The morning sun painted Bangkok's skyline in shades of gold and amber, transforming the glass towers into gleaming monuments that caught and scattered light like scattered diamonds. Aarohi stood before her bedroom mirror, fingers fumbling with the buttons of her crisp white blouse. The fabric felt different today—more significant somehow, as if she were putting on armor for a battle she didn't fully understand yet.
From across the hallway, Rhea's voice drifted through her slightly open door, sing-song and teasing. "Still daydreaming about our resident ice sculpture?"
Heat bloomed across Aarohi's cheeks as she caught her friend's knowing grin in the reflection. "Would you stop calling him that?" she protested, though her voice lacked any real annoyance. "And I wasn't daydreaming. I was just... thinking."
"Uh-huh." Rhea appeared in the doorway, already dressed in a navy blazer that brought out her eyes, her hair twisted into a professional bun that somehow still looked effortlessly stylish. "The same way teenagers 'just think' about their crushes while doodling hearts in their notebooks."
Aarohi grabbed her purse—a practical black leather bag that had seen her through college and countless job interviews—and headed for the door, Rhea's laughter following her. But as they locked up and hurried down the narrow stairwell that always smelled faintly of incense from Mrs. Chen's morning prayers, Aarohi's mind wandered back to last night's phone call.
*"Did you meet him?"*
That voice. Deep, familiar in a way that bypassed logic and went straight to her heart. She hadn't told Rhea about the call—couldn't, really, without explaining things she wasn't ready to explain. Some secrets were like seeds; they needed the right soil and timing to grow into something others could understand.
---
**At the Office**
Veerayut International hummed with its usual morning energy—the soft ping of elevators, the rhythmic clicking of keyboards, the subtle whoosh of the air conditioning system that kept the marble and glass interior at perfect temperature. Aarohi and Rhea stepped into the elevator with a handful of other employees, all maintaining that careful elevator silence that seemed universal to office buildings worldwide.
The moment they reached their floor, they were greeted by an unusual buzz of excitement. Conversations paused mid-sentence as people turned to look toward the conference room area, where two unfamiliar figures stood with Pim.
"Good morning, girls!" Pim's voice carried that particular brightness she used when something important was happening. She approached them with quick, purposeful steps, her heels creating a staccato rhythm against the polished tiles.
"Morning, Pim," they replied in unison, automatically straightening their postures.
"Perfect timing. There are two people I need you to meet—they're going to be crucial to your integration here." Pim's eyes sparkled with the kind of excitement that suggested these weren't ordinary introductions.
She gestured toward the two figures, and Aarohi felt her attention immediately drawn to the man. He was tall—probably six feet—with the kind of presence that filled a room without demanding it. His skin had a warm, dusky tone that spoke of mixed heritage, and his thick black hair was styled with casual precision. The navy suit he wore looked expensive but not flashy, tailored to emphasize his broad shoulders and athletic build.
But it was his smile that caught her off guard. Where she'd grown accustomed to the sharp angles and cold precision of Rithvik's world, this man radiated warmth like sunlight breaking through clouds. His deep brown eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, suggesting someone who laughed easily and often.
"This is Mr. Aarav Devakul, our Senior Manager of International Communications," Pim announced with obvious pride. "He's just returned from heading our Singapore operations and will be coordinating our global partnerships. You'll be working with him on several upcoming projects."
Aarav stepped forward, extending his hand first to Rhea, then to Aarohi. His handshake was firm but not aggressive, warm but professional. "It's wonderful to meet you both. I've been hearing interesting things about our new team members—especially about someone brave enough to venture into the lion's den on her first day."
Aarohi felt her cheeks warm. "I just asked a question. Nothing heroic about it."
His chuckle was rich and genuine. "Trust me, surviving a one-on-one with Mr. Rithvik without coming out in tears is practically legendary around here. You've got backbone—I respect that."
