Adultery Between Nabila and Ranjeet

[naj0501]

The moment I stepped into the Grand Regent Hotel’s banquet hall, I felt like I had stepped into a grand movie set. Bright golden lights from crystal chandeliers cascaded over the room, making the polished cutlery on the tables sparkle. The carpet felt thick and soft under my heels, patterned with deep maroon and cream swirls that almost looked like waves. The air carried a rich mix of scents — fresh polish from the wooden paneling, expensive perfume from guests drifting past, and the warm, inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee from a counter tucked into one corner. For a second, I simply paused at the entrance, taking it all in, before moving further inside.
I adjusted my saree pallu, feeling the soft chiffon slip lightly between my fingers. Tonight I was wearing a wine-red chiffon saree with a thin silver border. The fabric was light, flowing softly when I moved, the pleats neatly tucked just below my navel, the pallu dbangd over my left shoulder. My blouse had a deep round neck with fine silver embroidery that matched the border, and elbow-length sleeves. I wore small silver jhumkas, a delicate chain with a tiny pendant, and a slim bracelet on my wrist. A faint trail of jasmine-scented perfume clung to me, something I had dabbed on my neck and wrists before leaving home. On my feet were silver-strapped sandals with a small heel, comfortable yet elegant. I had left my hair open in loose waves and done light makeup - eyeliner, soft rose lipstick, and a little highlighter. It felt perfect for an office function that was special but still formal.
The hall was already full of people from all departments. Groups were standing and talking, laughing loudly. Waiters in white shirts and black waistcoats were moving around with trays of juice and water. The front area near the stage was filled with our senior management. Right in the middle sat Mr. Malhotra, our Country Head, in a navy blue bandh gala suit with gold buttons. He looked serious but kept smiling politely whenever someone came to greet him.
The stage had a long LED screen at the back. On it, the company’s logo kept appearing along with the theme for the evening — “Annual Day & Awards – Celebrating Excellence Together.”
“Nice set-up this year,” Meera from Marketing whispered in my ear. She was in a dark green gown with a side slit. She leaned closer and added, “Finance team has got the front table. Looks like they are getting something big tonight.”
I smiled. “You think they planned even the table seating?”
She laughed softly. “Nabila, nothing here is random. Not even which starter they serve first. Remember last year when they served only veg starters to the Sales table? They sulked all evening.”
I laughed. “And ate half of ours.”
We giggled like college friends, earning a side glance from Rajiv in Quality, who mouthed, “Behave,” with a grin.
I looked around. Our CEO was busy greeting the Regional Managers. The HR Head, Anita, was giving instructions to the two young associates who would be hosting the event. The Sales VP was surrounded by his team, laughing loudly at something. Across the room, I spotted Ranjeet.
He was in a charcoal grey suit with a white shirt and a maroon tie. He stood with his hands in his pockets, listening to someone from Operations. The red thread on his wrist peeked out from under his cuff - I had noticed it before, a small personal detail. Just then, his eyes met mine for a second. He gave a small nod and I returned it before we both looked away.
The programme started with the lighting of the ceremonial lamp. Mr. Malhotra was joined by the CEO, HR Head, and our Senior Vice President for South Asia - the chief guest of the evening. He was a tall man with a calm face and a deep voice. He was known for remembering people’s names, even junior staff, which made everyone like him.
The speeches began. The CEO spoke about the company’s performance, the challenges we faced, and how we were ready for the future. The chief guest added some stories from his career and spoke about how “consistency and teamwork” were the real strengths of any organisation. People clapped at the right moments, some genuinely, some because everyone else was clapping.
Then a short video was played on the big screen. It showed the year’s highlights - successful projects, happy clients, team events, and CSR activities. Music played in the background, and the editing made even the ordinary things look grand.
After that, it was time for the awards.
The hosts started calling names. “Best Newcomer” went to a young guy from Sales. “Team Spirit Award” went to the Admin team. People clapped, shook hands, posed for photos. But I could hear whispers around me.
