—SOHINI—
I knew Vedant was back in my life.
And that wasn't just bad news—it was a storm waiting to wreck everything I had barely managed to hold together.
He hadn't returned for closure. He was here to devastate every inch of my sanity, to burn whatever little peace I had left.
"Can we order dinner tonight?" I asked Ritwik, sitting behind him on his old scooty, my voice tired.
"Sure," he replied casually. "But Baba is diabetic. Could you at least cook something for him at home?"
My head throbbed. My back ached from hours of sitting stiffly at work. My fingers were sore from typing endlessly. But Ritwik never noticed. He never asked. No one in this house ever truly saw me.
The moment I stepped into the house, Rita's voice rang out: "Bhabhi, why are you so late? We're starving!"
Nita and Mita joined in, the two of them echoing complaints like a broken record. "We've been waiting so long. Can you make dinner now?"
They were only a few years younger than me, but not once had they ever stepped into the kitchen when I was late. Before I could respond, Baba's gruff voice cut in:
"That's why I keep saying—quit your pathetic job. Women aren't meant to work outside the kitchen."
I opened my mouth, but Ritwik beat me to it. "Give her ten minutes, Baba. She'll cook something quickly."
Ah, how supportive of him. He could've helped. Just once.
But of course, he's a man.
"Sohini, you're the bahu of this house. Don't neglect your duties," Baba added, settling at the dining table, waiting to be served like a king.
I sighed, biting my tongue, and rushed into the kitchen. I chopped vegetables, kneaded the dough, and cooked in silence—sweaty, aching, and alone, my fingers still bruised from work.
I couldn't do both—manage the house and the job. Not anymore. Especially not after this so-called promotion.
Not when I had to see him every day.
Vedant.
He wasn't going to make anything easy. And I knew deep down—he wasn't going to let me go so easily this time.
That night at dinner, I said it out loud.
"I've decided to leave my job."
Ritwik looked at me in surprise.
Baba, on the other hand, was overjoyed.
"Finally, you've come to your senses," he muttered, pleased.
But quitting wasn't going to be that easy. Not with Vedant involved.
He laughed when I placed my resignation on his desk.
A slow, cruel laugh.
Because he wasn't here to lose me again. He was here to break me.
"Alright," he said.
I blinked, confused. That was it? Just like that?
But Vedant's eyes held no softness, only amusement—like he knew I wasn't ready for the twist.
"But first, read the clause you signed so blindly." He slammed a thick file on the table. The sound echoed through the glass walls of his cold, oversized office.
I picked up the papers with trembling fingers, flipping through the pages until he added, "Page 7. Third paragraph."
And there it was.
A fine of 50 lakhs for voluntary resignation before completion of three year under new management.
I swallowed. My stomach dropped.
"I—I didn't see this," I murmured, stunned.
"Of course, you didn't. You were too eager to say yes," he said, voice smooth and bitter. "Not my fault you were greedy."
"Vedant, you can't do this to me—"
"I can, Mrs. Banerjee," he cut me off. "I own the company. And unfortunately for you, your signature gave me all the rights I need."
I had no words. No fight left in me. I felt small—trapped, again.
He stood up slowly, hands in his pockets, suit sharp as sin. "Now go and get me a coffee. Black. Boiling hot."
I turned to leave.
"And Mrs. Banerjee—"
His voice dragged me back like a leash. "Never wear red in front of me again. Makes me sick."
I bit down hard on my cheek.
Once, he said red was his favorite on me. Now he said it sickened him.
I wasn't his Sohini anymore.
Just Mrs. Banerjee—the employee he could humiliate.
When I returned with his coffee, he barely sipped it before tossing it into the bin. "Make another one. It's not hot enough."
I said nothing. Just nodded.
But the next one was too weak.
The third wasn't bitter enough.
I must have made twenty cups. My fingers were red from heat, my pride shattered in bits.
By the twentieth time, something snapped.
"Here," I said coldly, slamming the cup onto his desk, some of it splashing on his wrist.
He hissed, jaw clenching, eyes flaring as he looked up at me.
I rolled my eyes. "Childish tantrums don't suit you, sir."
He pushed the cup toward me.
"Drink it."
"I don't drink coffee," I said flatly.
"It's not a request." His voice was low, commanding.
So I picked up the cup and took a scalding sip of his bitter poison. I coughed a little—but didn't show weakness.
He picked up the same cup, turned it slowly—and drank from the exact spot where my lipstick stained the rim.
My breath caught.
"Anything else, sir?" I whispered.
He didn't answer right away. Just pointed to the mountain of files on the shelves.
"Take those. Type and print them."
"All of them?" I stared in disbelief.
He paused. Smirked.
"No." Then grabbed another stack and dropped it into my arms. "These too."
I left his cabin with my pride dragging behind me. Sat at my desk, alone in the silent office.
"It's okay, Sohini," I told myself, breathing deep. "You can do this."
The office emptied slowly. One by one, everyone left. I stayed behind, prisoner to paper and punishment. But I couldn't finish. Not even half.