Before Aarohi could formulate a response, the second person stepped forward, and the temperature in the immediate area seemed to drop several degrees.
She was petite—probably five-foot-four even in her impressive black stilettos—but her presence was anything but small. Everything about her screamed precision and control, from her sleek black hair pulled into a bun so perfect it looked architectural, to her pale beige blazer that didn't show so much as a wrinkle. Her makeup was flawless—foundation that looked airbrushed, eyebrows shaped to mathematical perfection, and deep maroon lipstick that made her look like she could deliver bad news and make it sound like a compliment.
"And this is Ms. Thanchanok Niran—everyone calls her Ms. Nok," Pim continued, though her voice had taken on a slightly more formal tone. "She's the Senior Team Leader for Department B, which means, Aarohi, she'll be your direct supervisor."
Ms. Nok didn't offer her hand. Instead, she fixed Aarohi with an appraising look that felt like being studied under a microscope. Her dark eyes were sharp, calculating, missing nothing. When she spoke, her voice was crisp and authoritative.
"Punctuality, precision, and performance are the three pillars of success in my department. I expect excellence, not excuses. Effort without results is just expensive failure."
"Yes, ma'am," Aarohi responded quickly, sensing that anything less than immediate agreement would be noted and filed away as a mark against her.
Rhea leaned closer, her whisper barely audible. "She could freeze fire with that stare."
Pim laughed nervously. "Ms. Nok has high standards, but she's fair. You'll learn a lot from her."
But as the introductions continued, something interesting happened. Ms. Nok's attention drifted—just for a moment—toward the frosted glass walls of the CEO's office. Aarohi watched as the woman's carefully controlled expression softened almost imperceptibly. The slightest hint of color touched her cheeks, and her lips parted just enough to suggest she'd forgotten to breathe.
It lasted maybe three seconds. Then Ms. Nok's mask snapped back into place, but not before Rhea caught it too.
As they walked away from the introductions, Rhea grabbed Aarohi's arm. "Did you see that? The Ice Queen just melted a little bit looking at Rithvik's office. She's got it bad for him."
Aarohi glanced back to see Ms. Nok adjusting her blazer with sharp, efficient movements. "You think so?"
"Think so? Honey, that woman looked like she was mentally planning their wedding and calculating the tax benefits."
They tried to suppress their giggles, but the image of stern Ms. Nok harboring a secret crush was too amusing to ignore completely.
---
**Throughout the Day**
If Ms. Nok was winter personified, Aarav was spring—bringing warmth and life wherever he went. He had a gift for making everyone feel valued, from the newest intern to the senior staff. During lunch break, he made rounds through the office, checking in with various teams, offering encouragement, and somehow managing to remember personal details about people's lives.
When he stopped by Aarohi's desk around two o'clock, she was deep in a complex spreadsheet that was making her eyes water.
"How are you settling in?" he asked, leaning against her desk with casual familiarity. "Not too overwhelmed by our charming office dynamics?"
Aarohi looked up, grateful for the interruption. "It's... intense. But good intense, I think. Everyone's been welcoming."
"That's the spirit. You know, I can tell you're someone who doesn't give up easily. That's rare—and valuable." His praise felt genuine, not like the empty compliments some managers used to boost morale.
From her corner desk, Rhea's eyebrows shot up toward her hairline. She waited until Aarav moved on before scooting her chair closer to Aarohi's.
"Okay, did Mr. Sunshine just flirt with you, or am I imagining things?"
"He was being nice," Aarohi protested, though she could feel warmth spreading through her chest. "That's just how he is with everyone."
"Uh-huh. And I'm sure he leans on everyone's desk like that. And remembers everyone's coffee order. And has that little smile he saves for special occasions."
Before Aarohi could respond, she noticed Ms. Nok approaching from across the office. But the woman's attention wasn't on them—it was fixed on the corridor where Rithvik had just appeared, walking with his usual purposeful stride toward the elevator.
