My Cruel Love
(Between Clashes and Glances—A New Spark Ignites)
(Last time, Arman caught Maya just before she fell—and their awkward moment led to yet another squabble)
This time, Arman didn't let Maya fall. He quickly wrapped an arm around her waist, steadying her before she hit the ground. Maya, startled, had shut her eyes tight in fear.
Once she was upright, Arman sighed, clearly annoyed.
"Why do you always end up bumping into me like this?" he asked.
Maya fired back, "And why do you always pop up out of nowhere? It's not like I'm constantly crashing into you—it's happened, what, twice?"
With even more irritation, Arman muttered, "Ugh, talking to you is pointless. You're unbelievable."
And just like that, he walked off.
Maya scrunched her face at his retreating figure and mumbled under her breath,
"If it's so pointless, then don't bother! Seriously? Unbelievable? No, you're unbelievable… you and your whole infuriating family!"
As soon as she said it, her hands flew to her mouth. She looked around nervously to check if anyone had overheard. Thankfully, no one was nearby. Breathing a sigh of relief, she muttered, "Whew… close call."
Just then, a car horn honked outside.
"Oh no—they're waiting for me," she realized, and bolted out the door.
When Maya reached the car, she found Abeer and Samira already seated in the back. Arman was in the driver's seat. For a moment, Maya hesitated, unsure where to sit.
Definitely not next to him, she thought. Mr. Grumpy, Angry, and Moody? No thanks.
So she opened the back door and slid in next to Abeer and Samira.
Samira raised an eyebrow.
"Hey, sis, why didn't you sit in the front?"
Before Maya could answer, Arman got out of the car.
"What now?" Abeer leaned out the window. "Why'd you get out?"
Arman snapped, "Do I look like your personal driver?"
Abeer shook his head quickly. "Not at all! Maya, you should sit up front."
Maya frowned. "Why me? Why don't one of you sit up front?"
Samira shrugged. "Not me. I don't like sitting in the front. The back is way comfier."
Maya turned to Abeer, who immediately blurted, "Not me either! I get carsick in the front."
Maya and Samira stared at him in disbelief. Abeer realized how absurd he sounded and gave a sheepish laugh.
Arman, meanwhile, looked like he was about to explode.
Samira said, "But Abeer, you always sit up front with Arman!"
Still grinning awkwardly, Abeer replied, "Yeah, but I didn't used to get sick before. Now I do."
Samira mumbled, "Wow. What an excuse. So creative."
Arman clenched his jaw. "You all are unbelievable. I'm done. I'll just send a driver for you."
He turned to leave, but Samira quickly yelled, "No no! Maya's going up front! She's going!"
She shoved Maya toward the front seat before Maya could object. With an irritated sigh, Maya opened the front door and sat down.
Seeing her finally sit, Arman returned to the car and got in. He buckled his seatbelt but didn't start the car.
"What now?" Samira asked. "Let's go!"
Arman turned to Maya, his voice cool and dry.
"Do you need a formal invitation to buckle your seatbelt?"
Embarrassed, Maya hurriedly buckled up. Only then did Arman finally start the car.
Three days later…
Today was important. Mr. Daniel was visiting, and if he liked the designs, the deal would be sealed. Everyone at the office was on edge. This deal had the potential to elevate the company's status and boost salaries and bonuses for the entire team.
Amidst all this tension, Maya had quietly carved a place for herself.
At first, her simple style and quiet demeanor made people underestimate her.
Just another average girl, they had thought.
But they were wrong.
In just a few days, Maya's work began to speak volumes. Her designs weren't just technically sound—they were art. Every sketch, every line carried emotion and creativity, like she poured her soul into each piece.
Her colleagues soon realized Maya's work wasn't just professional—it was deeply passionate. Her designs felt alive, as if they were telling stories. Naturally, when the position for Head Designer came up, there was no hesitation. Everyone agreed Maya was the perfect fit.
Respect and admiration blossomed around her. People began to look up to her, not just for her skill, but for her humility. Maya was still the same kind, down-to-earth person. When someone made a mistake, she didn't scold—she guided gently, with patience and grace.
She had become the heart of the office—everyone's favorite. Her warm personality and willingness to help made her not just a leader, but a friend.
But not everyone was happy.
Disha, watching from the sidelines, burned with jealousy.
Arman, on the other hand, never said much—but inside, he was thoroughly impressed. For someone as measured and precise as him, Maya's creativity was something else entirely. Her every design had the finesse of a master artist. Her sense of color, form, and story left even Arman—stoic as he was—quietly astonished.
Over time, their dynamic had shifted. Where there had once been only tension, a strange sort of camaraderie had formed. Arman found himself watching Maya from his cabin as she worked in hers—focused, passionate, glowing. He hated how often he caught himself staring. It distracted him. He'd lose track of time. Miss deadlines. All because of her.
Maya always brought her work updates to Arman in person. Even on the busiest days, the two of them managed to steal moments—brief, quiet conversations that felt like their own little world.
Whenever Maya entered his office, the energy shifted. Time slowed. Light softened. The room warmed.
As she talked through her concepts—explaining the thoughts behind each design—Arman listened silently, captivated. Her eyes lit up with excitement, her voice steady with conviction. To Arman, she seemed like an entire universe wrapped into one woman. A universe of color, passion, and depth.
That afternoon, Arman sat lost in thought in his office when there was a knock on the door.
"Come in," he said.
Maya walked in.
And for a moment, Arman forgot how to breathe.
She was wearing a sleek black gown, elegant and poised, the fabric flowing like liquid midnight. Her loose hair cascaded down her back in soft waves. Simple black earrings caught the light, and a small, striking pendant rested at her collarbone—graceful yet commanding.
Her makeup was minimal, but perfect. A soft flush on her cheeks, a bold line of eyeliner framing her deep, expressive eyes. There was something magnetic about the way she looked—confident yet gentle, quiet yet impossible to ignore.
Arman stared—but didn't let it show.
He composed his face into a mask of seriousness and said, "Maya, I was waiting for you. Is everything ready?"
With a sweet smile, she nodded. "Yes sir, all set. Just waiting for the client."
He asked, "You double-checked the design files? Everything's in place?"
To be continued...
(My Cruel Love
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