🦚

Rukmini tapped her fingers rhythmically against the glass tabletop, her nails making soft, impatient clicks that echoed faintly through the quiet hall.

She glanced at the time again—8:04 PM. The meeting had started at 8 in the morning. Twelve hours. That was far beyond the usual timeline. Even the most complex Vyom Corporation meetings, especially those involving Arjun and Krishna, rarely stretched beyond five or six hours. Eight, tops. This? This was unusual. And unusual was never good when Krishna was involved.

She sat back in her chair and exhaled slowly, staring at her phone like it would magically buzz with an update. It didn't.

In an attempt to distract herself, she had already watched four online interviews of Arjun—each more intense than the last. There was something about him. Rough edges, closed-off, a quiet steel. Same age as Krishna, and yet their energies couldn't be more different.

Krishna had a charm that felt effortless, like it wasn't trying to convince anyone of anything. He looked open, always—like anyone could just walk up to him and strike up a conversation. But then, you'd get closer and realise his boundaries were... impossible to cross unless he allowed it. You could see the doors, sure, but they were guarded by riddles, distractions, and that maddening smile.

Arjun, on the other hand, didn't even pretend. His walls were made of concrete, his eyes unreadable. He didn't give you doors; he gave you walls and silence. That's what scared her now. What could possibly be going on between two men who mastered the art of keeping people out?

The screen of her phone dimmed.

She blinked and immediately searched Krishna's name. Her thumb hovered over the call icon.

And then... she didn't press it.

She stared at it a moment longer, sighed, and tossed the phone onto the table as if it had betrayed her.

Now she was pacing, slow and distracted, her heels softly clacking against the polished floors. The halls of the mansion felt colder tonight, as if time had stretched out too long. She finally sat down at the long dinner table, phone on one side, her head buried in the crook of her arm.

And then—

The front door clicked.

Rukmini's head shot up.

She stood quickly, heart leaping hopefully. She straightened her t-shirt, smoothed her hair as she hurried toward the main entrance.

Only to find Subhadra standing there, halfway through pulling her scarf off, cheeks red from the wind, looking far too relaxed.

Rukmini's face visibly fell.

Subhadra raised an eyebrow, pausing mid-step. "Well, hello to you too."

"I thought... I mean—" Rukmini cleared her throat. "I thought it was someone else."

Subhadra's lips curved into a sly grin. "Let me guess. Someone tall, charming, annoyingly witty and has that 'I-just-outsmarted-the-universe' look on his face 24/7?"

Rukmini folded her arms, "Don't be ridiculous."

"Too late," Subhadra said, breezing past her. "And for the record, you're not as subtle as you think."

"I'm not waiting for anyone," Rukmini muttered.

"Of course not. You're just staring at the door every three minutes because it owes you rent," Subhadra called from behind her, vanishing into the hallway.

Rukmini flopped back into her chair at the dinner table with a groan, grabbing a cushion and hugging it to her chest like a shield. "Insufferable woman," she whispered, though there was no real bite in it.

She glanced at her phone again—and froze.

A message.

Krishna.

Her heart did a weird, fluttering thing in her chest.

"Just closed that deal we talked about. But something's come up—have to leave for Valmiera. Jarasand's playing dirty there. I'll be gone a few days."

Her eyes skimmed the first line.

Gone for a few days.

That's the part that hit her first—not the success, not the closed deal. Just... the absence.

He would be away.

For a moment, she couldn't even explain why it sat heavy in her chest. She wasn't used to his presence—he wasn't someone who hovered around. But knowing he wouldn't be there... it just felt off.

She frowned. "Why am I sad about this?" she whispered to herself, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

She looked at the message again, this time slower. Really reading it.

"Just closed that deal we talked about..."

That made her sit up straighter. He'd actually done it. The deal they had discussed, planned around—he closed it. Cleanly, quietly, as always.

And then... he told her. Specifically told her.

He didn't owe her this update. He wasn't the kind of man who told people his travel plans or his stress points. But he had messaged her. Without prompt, without pretence.