Aarohi watched, fascinated, as Ms. Nok's entire demeanor shifted. Her spine straightened even more (if that was possible), her hand moved to smooth an already-perfect collar, and she adjusted her blazer with quick, nervous movements. Her eyes tracked Rithvik's progress with the intensity of a hunter watching prey, though there was something almost vulnerable in her expression when she thought no one was looking.
"See?" Rhea whispered. "She's been carrying a torch for him for ages. Probably knows his schedule better than his assistant does."
Aarohi nodded slowly, understanding dawning. "That's why she's been giving me those looks since yesterday. She sees me as competition."
"Bingo. You talked to him—actually had a conversation—which is more than she's probably managed in years of pining from afar."
The realization sat uncomfortably in Aarohi's stomach. She didn't want to be anyone's rival, especially not over something as complicated as feelings for Rithvik Veerayut.
---
**Evening – Cafeteria**
The day's final meeting had wrapped up, leaving everyone slightly drained but relieved. Aarohi and Rhea claimed a small table in the cafeteria, sharing a plate of spring rolls and iced Thai tea. The space was modern but warm, with large windows overlooking the city and comfortable seating that encouraged lingering.
They were halfway through discussing the day's events when Aarav appeared with his own tray, looking slightly hesitant.
"Mind if I join you ladies? The alternative is eating alone while reviewing budget reports, which sounds depressing even by my standards."
"Of course," Aarohi said, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Please, sit."
Rhea excused herself to get another drink, but not before shooting Aarohi a meaningful look that clearly said *This is your chance—don't waste it.*
Once they were alone, Aarav's demeanor became more relaxed, less manager-like. "I meant what I said earlier about you having potential. Don't let the more... intense personalities around here intimidate you."
"Is it that obvious that I'm intimidated?" Aarohi asked with a self-deprecating smile.
"Not intimidated—cautious. There's a difference. Intimidated people shrink back. Cautious people observe, learn, and then strike when the moment is right."
His insight surprised her. "You're very perceptive."
"Years of managing diverse teams. You learn to read people—their motivations, their fears, what drives them." He paused, studying her face. "You're here for more than just professional experience, aren't you?"
The question caught her off guard. "What do you mean?"
"Just a feeling. You have the look of someone on a mission, not just someone looking for their next career move."
Before she could respond to his uncomfortably accurate observation, movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention. Rithvik was walking past the cafeteria, his expression unreadable as always. But his eyes—those dark, penetrating eyes—seemed to pause on their table. The look lasted only a moment, but it felt significant somehow.
Behind him, Ms. Nok followed like a well-dressed shadow, carrying a thick folder and maintaining the perfect distance of a professional subordinate. But her gaze flickered toward Aarohi with unmistakable sharpness before she hurried to catch up with her boss.
The tension in the air was almost palpable.
---
**(The Warmth Beneath the Ice)**
As the workday wound down and golden hour light flooded through the office windows, painting everything in warm amber tones, an excited buzz began building near the HR section.
Pim clapped her hands together, the sound echoing in the suddenly quiet space. "Alright, everyone! Since our newest team members have officially survived their first full week," she grinned at Aarohi and Rhea, "and since we've all been living on coffee and stress lately, we're doing a team dinner tonight!"
Cheers erupted from the younger staff members, their faces lighting up with genuine excitement. Even some of the more senior employees smiled—it had been a while since they'd had an official social gathering.
Aarav, who had been packing up his laptop, looked up with interest. "Please tell me this isn't another sad gathering at the noodle place down the street where everyone awkwardly makes small talk about quarterly reports."
"Actually," Pim said with obvious pride, "I've booked us a private section at Kaew Sook Dining House. It's that beautiful Thai-fusion place about ten minutes from here—amazing food, great atmosphere, and they have those lanterns that make everyone look like they're in a romantic movie."
"Count me in," Rhea said immediately, her eyes sparkling. "I've been living on instant ramen and questionable convenience store sushi. I need real food."
