The next morning, I woke up on the table.
My body was stiff, and the air felt cold against my skin. But something was… different.
A soft blanket was draped over me. I frowned.
I didn't remember covering myself.
My fingers brushed over the fabric warm, familiar. Chak?
Had he come in here again after I fell asleep?
And then I remembered it. A soft sensation against my cheek in the middle of the night. I'd been too tired to wake fully, but now the memory returned—faint but vivid.
A kiss.
Had Chak kissed me goodnight?
I sat up slowly, heart racing, unsure what to make of it.
When I entered the kitchen, reality hit me like a wave.
Chak was already seated at the table, dressed sharply as always. Ton sat beside him, happily munching on a pancake shaped like a bear.
"Good morning," I said.
Ton jumped up and hugged me. "Niran, where are you sleeping? You didn't sleep in Uncle's bed."
I glanced at Chak.
He didn't look up. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.
"I slept in my art room," I replied softly.
Ton handed me a pancake with a big grin.
Chak poured orange juice into Ton's glass. His movements were calm, precise, controlled. He looked like the same man who had hugged me last night.
And yet now… he might as well have been made of stone.
I barely touched my food.
Then, the doorbell rang.
Ton jumped up. "Mom!"
Chak stood and went to open the door.
Malai stepped in, smiling brightly. "Good morning," she said, her voice cheerful. "Time to take my little troublemaker home."
Ton squealed with delight and ran to grab his backpack.
Malai's gaze flicked to me. She hesitated, then gave a polite nod. "Niran."
I nodded back. "Morning."
She looked at Chak. "Thanks for watching him. He always has the best time here."
Chak gave a faint smile. "He's welcome anytime."
But his eyes didn't soften.
Not even a glance toward me.
When Malai and Ton left, the door closed quietly behind them.
I was alone with Chak again.
I stood up and faced him. "Chak, about last night.."
He cut me off, cold and sharp. "Get dressed. We're leaving for the office in fifteen minutes."
I stared at him. "Chak, please"
He finally looked at me, his gaze like ice. "Also, your punishment is that , you have no access to the art room."
The words hit me like a slap.
He continued, "When we return, you'll be doing a full inventory of the company records. Make sure your reports are in order."
Then he turned his back to me, like I was nothing more than an employee.
He walked away from me, just like that.
I stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen, the scent of pancakes still in the air, but all I could feel was the weight in my chest.
No access to my art room.
Inventory check.
Like none of last night had happened.
Like that blanket hadn't been draped over me.
Like that kiss hadn't touched my skin.
Like I didn't matter.
I clenched my fists. My throat tightened, burning with something I couldn't quite swallow. Anger? Hurt? Confusion?
Why was he doing this?
Why act so cold when I knew I knew there was something real last night?
Was it a mistake?
A moment of weakness he now regrets?
Or was it something more… and he's just afraid?
I heard him moving around in the hallway, grabbing his keys, preparing to leave.
He was always like this. Controlled. Distant. But today… today it hurt.
I took a shaky breath and stepped closer to him.
"Chak," I said, barely louder than a whisper.
He paused, his back still turned.
I wanted to reach out.
I wanted to touch him.
Wrap my arms around him.
Make him stop pretending.
Make him see me.
"I… I just want to understand," I said. "Last night… it wasn't just in my head, was it?"
He didn't move.
My fingers twitched at my sides. I took one more step toward him.
"Can I… can I just hold you? For a second?"
Silence.
Then, his voice quiet, low, strained.
"No."
He didn't look back.
"I'll be in the car," he said.
And then he was gone.
The door closed behind him.
I stood there, alone again.
But this time, it wasn't just the cold air I felt.
It was the cold between us.
And it cut much deeper.
The office was quiet that morning.
Colleagues typed on their keyboards, no one spoke more than necessary. I tried to lose myself in the numbers, the work, anything that wouldn't remind me of him.
But I could feel him. Somewhere above me, behind the closed doors of his office.
"Um… Niran?"
I looked up. Amara stood in front of my desk, holding a bundle of folders. Her fingers looked slightly sweaty.
"Chak needs these for review. Can you take them to him? Please, I have a call now."
I swallowed. "To Chak's office?"
She nodded quickly. "Yes. Thanks."
My heart started pounding. My fingers trembled as I took the documents. I stood up.
The walk to his office felt longer than ever. With every step, I wondered if he'd reject me again. If he would even look at me.
I almost turned back three times. But… I didn't.
I knocked.
"Come in," he said.
I opened the door. There he was, behind his desk, serious as ever, surrounded by papers. He didn't even look up.
"Amara said you need this," I said quietly and placed the documents on the edge of his desk.
"Leave it there," he replied flatly.
I turned, ready to leave. But my legs didn't move.
I turned back. My heart was racing. I looked at him. He just sat there. So close… and yet so far.
I couldn't take it anymore.
I stepped closer. Too quickly. Too gently.
And I hugged him.
For a moment, he didn't move. Everything was still only my heart, pounding like mad.
I held him tightly, feeling the warmth of his body beneath the suit jacket.
"I know I made a mistake," I whispered. "But that doesn't mean I don't feel. And I don't want to just look away anymore."
Slowly, I pulled back, ready for him to reject me, scold me, push me away.
But his eyes… they were different