And she smiled again, slowly this time—gently, like the warmth was catching up to her in waves.

She leaned back, quietly speaking aloud, "Why did he need to tell me about his schedule?"

A small laugh escaped her lips, a helpless scoff. "I'm not his assistant..."

Yet she felt strangely... important.

She started typing.

Deleted it.

Typed again. Deleted that too.

She even wrote a long response at one point, going on about how proud she was, how she hoped he'd get some rest during the trip, how Jarasand needed to be dealt with once and for all.

Delete.

"Ugh. Too dramatic."

Another message. This one was short. Too short. Delete.

After about seven minutes of painful back-and-forth, she sighed in surrender and chose a sticker.

A random one—a cartoon fox wearing sunglasses, giving a confident thumbs-up.

It felt light. Safe. Kind of cool.

She stared at it for a full five seconds before finally tapping send.

Then groaned and pressed her palm to her forehead.

"Why am I like this?" she muttered, barely able to hide the silly smile still playing at the corners of her mouth.

And even though she didn't quite understand what she was feeling—she didn't hate it either.

Just as Rukmini hit send on that ridiculous sticker, she exhaled with the weight of the world on her shoulders and collapsed dramatically onto the dinner table again. Her forehead pressed against her forearm, cheeks still warm.

Why was she like this?

Why was he like this?

And why did that stupid fox sticker feel like a confession?

Before she could recover from her internal meltdown, she heard footsteps. Confident ones. Light but annoyingly smug, as if the person walking had just won some unspoken war.

"Did you just send him a sticker?" Subhadra's voice rang out, sing-song and criminally amused.

Rukmini shot up, startled, only to find Subhadra standing behind her, arms crossed, head tilted like she was watching a particularly fascinating science experiment that had just exploded.

"No," Rukmini said a little too fast.

Subhadra raised an eyebrow and walked around to lean dramatically on the backrest of the chair next to her. "Riiight. So I imagined the intense panic that just swept across your face before you flung your phone away like it was cursed?"

"I didn't fl—" Rukmini began, but Subhadra cut in.

"You're blushing. Don't deny it. I can see the flames climbing up your neck like they've got rent to pay."

Rukmini opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "I am not—"

"Girl, you're redder than Krishna's file folders. And those are emergency red."

"I'm just... warm."

"Warm? From what? The embarrassment of realizing that you like a man who wears three-piece suits to his balcony?"

"That's a power look, okay?!"

"Aha!" Subhadra jumped like she'd caught her red-handed. "You admitted it!"

Rukmini turned around, visibly flustered. "That's not what I meant—"

But it was too late. Subhadra was on a roll now, arms flying for dramatic emphasis.

"You're smitten. Hopelessly. Entirely. Head-first like a badly written rom-com."

"I'm not!" Rukmini groaned.

"Oh please, you are. You've got that dazed, soft, Krishna-struck face. Happens to the best of us. He smiled at you, didn't he? That's where it starts. The Smile."

Rukmini buried her face in her hands.

"See?" Subhadra laughed, circling around before swinging her arm around Rukmini's neck and leaning her head against hers. "I may be younger than you, Rukmini, but even I know love when I see it."

"It's not—"

"You're always ignoring it," Subhadra went on, ignoring her protest, "like love is some minor traffic violation. Like it'll go away if you just don't look at it long enough."

"I'm not ignoring anything," Rukmini mumbled, her voice muffled.

"Yes, you are. You've been ignoring the butterflies, the overthinking, the smiling at his texts like an idiot, and now this—sending him stickers because you don't trust your words."

Rukmini didn't respond.

Subhadra tilted her head and looked down at her. "Wait... Are you mad at me?"

Rukmini stayed quiet, lips pressed, eyes avoiding her.

"Oh no," Subhadra sighed, releasing her from the playful headlock and walking around to kneel in front of her. "Don't be mad. Look, I was just messing with you, okay? Here, let me make it up to you."

Rukmini gave her a sideways glance.