From somewhere behind, Rajiv from Quality muttered, “Team Spirit? They were fighting all year.”
Meera leaned over. “Watch -they’ll give something to Priya from HR. She’s got an offer from another company.”
Sure enough, a few minutes later, “Leadership Excellence” went to Priya. As she went on stage, someone whispered, “That’s the best retention strategy - give them an award.”
And then, the host announced: “Client Excellence Award – Nabila Khan, Corporate Services.”
For a moment, I just sat there, surprised. Then I stood, adjusting my pallu, and walked to the stage. The spotlights made everything bright and warm. Mr. Malhotra handed me the trophy - a silver-and-glass piece shaped like a rising arc - and shook my hand.
“Your work with Meridian has set a high standard,” he said quietly. “Well done.”
“Thank you, sir,” I replied.
From the stage, I looked at the crowd. I saw Meera smiling and clapping. I saw someone from Admin clicking my photo. And I saw Ranjeet, clapping slowly, with a steady, warm smile that held my gaze for just a moment too long.
I returned to my seat, still feeling the weight of the moment. That’s when I heard Ranjeet’s voice from behind me.
“Congratulations,” he said. “I was wondering when they’d finally give you that one.”
I turned slightly and smiled. “I wasn’t exactly waiting for it.”
He chuckled. “Some of us were. Though honestly, I thought they’d give it to Finance first just to keep the accountants happy.”
I laughed under my breath. “Don’t give them ideas for next year.”
It was friendly, but there was a certain undertone in his voice. The kind you can’t quite name but can’t ignore either. I looked back toward the stage, but the awareness of him sitting right there stayed with me as the rest of the awards went on.
The applause from the last award was still echoing faintly in the hall when the hosts announced that dinner was open. The heavy partition doors at the side of the banquet hall slid open to reveal a separate dining area, just as lavishly set up. The aroma that drifted out was almost sinful - a mix of freshly baked naan, rich gravies, and roasted spices.
People began drifting towards the buffet, some in eager groups, others in pairs, and a few lone wolves with their phones in hand. Meera and I exchanged a look and joined the slow-moving stream.
The buffet was a long U-shaped spread, starting with salads - bright bowls of kachumber, Russian salad, and chickpea chaat - then the main courses: butter chicken with its thick, red gravy, mutton rogan josh shimmering under the lights, paneer lababdar rich with cream, dal makhani cooked to perfection, and a fragrant vegetable biryani. At the far end, live counters were flipping hot tawa rotis and soft phulkas. The dessert section gleamed with bowls of gulab jamun, rasmalai, and a three-tiered cake decorated in the company colours.
“Trust them to make the food better than the salaries,” Meera muttered, picking up a plate.
I laughed. “It’s the only incentive that’s tax-free.”
As we moved along the line, I felt someone step into place beside me. I didn’t even have to look to know it was Ranjeet.
“Careful,” he said lightly, glancing at the stack of plates, “These plates are heavier than they look. HR says it’s to discourage second helpings.”
I smiled. “You should suggest dumbbells for dessert plates, then.”
Meera, catching the exchange, grinned but conveniently moved ahead to the biryani section, leaving us side by side.
“You look different tonight,” Ranjeet said, picking up a spoon of dal makhani.
“Different how?” I asked, spooning some paneer onto my plate.
He paused, just long enough to make me glance up. “Like the award was only your second win tonight.”
I felt a small, warm flicker inside. “And what’s the first?”
His smile was brief, almost private. “You’ll figure it out.”
We moved slowly with the line, exchanging light jokes about who would dare try both the mutton and the biryani without falling asleep at their table. Every so often, someone from our department stopped by to congratulate me, and Ranjeet would step back half a pace, listening but saying little. When they left, his eyes would find mine again, as if resuming an unfinished sentence.
At that point, Vikram from Admin - the one who’d been clicking my pictures on stage -appeared, carrying his plate with an exaggerated smile. “Our star of the night!” he announced loudly enough for nearby tables to turn.
I forced a polite smile. “Thanks, Vikram.”