Aarohi felt a flutter of excitement mixed with nervousness. Office social events could be minefields—too formal and everyone stayed awkward, too casual and professional boundaries got blurred. But looking at the genuine enthusiasm on her colleagues' faces, she found herself nodding.
"That sounds lovely."
But then, because she was apparently incapable of leaving well enough alone, she heard herself asking, "Will the CEO be joining us too?"
The question fell into the space like a stone dropped into still water. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. Someone's coffee cup froze halfway to their lips. Even the usual background hum of printers and air conditioning seemed to pause.
Pim's eyes went wide, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "The... the CEO? Rithvik Veerayut?"
Aarohi felt heat creeping up her neck but pressed on with fake casualness. "Well, technically he is our boss. It's a team dinner, right?"
Aarav's expression shifted from surprise to something that might have been admiration. "Miss Aarohi, you're either incredibly brave or dangerously naive."
"I prefer 'optimistically curious,'" she replied, earning a few nervous chuckles from her colleagues.
Pim recovered enough to speak, though her voice came out slightly higher than usual. "He doesn't... I mean, he's never... The last time he attended a staff event was three years ago, and it was..." She paused, searching for diplomatic words. "Let's just say people forgot how to use chopsticks under his stare. Half the table ate with their hands because they were too nervous to function properly."
The mental image of Rithvik's intense gaze turning a casual dinner into a high-stakes performance made everyone laugh, breaking the tension.
"Plus," added Fon, the graphic designer, "he probably has better things to do than watch us embarrass ourselves over pad thai."
But even as the conversation moved on to logistics and restaurant details, Aarohi found herself wondering what Rithvik was like outside that glass office. Did he ever laugh? Did he have favorite foods? Did he ever just... relax?
---
**Later That Evening: Kaew Sook Dining House**
The restaurant was exactly as Pim had promised—atmospheric without being pretentious, warm without being cluttered. Soft lighting from paper lanterns cast everything in a golden glow, and the air was fragrant with lemongrass, basil, and the subtle heat of perfectly balanced spices. Their group had been seated in a semi-private area decorated with bamboo screens and hanging orchids, creating an intimate space that encouraged conversation.
The long table accommodated about fifteen people comfortably, and as the servers began bringing out dish after dish—pad thai glistening with tamarind glaze, green curry that made the air shimmer with aromatic steam, crispy tofu that crunched perfectly between teeth, and mango sticky rice that looked like edible art—the atmosphere became genuinely festive.
Rhea had somehow ended up across from Fon, and the two were engaged in an animated discussion about the merits of different types of chili peppers, complete with dramatic gestures and increasingly ridiculous comparisons.
"No, no, you don't understand," Rhea was saying, waving a piece of spring roll for emphasis, "a good chili should make you question your life choices, but in a good way. Like a relationship with a bad boy—dangerous but addictive."
"That's exactly what my ex-boyfriend said about his motorcycle," Fon replied, deadpan. "Right before he crashed it into a fruit vendor."
The table erupted in laughter, the kind of genuine, belly-deep laughter that only happens when people are truly comfortable with each other.
Aarav, who had shed his formal manager persona entirely, was attempting to teach Pim how to properly hold chopsticks, though his instructions were being undermined by his own laughter at her increasingly creative grip techniques.
"You're holding them like you're about to conduct an orchestra," he said, gently adjusting her fingers. "Think of them as extensions of your fingers, not weapons of mass destruction."
"Easy for you to say," Pim replied, managing to drop a piece of chicken back into her bowl for the third time. "Some of us didn't grow up with these things."
Even Ms. Nok, who had arrived fashionably late and initially sat with perfect posture at the far end of the table, had gradually relaxed as the evening progressed. She'd laughed—actually laughed—at one of Aarav's stories about a disastrous business dinner in Singapore, and the sound had surprised everyone, including herself.