"Finished?"
I jerked at the voice behind me and spun too fast—tripping straight into a wall of expensive cologne and muscle.
His chest.
I froze. My fists clenched the front of his shirt, his breath warm against my temple.
I pulled away instantly, heart racing.
"I—I'm sorry, sir."
"Careful," he said, eyes dragging across my face. "You're not allowed to fall for me anymore."
I tucked my hair behind my ear, but he was already turning away.
"Go home," he said. "Tomorrow, you're accompanying me to a client meeting. Dress appropriately."
Then he left.
Back at home, Baba looked at me with disappointment again.
"You still haven't quit?"
"I got promoted," I said quietly, placing the bowl of fish curry in front of him.
He grunted, unimpressed.
"That's amazing!" Ritwik chimed in, holding out his plate. I served him, too.
"The salary is 10.8 lakhs per annum," I added.
Mita, Nita, and Rita gasped.
"That's huge!" Mita said.
"You can buy me the new iPhone, then."
"I want a new scooty!" Rita chimed in.
"Nita? Don't you want anything?" Ritwik asked, smiling at his youngest sister.
I waited. Maybe he'd ask me what I wanted—maybe a new saree, a small piece of gold—something.
But he didn't. He didn't even look at me.
"I want new clothes!" Nita giggled. "You'll buy me, right?"
"Of course," I smiled, throat aching. "When I get my first paycheck."
They all grinned like vultures.
And I just nodded.
The next morning, I woke up earlier than usual. The sky outside was still grey, the sun not fully risen.
There was a strange stillness in the air—like something was about to happen. I bathed, carefully tied my hair in a sleek high ponytail, then slipped into a pearly silk saree and a full-sleeved blouse. The fabric felt cool against my skin. I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down the pleats with trembling fingers. I looked—fine. Composed. Presentable. Nothing spectacular.
As I was about to leave the room, Ritwik stirred beside me. "Good morning—is there something special today?" he asked, stretching lazily, his voice rough with sleep.
"Very important meeting," I said, forcing a smile. "I have to leave early, but I've made breakfast for you. Lunch is packed—don't forget to take it."
Before he could say anything else, I grabbed my bag and left. I didn't want to linger.
When I entered the lift, I found Vedant already inside. Just the two of us. His presence instantly changed the air around me.
"Am I dressed appropriately, sir?" I asked, trying to sound casual, but my voice came out thinner than I intended.
He didn't look at me. Just gave a curt nod. His eyes remained fixed ahead.
"You're early too?" I spoke, trying again.
"Of course," he said flatly. "Didn't build a company without sacrifice."
I swallowed hard, nodding silently. He stood beside me, dressed in a fitted black suit. His shirt was unbuttoned just enough to reveal a sliver of his chest, and his scent—a mix of woody, musk, and something dangerously distracting. He looked like every arrogant, brooding CEO from the novels I used read, only much colder in real life.
God help me. I bit the inside of my cheek. I didn't want to commit any sin—not in thought, not in weakness.
"Bring me coffee," he ordered just as the lift doors opened. He walked away without even glancing back.
I brought the coffee to his office a few minutes later, placed it on his desk gently.
"Drink it," he said without looking up from his files.
I blinked. Not again.
"You heard me."
So, I did. I took a sip. It was bitter, too strong like yesterday.
Vedant took the cup from my hand and drank from the same spot. My breath hitched, but he didn't notice. Or maybe he did, and just didn't care.
"Prepare the meeting room before 10."
I nodded and left.
By 11, the conference room was buzzing. The investors had arrived—well-dressed men and women who smelled of old money and new ambition. I sat beside Vedant, my palms damp on my lap. My throat dry. It was my first time being part of such a high-stakes meeting.
Vedant stood up, commanding the room with effortless ease. He launched into his strategy presentation, his voice deep and confident, every word hitting with precision. I barely followed the technicalities, but I couldn't take my eyes off him. It reminded me of the old days—when he used to tutor me. Back then, he was different. Warmer. Kinder.
Now, he was magnetic and unreachable. Everyone listened. Everyone was drawn in. The room hung on his words. And when he was done, applause erupted.
A bald man stood up and clapped louder than the rest. "Brilliant work, Vedant. I loved this."
"Thank you, sir. I'm doing my best. A year from now, we'll see real change."
"I believe you," the man said, clapping him on the back.
Then Vedant's eyes met mine. Cold. Distant. "Get everyone something to drink."
I nodded and stood up quickly.
I was returning with two trays of coffee cups, carefully balanced, when it happened.
I didn't see the man in front of me. I collided into him, and hot coffee spilled across his polished Italian shoes.
"I—I'm so sorry, sir! I didn't see—"
The man looked down at his shoes, then up at me with an expression of disgust. He looked wealthy. Entitled.
"You stupid girl," he snapped. "Do you know how much these cost?"
"I'm really sorry—"
"You should be," he barked, raising his voice. "You ruined shoes worth three lakhs!"