He leaned in a little too close. “I’ll send you the photos… unless you want me to deliver them personally over coffee?”
“I’m sure whatsapp will work just fine,” I said, turning back to the buffet. He always tried to turn small talk into some cheap flirting, and I had lost patience with it long ago.
Ranjeet’s voice cut in, calm but edged. “Careful, Vikram. If you keep circling the buffet like this, someone might think you’re here for the food and not the company.”
Vikram laughed it off and moved on, but I caught Ranjeet’s glance - brief, knowing.
At the dessert counter, Meera returned. “I’m stealing her for a group table,” she told Ranjeet, mock-serious.
“She’s all yours,” he said, “Just don’t make her eat too much cake. She still has to walk to her car.”
I rolled my eyes, but there was a lightness to our banter that hadn’t been there before. Sitting at the table with Meera and a few others, I caught Ranjeet a few seats away, talking to someone from Finance. Even then, between bites of gulab jamun, our eyes met more than once.
The dinner went on with laughter, gossip about the evening’s winners, and speculation about next year’s reshuffles. But under it all, there was a steady hum -the quiet awareness of what had passed between us before, and the question of where the night might still lead.
By the time dessert plates were cleared and coffee was being served, the energy in the hall had shifted. The loud laughter had softened into smaller conversations, and people were starting to collect their belongings. Some were making plans to meet later, others were calling cabs. The air felt lighter, the kind that comes when a big event is over but you’re not ready to leave just yet.
Meera was busy talking to a colleague from Marketing about a new campaign, so I wandered towards the side of the hall where the exit to the driveway was. That’s where I found Ranjeet, speaking with one of the junior managers. He saw me and excused himself from the conversation.
“Heading out?” he asked.
“Soon,” I said. “Just waiting for Meera to finish her marketing gossip.”
He smiled. “I need a small favour, if you don’t mind.”
I tilted my head. “What kind of favour?”
“I’m leaving for Goa tomorrow morning,” he explained. “My daughter lives there with my parents. I try to spend at least a week with her every few months. But before I go, I need an important file from my home -it’s on a pen drive. It has some project data we might need urgently if something comes up while I’m away. I was going to collect it after the event, but since you’re here…”
“You want me to get it for you?” I asked.
“Not exactly,” he said. “I’ll be going now anyway. If you could follow me in your car to my place, I’ll grab it quickly and then you can head home from there. That way I can make sure you get out safely from here too. The basement parking is a bit lonely at this hour.”
I let out a small laugh. “Well, Adnan is staying over at Ammi’s place tonight, and Asif is away in Delhi for work… so I’m not exactly rushing home to anyone. But you owe me one for this.”
His expression softened. “Then I’ll make sure it’s quick. Ten minutes, that’s all,” he said, studying my face. Then, in a quieter tone, “After my wife passed away during the Corona time, I’ve been trying to keep things in order -for my daughter’s sake. She lives with my parents in Goa"
I felt a small tug in my chest at his words. “Alright. I’ll follow you.”
“Good,” he said, with that brief, warm smile of his. “Let’s wait for the crowd to thin a bit, then we’ll head out.”
While we waited, our talk drifted from which award surprised us to who gave the best speech, and of course, to the dessert counter that seemed more popular than the stage. He leaned closer and murmured, “By the way, you’ve outshone the trophies tonight.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Is that your professional opinion or personal?”
“Both,” he said, his eyes scanning my saree with an appreciative warmth. “That colour… it’s dangerous. And you carry it like you know it.”
I smirked. “Dangerous for you, maybe.”
He chuckled, clearly enjoying my reply. “I think you’re enjoying making me say it twice.”
“Maybe,” I said, letting the word linger. Every now and then, someone would come by to say goodbye, and Ranjeet would pause to exchange polite words before turning back to me, as if picking up a conversation he wasn’t ready to let go of.
When the driveway looked clearer, he gestured towards the exit. “Shall we?”
I nodded, and we walked together through the soft hum of the departing crowd, towards a night that was suddenly feeling less ordinary than it had an hour ago.