Subhadra grinned. "Wanna see some prime blackmail material? I've got old photos of Krishna and Balram. You're not ready."

Rukmini blinked. "Photos?"

"Oh yes. I haven't seen most of them either, but I know the stories. This will be a bonding session. Like... sister-in-mischief initiation."

Rukmini tried very hard not to smile at that. "I'm not your sister-in-anything."

"Not yet," Subhadra smirked, grabbing her wrist and pulling her up. "Come on. I know you're curious."

And maybe she was.

They padded off toward one of the smaller sitting rooms, where Subhadra opened her private stash of family albums and digital folders—some neatly labelled, others named chaotic things like "Krishna's crime against hairstyles" and "Ram being dramatic, vol. 5."

They laughed. A lot.

There was one photo of Krishna at about thirteen, with unruly curls and an oversized sweater, giving the camera the most unimpressed glare Rukmini had ever seen. Another had him and Ram attempting to build what looked like a treehouse, but the only thing standing upright was Krishna's pride.

Subhadra snorted. "They thought they were geniuses that day. Until the entire structure collapsed and nearly took down the mango tree."

Rukmini giggled, leaning in closer as Subhadra swiped through more folders.

"Oh! Wait till you see this one—Krishna after Holi. Someone dumped an entire bucket of green on him and he looked like the Hulk, but skinnier."

Rukmini blinked. "People threw colors at Krishna?"

"Oh, they tried. Mostly girls. He got ambushed."

Rukmini straightened, brows rising. "Girls?"

Subhadra gave her a look. "So many. Krishna's always been the calm-eyed heartbreaker. In school, college, random social gatherings—he walks in and girls forget how to speak. Once, one girl fainted. Fainted, Rukmini."

Rukmini's eyes widened.

"Of course," Subhadra continued, now scrolling through her phone, "he didn't give them the time of day. And thank God for that. Because I would've needed a spreadsheet just to keep up."

Rukmini raised an eyebrow, feigning casualness. "But surely someone must've come close?"

"Ha!" Subhadra grinned, eyes twinkling. "Well, not Krishna. But you know who did keep a big secret?"

She leaned in conspiratorially, voice dropping like they were about to uncover national intelligence. "Ram."

"Ram?" Rukmini echoed, blinking.

Subhadra nodded, smug. "Has a girlfriend. Revati. No one knew. Not even me for the longest time. Only Krishna had suspected something because Ram kept disappearing on weekends, and you cannot fool Krishna. He pestered him for months. Eventually, Ram caved and told him—and then Krishna told me, after I pestered him."

Rukmini stared, surprised. "Ram doesn't seem like someone who'd hide things..."

"Oh, he absolutely is. He doesn't tell the family anything unless he's sure about it. But recently he finally opened up. And guess what that means?" Subhadra beamed. "Two sisters incoming. I'm so excited I might just throw myself a celebration."

Rukmini chuckled, but then Subhadra turned to her with a sideways glance that made her nervous.

"Which reminds me," she said slyly, "you better start practicing for your spot. The competition's closing in."

Rukmini instantly stiffened. "I am not competing."

"You say that, but you just blushed for the third time tonight."

"I can't be the one," Rukmini muttered, looking away. "There are so many better women out there—prettier, smarter, more accomplished—"

Subhadra cut her off immediately. "Rukmini. You do realize Krishna might look like this otherworldly god-tier perfection, but he's actually so normal it's absurd."

Rukmini gave her a skeptical glance.

"No, really," Subhadra said, grinning. "He's the most extraordinary man with the most ordinary habits. He eats the same sandwich for three days in a row because he forgets to order something new. He's bad at remembering birthdays—except mine, of course. And he uses a cracked phone cover because he's too sentimental to change it."

Rukmini blinked again, and Subhadra added, "That doesn't mean you're ordinary, by the way. Just means Krishna's preferences don't follow some checklist. He likes what he likes. And trust me, no one can predict it."

Rukmini folded her arms, unsure whether to be flattered or more confused.

