11-06-2025, 04:39 PM
After Hours at work
The office cafeteria buzzed with the low hum of conversation and the clatter of steel cups. It was Friday evening, and most of Abhi’s team was unwinding after a long sprint week. A team dinner was scheduled at 8, but until then, people lingered in groups, joking, gossiping, and pretending not to flirt.
Abhi sat on a stool by the coffee machine when Nikita (26, from the UI/UX team. Confident, sleek, always in smart kurtas or jeans.) walked in.
She wore a bottle-green kurta, snug enough to trace the slope of her waist, paired with skinny jeans that revealed toned legs. She was about 5’6", light wheatish complexion, slender, with sharp features—almond eyes that scanned a room quickly, and lips always slightly glossed. She was 26, carried herself like she knew her worth, and wasn’t afraid to test boundaries with her confidence.
“You always drink black coffee?” she asked, standing beside him.
“Only after 6 p.m.,” he replied, “Keeps me sharp. And you?”
She smirked. “Keeps me up. But I like the way you say it.”
He handed her a cup. Their fingers touched briefly. He noticed her nails were painted a deep maroon.
She leaned against the counter, sipping. “You’re quiet during meetings, but you say smart things when you do speak. That’s rare.”
“You watch me during meetings?”
She tilted her head. “I notice things.”
Their eyes lingered.
The tension wasn’t dramatic—but it was there. Natural. Smooth. A quiet pull under the skin.
Later, at the dinner table, Nikita took the seat beside him. The others joked loudly, passed plates, and clicked selfies, but their conversation stayed low, intimate.
“You know,” she said, halfway through her paneer tikka, “you have that calm, unreadable look. The kind that makes people wonder what’s going on in your head.”
“What do you think is going on?”
She locked eyes with him. “You don’t want me to answer that.”
As they waited for the cabs post-dinner, she stood beside him near the rain-damp entrance of the restaurant.
“You live far?”
“About 30 minutes,” she said. “Kondapur.”
“I’m 15 minutes away. Want me to book one and drop you halfway?”
“No need. But sweet offer.”
Then she stepped a little closer. Her perfume—musky and faintly floral—wrapped around him.
“Next time,” she whispered, “we should go somewhere quieter. Just us.”
Then she left.
He stood there a second longer, the heat of her words still fresh in his ears.
The office cafeteria buzzed with the low hum of conversation and the clatter of steel cups. It was Friday evening, and most of Abhi’s team was unwinding after a long sprint week. A team dinner was scheduled at 8, but until then, people lingered in groups, joking, gossiping, and pretending not to flirt.
Abhi sat on a stool by the coffee machine when Nikita (26, from the UI/UX team. Confident, sleek, always in smart kurtas or jeans.) walked in.
She wore a bottle-green kurta, snug enough to trace the slope of her waist, paired with skinny jeans that revealed toned legs. She was about 5’6", light wheatish complexion, slender, with sharp features—almond eyes that scanned a room quickly, and lips always slightly glossed. She was 26, carried herself like she knew her worth, and wasn’t afraid to test boundaries with her confidence.
“You always drink black coffee?” she asked, standing beside him.
“Only after 6 p.m.,” he replied, “Keeps me sharp. And you?”
She smirked. “Keeps me up. But I like the way you say it.”
He handed her a cup. Their fingers touched briefly. He noticed her nails were painted a deep maroon.
She leaned against the counter, sipping. “You’re quiet during meetings, but you say smart things when you do speak. That’s rare.”
“You watch me during meetings?”
She tilted her head. “I notice things.”
Their eyes lingered.
The tension wasn’t dramatic—but it was there. Natural. Smooth. A quiet pull under the skin.
Later, at the dinner table, Nikita took the seat beside him. The others joked loudly, passed plates, and clicked selfies, but their conversation stayed low, intimate.
“You know,” she said, halfway through her paneer tikka, “you have that calm, unreadable look. The kind that makes people wonder what’s going on in your head.”
“What do you think is going on?”
She locked eyes with him. “You don’t want me to answer that.”
As they waited for the cabs post-dinner, she stood beside him near the rain-damp entrance of the restaurant.
“You live far?”
“About 30 minutes,” she said. “Kondapur.”
“I’m 15 minutes away. Want me to book one and drop you halfway?”
“No need. But sweet offer.”
Then she stepped a little closer. Her perfume—musky and faintly floral—wrapped around him.
“Next time,” she whispered, “we should go somewhere quieter. Just us.”
Then she left.
He stood there a second longer, the heat of her words still fresh in his ears.
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