Midway through the meal, as conversations flowed around them like warm honey, Aarav turned his attention to Aarohi with genuine curiosity.
"So, Aarohi, we've been monopolizing the conversation with our Bangkok stories. Tell us about India—what's it really like? I've always wanted to visit, but I feel like travel blogs never capture the real essence of a place."
The question was simple, but something in his tone—genuine interest without the performative politeness some people used when asking about cultural differences—made Aarohi lean forward slightly.
"Where do I even start?" she said, setting down her chopsticks and letting her eyes grow distant with memory. "India is... it's like living inside a kaleidoscope. Every time you think you understand the pattern, it shifts and shows you something completely different."
Rhea paused her chili pepper debate to listen, a soft smile on her face. She'd heard Aarohi talk about home before, but there was something special about watching her friend share these stories with people who were becoming more than just colleagues.
"The diversity is overwhelming in the best possible way," Aarohi continued, her voice taking on a warmer, more animated tone. "You can travel for days and never hear the same language twice. The saris change color and style from state to state. The food..." She paused, pressing her hand to her heart dramatically. "The food is like a love affair with your taste buds that lasts your entire life."
"Give us specifics," Aarav encouraged, leaning forward with the enthusiasm of someone who genuinely loved learning about different cultures.
"Okay, picture this," Aarohi said, her hands beginning to move as she spoke—a gesture that was pure home, pure comfort. "It's morning in my neighborhood, and you can hear temple bells mixing with the call to prayer from the mosque down the street. There's this old man who sells tea from a cart, and his chai—" She closed her eyes briefly, smiling. "It's made with cardamom and ginger and love, and it costs almost nothing, but it tastes like home feels."
"That sounds incredible," Pim breathed, her eyes wide with interest.
"And the festivals," Aarohi continued, warming to her subject. "During Holi—that's the festival of colors—the entire country basically becomes a giant art project. People throw colored powder at each other, and by the end of the day, everyone looks like they've been painted by children. Strangers become friends, social barriers disappear, and for one day, the whole world is rainbow-colored."
"I'm officially adding India to my travel list," Fon declared. "But tell us about the food. Real talk—what are we missing?"
Aarohi's laugh was pure joy. "Everything. Butter chicken that's so rich you want to swim in it. Biryani that takes hours to make properly—layer upon layer of rice and meat and spices that create this perfect symphony in your mouth. Street food that's technically dangerous but so delicious you eat it anyway and just pray to whatever gods are listening."
"What about sweets?" Ms. Nok asked, and everyone turned to look at her in surprise. It was the first time she'd voluntarily joined a casual conversation all evening.
"Oh, the sweets," Aarohi said, her expression becoming almost reverent. "Gulab jamun that dissolves on your tongue like sweet, milky clouds. Jalebi that's crispy and syrupy and completely impossible to eat neatly. Rasgulla that's like biting into sweetened joy. We have desserts that are basically edible poetry."
"Okay, I'm officially drooling," Rhea announced. "And now I'm homesick !
The conversation continued to flow, moving from food to festivals to music to the challenges of preserving tradition while embracing change. Aarohi found herself sharing stories she hadn't thought about in months—childhood memories of monsoon rains that turned streets into rivers, of grandmother's hands teaching her to make perfect round rotis, of markets so vibrant and chaotic they felt like living things.
As the evening progressed, someone produced a phone loaded with games, and suddenly they were all playing ridiculous icebreaker challenges. Pim, slightly tipsy on her second mocktail, had to sing a Thai lullaby while standing on one foot. Aarav was dared to compliment everyone at the table in the most dramatic way possible, which he did with such theatrical flair that he had everyone in stitches.
When it was Ms. Nok's turn, she was asked to share the most embarrassing thing that had happened to her at work. For a moment, everyone held their breath, expecting her to decline or give some sanitized, professional response. Instead, she took a sip of her drink and said, with perfect deadpan delivery:
"I once practiced asking Mr. Rithvik to lunch in the bathroom mirror for twenty minutes, complete with hand gestures and potential conversation topics. I had backup questions in case there were awkward silences."