"And," Subhadra continued, scrolling absently through more pictures, "he's turned down so many marriage proposals, you wouldn't believe it. Families with wealth, status, daughters with entire fan clubs—and he still walked away."

That made Rukmini pause. Her lips parted slightly, as if about to ask something—something she didn't even want to hear out loud.

"So," she said slowly, "do you think he has any... feelings for..."

Before she could finish, Subhadra abruptly stood up and tossed her phone in the air. "Okay! That's enough reminiscing! I suddenly remember I have to—um—water the curtains."

"You what?"

"I MEANT change the curtain water! NO—I mean—I forgot something very urgent!"

"Subhadra!"

But Subhadra had already started bolting toward the hallway.

"SUBHADRA!" Rukmini shouted, jumping up to chase her.

"YOU'RE NOT GETTING ANSWERS THAT EASILY!" Subhadra yelled from down the corridor.

"I SWEAR I'LL TACKLE YOU TO THE FLOOR!"

"You'll have to catch me first, future sister-in-law!"

"You're dead!"

And the house echoed with their laughter, footsteps thudding on polished floors, voices overlapping like music in chaos.

Rukmini wasn't sure what she'd gotten herself into. But right now, in this moment, running through a hallway chasing after a girl who might just know too much—she felt like maybe... just maybe... she belonged.

That night, Rukmini lay on her bed, bathed in the cool silver light of the moon that streamed through the half-drawn curtains. Her arms were folded beneath her head, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, but her mind... her mind was anything but still.

No matter how much she tossed and turned, Subhadra's voice kept replaying in her head, like an echo she couldn't shut off.

"Girls fainted around him, Rukmini."
"He's turned down better women than I can count."
"He likes what he likes."

She groaned and turned over to bury her face into her pillow.

"Why am I even thinking about this?" she mumbled into the fabric. "This is ridiculous."

But then—another image crept in.
That unreadable smile Krishna gave her the other night.
The way he always looked so calm, yet like he was seeing right through her.

And then Subhadra's words: "You just blushed for the third time tonight."

Rukmini suddenly let out a small, embarrassed yelp and threw her legs up in the air like a child having a tantrum. "Ughhh!" she hissed, letting them fall back onto the bed with a thud. Her face felt like it was on fire again.

She sat up abruptly, clutching a pillow to her chest as if it could muffle her thoughts. "It's just infatuation," she said aloud. "Just like those girls. It's not like I'm the first person to... admire Krishna."

She glanced toward the window where the moon hung, quiet and judgmental, casting shadows over the room like a silent witness to her spiraling thoughts.

"I'll get over it," she whispered. "Just like they did. It's nothing more."

She tried to nod to herself, as if that would make it true. But then her hand absentmindedly drifted to her chest, resting over her heart — which, of course, had other ideas.

"What is it that you want?" she murmured, eyes narrowing at the very organ betraying her. "Because I'm not supposed to feel this way. I'm here to work. To build something meaningful. Not... not get caught up in some... storybook nonsense."

Her fingers tightened slightly over her chest.

Focus, Rukmini.
That's what she told herself.
She had to remember why she and Krishna met in the first place.

This wasn't supposed to be personal. It was never supposed to be this.
They had connected because of vision, values, and that strange alignment of understanding that made conversations with him feel like reading her own thoughts in another voice.

She couldn't afford to have unprofessional thoughts. Not now.

And Subhadra? Subhadra was just playing Cupid because it amused her. That girl was a chaos machine disguised in silk and sarcasm. She was just... adding fuel to an already delicate fire. That's all it was.

Rukmini let out a long breath and flopped back onto the bed, dragging the sheets over her like they could shield her from the embarrassing truth of her feelings. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"It's just a phase," she whispered again to no one. "It'll pass."

But even as her eyelids fluttered closed and sleep began to take her, her last conscious thought wasn't about strategy or meetings or goals.

It was about a calm-eyed man on a phone screen, sending her a message that didn't need to be sent... but somehow, was.

And her heart?
It thudded once more, quietly.
Defiantly.

🦚