My heart sank. Three lakhs?
People turned to look. Conversations halted. I felt my entire body flush with shame.
Vedant and the bald man stood at a distance, watching. Vedant's face was unreadable.
"I want her to pay," the man snarled. "This is unacceptable."
I looked at Vedant, silently pleading. But he didn't intervene. He didn't say anything.
"Pay up, girl," the man continued, voice louder now, relishing the attention. "Or get down and clean it with your hands."
I couldn't breathe. My pride screamed to run. But I didn't. I bent down, my hands trembling, and wiped his shoe with the edge of my saree.
The floor felt cold. The stares burned into my skin. I blinked back the tears.
"Mr. Oberoi," Vedant finally spoke, stepping forward. "Please come with me. I'll compensate for the shoes personally."
Oberoi smirked. "Make sure you do. Your employees are pathetic."
I stood up, dazed, and rushed out of the room. I didn't know where to go, only that I had to get away. Fast.
I locked myself in the bathroom. Then the dam broke.
The tears came hot and fast, blurring the mirror in front of me. I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to keep my sobs silent. I felt humiliated. Worthless. Like I didn't belong here, no matter how early I woke or how carefully I dressed. I wiped my tears furiously, but it didn't stop.
When the door opened behind me, I turned quickly.
"Sohini—" It was Shweta. She came toward me and wrapped her arms around me without a word. I didn't even know I needed the hug until I broke again.
"I knew you'd come here," she whispered.
"I—I embarrassed myself," I said, voice cracking.
"You didn't. He did. That man—" she paused.
"Everyone saw it, didn't they?" I asked, dreading the answer.
She hesitated. Then nodded.
I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. "I'm done here."
"You're not. People will forget—"
"No, they won't." I cut her off. "Not this. And I know why he let it happen."
She looked at me, confused.
"It's Vedant's revenge. For something I did long ago. I don't know what exactly—but he's punishing me."
"Sohini—"
"I need to talk to him."
She grabbed my hand. "Don't go like this. You're emotional—"
"I am emotional, and I have every right to be."
She looked at me for a long second, then let go.
"I know what I'm doing," I said, walking toward the exit.
But truthfully? I wasn't sure I did.
I walked toward his cabin, heart thudding against my ribs like a warning. I was still reeling from what had happened, still tasting shame on my tongue. I needed answers, needed to face him—and resign.
Just as I reached the door, I froze.
His voice—loud and sharp—cut through the walls.
"I'm blacklisting your company. We'll never deal with the Oberois again."
My breath caught.
Inside, Mr. Oberoi's voice came next, laced with arrogance and disbelief.
"I don't understand. You're doing this—for a mere employee?"
I pressed my ear gently against the door.
"Yes." Short. Final. No hesitation.
"Do you realise how much you stand to lose if we back out?" Oberoi threatened, his voice raising now, pushing back.
"I don't give a fuck about you or your sinking company, Mr. Oberoi."
Then came a loud slam—something heavy, a fist or maybe a file.
"Get the fuck out of here."
I flinched.
"You'll regret this, Vedant," Oberoi snapped, like a man who had never been told 'no.'
And then Vedant's voice, lower but cutting, like steel under velvet.
"If you're willing to go back and wipe her heels with your hand—the same way you made her do to your damn shoes—I might consider doing business with you."
My eyes widened. My mouth parted in shock. What?
"That won't happen," Oberoi murmured, suddenly unsure of himself.
"Then get the fuck out before I strip you bare and throw you out myself," Vedant roared. "Out. Now."
I stumbled back a step just as the door opened. Oberoi emerged, red-faced, sweating, humiliated. His eyes met mine. He didn't say a word, just looked—more confused than angry this time—and stormed out.
I stood outside the cabin, unmoving, heart pounding louder now. The humiliation still burned under my skin—but another emotion was rising fast and confusing, disbelief, heat— something foolish and fluttery in my chest.
Why? Why did Vedant do it?
He was supposed to hate me. He was supposed to punish me.
This wasn't part of the revenge. He wasn't supposed to care.
And I—I wasn't supposed to feel this giddy. My heart wasn't supposed to race like this, just because he stood up for me. My cheeks weren't supposed to burn for this reason.
I took a breath and pushed open the door.
"Vedant."
He looked up, standing in the middle of the chaos. His desk was a mess, files flung to the floor, pages scattered. His jaw was tight. His knuckles were red. His whole body radiated frustration, rage.
But when his eyes met mine—he froze.
"What are you doing—" he began, his voice hoarse from shouting.
I didn't let him finish. I walked straight to him. And kissed him.
My lips crashed into his, desperate and shaking, tasting tears, rage, and the ache of years between us.
He didn't push me away. Instead—he pulled me closer.
His hand found my waist, firm and grounding, as if he was afraid I'd vanish again. My fingers clutched his shirt, fisting the fabric, anchoring myself to the man I once knew—
Three years. Three damn years without him. Without this.
Without us.