The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air as Harsh walked into the dining area. He paused for a second, noticing how neatly everything was arranged—the cutlery placed with care, the napkins folded just right, the sandwich and soup steaming on his plate.
He didn't ask.
He didn't need to.
He knew.
Only one person could have done this.
His eyes traveled across the table, and there she was—Isha, sitting on the other end.
Hair tied in a loose ponytail, wearing a soft pastel blue shirt and beige pants, her eyes avoiding his.
There was a strange stillness in the air.
He walked to the table slowly and sat down.
Neither of them spoke.
Isha kept her eyes fixed on the corner of the table, pretending to be busy adjusting her spoon.
Harsh picked up the soup bowl and took a sip.
Then he looked at her.
"I didn't know you could cook."
"I didn't," she said quietly, without looking at him. "Meera taught me."
He nodded. "Tastes good."
Silence again.
The kind that made every sound around them louder—the ticking of the wall clock, the rustle of trees outside the window, the soft clinking of a fork.
Harsh cleared his throat. "About yesterday…"
Isha's hand froze mid-air.
Her eyes widened for a split second before she forced herself to stay composed.
"Let's… just forget it happened," she cut him off, her voice firm but soft.
Harsh blinked. "You sure?"
"Absolutely. It was a mistake. An accident. Let's not make it a thing."
He nodded slowly, though something in his eyes said otherwise.
But even as she said it, her cheeks burned. Her heart wasn't listening to her logic.
His face… that shocked expression… those eyes… they kept flashing in her mind.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't forget the way he looked at her.
Not with lust.
Not with disrespect.
But something else.
Something that felt dangerously close to desire... mixed with awe.
---
As Harsh left for work, Isha finally let out the breath she was holding.
She leaned against the dining chair, heart pounding.
"What the hell is wrong with me?" she whispered.
But it wasn't just embarrassment anymore.
Something had shifted between them.
Something she couldn't define.
---
Later That Evening
It was almost sunset when Isha walked into the garden. The orange sky cast a golden glow on the flowers, and the air was breezy and cool.
She needed a break from the confusing chaos inside her mind.
She sat on the wooden swing, gently rocking herself back and forth.
Just then, she heard footsteps behind her.
Harsh.
Wearing a black shirt, sleeves rolled up, a file in his hand.
But the moment he saw her, he stopped walking.
The swing.
The breeze.
Her hair fluttering softly, her face lit by the sunset.
His chest tightened.
Why did she look so... peaceful and chaotic at the same time?
He walked up to her.
"Mind if I sit?" he asked.
She shook her head.
He sat beside her, careful to keep a little distance.
For a while, neither of them said anything.
The silence between them wasn't awkward anymore.
It was full of unspoken thoughts, hidden glances, and heartbeats growing louder.
"I come here when I'm overthinking," she said softly.
"What are you overthinking about today?"
She looked at him. Their eyes met.
There was a pause.
A pause where she could've lied.
But she didn't.
"You."
Harsh's heart skipped.
"I don't know why I'm acting so weird. I just feel like I'm not myself since I came here."
He leaned slightly toward her. "And who are you, really?"
She smiled a little. "A confused girl who doesn't know how to act around a man who's slowly entering her thoughts without permission."
Harsh chuckled. "Sounds like a smart girl who's just... feeling something real for the first time."
Isha raised an eyebrow. "You're pretty confident, huh?"
He leaned back on the swing. "Not confident. Just honest."
She looked at him, carefully observing his face.
It was serious… but not intimidating.
It was soft, but not weak.
She liked that about him.
The balance.
The quiet intensity.
"You're different," she said.
"You too," he replied, locking eyes with her.
The air between them thickened.
Their glances lingered longer.
The space between them felt smaller than it was.
---
That Night
Isha couldn't sleep.
She tossed and turned, her mind playing the scenes from earlier like a reel—his voice, his presence beside her, the way her body reacted to every little thing he did.
She got up, walked to the balcony, and sat on the cold floor with a blanket wrapped around her.
Downstairs, the light in Harsh's room was still on.
She stared at it.
"What are we doing…?" she whispered into the air.
Why did she care what he thought?
Why did her heart react to his smallest gestures?
---
At the same time, Harsh stood at his window, sipping coffee.
He couldn't stop thinking about her.
The innocence in her eyes.
The strength in her voice.
The way she tried to hide her nervousness, but her cheeks always gave her away.
She wasn't like the other girls he'd met.
She wasn't trying to impress.
She was just… herself.
And somehow, that was more attractive than anything else.
---
The next morning, Isha decided to break the awkwardness.
She walked into the kitchen and asked the chef, "Can I prepare breakfast for Harsh today?"
The staff exchanged glances and smiled.
Meera patted her cheek, "Go ahead, beta. You're doing good."
As she carefully flipped the paratha and made his favorite spiced tea, she felt something new inside her—excitement mixed with nervous energy.
She wanted to impress him.
No, more than that—she wanted to show she cared.
---
When Harsh entered the dining room, he was surprised.
The table was set again.
Paratha, mint chutney, sweet curd, and a cup of tea—exactly how he liked it.
Isha stood beside the table, avoiding his eyes but clearly waiting for his reaction.
He looked up at her, then at the food, and then again at her.
"You did this?"
She nodded.
He took a bite, chewed slowly, and then gave a small smile.
"Perfect."
A small smile formed on Isha's face.
A real one.
She sat down across from him.
"I just thought… maybe it'll make your morning better."
Harsh looked into her eyes.
"It already did."
---
As they ate in silence, something unspoken passed between them again.
It wasn't love.
Not yet.
But it was something close.
The beginning of something beautiful.
The beginning of chemistry.
The beginning of a story neither of them were ready for—but couldn't avoid anymore.