The table fell completely silent. Then Rhea snorted, which set off Fon, which triggered a chain reaction that had everyone laughing so hard they were wiping tears from their eyes.
"What happened when you actually asked him?" Aarav managed between chuckles.
Ms. Nok's expression returned to its usual controlled state, but there was the faintest hint of pink in her cheeks. "I haven't worked up the courage yet. That was two years ago."
This admission triggered another wave of laughter, but it was kind laughter—the laughter of people who understood the universal experience of workplace crushes and the impossible courage they required.
As the evening wound down and they prepared to leave, Aarohi felt a warmth in her chest that had nothing to do with the spicy food. These people—her colleagues, her team, maybe even her friends—had welcomed her not just professionally but personally. They'd listened to her stories, shared their own, and created the kind of evening that would become a treasured memory.
---
**(Back to the Apartment)**
Later that night, as Bangkok settled into its quieter rhythms and the city lights painted patterns on their apartment walls, Aarohi stood by her bedroom window. The moonlight caught the glass, creating a silver mirror that reflected her thoughtful expression.
Behind her, Rhea had already succumbed to the evening's excitement and generous portions of mango sticky rice. She was sprawled across her bed in that boneless way that suggested deep, contented sleep, still wearing one earring and with her hair half-escaped from its professional bun.
But sleep eluded Aarohi. Her mind was too active, too full of the evening's conversations and the underlying currents that ran through her days at Veerayut International. She thought about Aarav's warmth and genuine kindness, so different from the calculated coldness she'd grown accustomed to expecting from corporate leadership. She thought about Ms. Nok's unexpected vulnerability, the reminder that everyone—even the most intimidating people—had their own hopes and fears and secret longings.
But mostly, she thought about Rithvik.
It wasn't just because he was the CEO, though his position certainly added to his mystique. It wasn't even because he was handsome, though she couldn't deny the way her pulse quickened when she remembered his sharp features and penetrating gaze. It was something deeper, more unsettling.
Something about him felt familiar. Not in the way that suggested they'd met before—she would have remembered that encounter. But familiar in the way that dreams felt familiar, or déjà vu, or the moment when a song you'd never heard before felt like it was written specifically for you.
Her hand moved unconsciously to her throat, where her fingers found the delicate chain that held her most precious possession. The pendant was small and unremarkable to anyone else—a piece of worn silver etched with symbols that most people would assume were decorative. But to Aarohi, it was much more than jewelry.
She lifted it from beneath her shirt, holding it up to catch the moonlight. The symbols seemed to shift and dance in the silver glow, and for a moment, she could almost hear her grandmother's voice again:
*"Some journeys begin long before we take the first step, beta. Some stories start before we even know we're characters in them."*
At the time, she'd thought her grandmother was just being poetic. Now, standing in a Bangkok apartment thousands of miles from home, she wondered if those words had been more prophecy than poetry.
"I wasn't sent here just for an internship," she whispered to her reflection, her voice so soft it barely disturbed the night air.
The pendant felt warm against her palm, as if responding to her words. She'd worn it for so long it had become part of her, but tonight it felt significant in a way she couldn't fully articulate.
She looked up at the stars—fewer here in the city than she'd grown up with, but still visible if you knew where to look. Somewhere out there, the universe was spinning its vast, incomprehensible story, and she was just one small thread in its infinite tapestry.
But tonight, for the first time since arriving in Bangkok, she had the strange, thrilling, terrifying feeling that her thread was about to become crucial to the pattern.
"It's time to remember why I'm really here," she whispered to the stars, to the night, to whatever forces had conspired to bring her to this moment.
The pendant pulsed once against her palm—or maybe that was just her imagination. But either way, she knew with sudden, crystalline certainty that her real story was just beginning.