret Santa,” she muttered under her breath. “Game on.”

---

Later that afternoon, she walked into Arin’s office and dropped her article onto his desk.

“Here,” she said, arms crossed. “Raw. Unfiltered. No holding back.”

Arin raised an eyebrow as he picked up the pages. “That was fast.”

“You said no filters, so I didn’t waste time second-guessing myself,” she replied, then leaned against the doorframe. “Now, let’s see if I pass your impossible standards, Verma.”

Arin smiled. “Let’s find out.”

He started reading, his usual smug confidence shifting into something quieter. His eyes moved across the pages, his expression unreadable. Astha watched him closely, searching for any sign of reaction, but his face was frustratingly neutral.

The silence stretched.

Finally, Arin set the pages down. He steepled his fingers, watching her.

“This is—”

Astha tensed, waiting for him to say something cutting, to pick it apart.

“—brilliant.”

She blinked. “What?”

Arin leaned forward, his voice softer but firm. “This is the best thing you’ve written since I got here. It’s raw, powerful, and it actually feels like you.”

Astha wasn’t sure how to respond to that. A part of her was relieved, even pleased, but another part of her hated that he had been right.

“I take it that means you’ll stop editing my work now?” she asked, masking her unease with dry sarcasm.

Arin chuckled. “No. But I might just let you win a few arguments.”

Astha rolled her eyes, turning to leave. “Unbelievable.”

“Astha,” Arin called out just before she reached the door.

She turned slightly.

“Keep writing like this,” he said. “The world needs more of it.”

She didn’t reply, but something about the way he said it stuck with her.

---

That evening, as she packed up to leave, she found another small note on her desk.

“Keep going. Your words are magic.”

No gift this time. Just the note.

Astha clenched her jaw.

Secret Santa or not, she would find out who was behind this.

And something told her she might not be ready for the answer.

That same afternoon, as Arin returned to his office, he found a small package on his desk. Curiously, he unwrapped it and found a complete sewing kit, complete with scissors, neatly packed in a tin case. A note sat atop it:

Cut and sew at the right places, please, Mr. Editor!

Arin let out a rare laugh, shaking his head as he examined the tiny spools of thread, needles, and neatly polished scissors. Someone was clearly having fun with this game.

He leaned back in his chair, tapping the note against his palm, before glancing toward Astha’s desk in the distance.

This Secret Santa game was proving to be more interesting than he had expected.

And he had a strong suspicion about who was behind his gift.

The atmosphere in the office was lighter than usual after Mahesh Singh’s birthday celebration. Employees still talked about how much he had cried, how much joy had radiated from his face, and how a simple tradition had left such an impact. Even Astha, despite her continued skepticism, couldn’t ignore the warmth the initiative had brought to the workplace.

But she wasn’t going to admit that to Arin.

Later that afternoon, as she reviewed her latest article, she spotted yet another revision from him that she didn’t agree with. Huffing in frustration, she grabbed the papers and stormed into his office.

“You’ve changed my intro again,” she announced, holding the pages up.

Arin looked up from his computer, completely unfazed. “Because your intro was passive. This version is more direct.”

Astha narrowed her eyes. “You are obsessed with making everything sound dramatic.”

“I prefer the word ‘engaging,’” he corrected, leaning back in his chair. “Your writing is strong, Astha, but you play it safe. I know you have more fire in you. Why do you keep holding back?”

Astha crossed her arms, lips pressed into a firm line. “I don’t hold back. I just don’t feel the need to be overly dramatic about everything.”

Arin studied her for a long moment before he smiled, as if he had figured something out. “Fine. Let’s test something, then.”

She frowned. “Test what?”

Arin sat forward. “Write me something—not as a journalist, but as a writer. No filters, no holding back. Write about anything. But make me feel it.”

Astha scoffed. “I don’t have time for pointless exercises.”

“Then I suppose I’ll just keep rewriting your work until you prove me wrong,” Arin replied smoothly.

Her jaw clenched. “That’s manipulation.”

“That’s motivation.”

She exhaled sharply, knowing he wouldn’t let this go. “Fine. One piece. And if I do this, you leave my writing alone?”

Arin grinned. “Deal.”

Astha snatched her papers back and stormed out of his office, muttering something about “insufferable editors” under her breath.

This time, she was determined to prove Arin wrong. She spent her entire lunch break writing—pouring her thoughts onto the page with an intensity she hadn’t tapped into in a long time. She crafted each sentence carefully, ensuring that her words weren’t just structured well, but carried weight, emotion, impact.

Just as she was finishing the final paragraph, a peon walked by and placed a lunch pack on her desk. Astha looked up, frowning. “Who sent this?”

The peon shrugged. “No idea, ma’am. Someone just asked me to leave it here.”

She hesitated before opening the pack. Inside were all her favorite items—things she often ordered from the cafeteria but hadn’t had time to get today. A small note was tucked inside.

Food gives you energy! Eat!

Astha stared at the note, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. Her heart thudded slightly, though she wasn’t sure why.

Her secret Santa had just made things personal.

She was more determined than ever to find out who it was.