05-03-2026, 02:06 PM
The familiar pastel walls of Bavi’s bedroom felt smaller than usual tonight. After a dinner of lemon rice and a persistent interrogation from her mother about why she looked "so distracted," Bavi had finally retreated to her sanctuary.
She lay on her bed, the glow of her laptop screen the only light in the room. She was supposed to be clearing the backlog of support tickets for the Singapore shift, but her eyes kept drifting to the bottom right corner of the taskbar.
Ping.
The Slack notification sound, usually a source of low-level anxiety, made her heart lurch. It wasn't the general #dev-ops channel. It was a direct message.
Shri [10:12 PM]: Still awake, Lead? Or did the "investigative committee" put you in lockdown?
Bavi bit her lip, her fingers hovering over the keys. She told herself she should be professional. She told herself she was two years his senior. Then she typed:
Bavi [10:13 PM]: Lockdown is a strong word. Let's call it 'supervised maintenance.' Why are you still online, Shri? Aren't juniors supposed to be sleeping off their bugs?
Shri [10:14 PM]: Hard to sleep when the code I’m looking at keeps reminding me of someone.
Bavi felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the Chennai humidity.
Bavi [10:14 PM]: Is that so? Which part? The complex logic?
Shri [10:15 PM]: No. The part where the system won't respond unless I use the right... touch.
Bavi stared at the screen. The subtext was so thick she could practically feel his breath through the pixels. She leaned back against her pillows, the silk of her night-kurti shifting against her skin.
Bavi [10:17 PM]: You're playing with fire, Developer. That’s a violation of the Acceptable Use Policy.
Shri [10:18 PM]: I’ve always been better at breaking policies than following them. Besides, we’re off-clock. No witnesses. Just you, me, and a secure encrypted tunnel.
A small bubble appeared: Shri is typing... Bavi waited, her pulse thrumming in her fingertips.
Shri [10:20 PM]: I can still smell your perfume, Bavi. Jasmine? It's been stuck in my head since the café. It makes me want to see if the rest of you is just as sweet.
Bavi’s breath hitched. The flirtation was escalating too fast, moving from the safe territory of tech puns into something visceral and real. She looked at her bedroom door, then at the photo of her family on her nightstand. The weight of her position, her reputation, and her mother’s voice in the next room suddenly felt like a physical barrier.
The sparks were there—terrifyingly bright—but the risk was starting to outweigh the rush.
Bavi [10:22 PM]: Shri, stop. This is getting... unprofessional. We work together.
Shri [10:23 PM]: We aren't at work right now, Bavi. Don't hide behind the badge.
Bavi [10:25 PM]: I'm not hiding. I'm being realistic. You're a new joinee, and I'm a Lead. If anyone saw this... if HR even suspected...
Shri [10:26 PM]: No one is seeing this. It's just us. Don't tell me you didn't feel that in the elevator.
Bavi closed her eyes for a second, the memory of his heat against her back flooding her mind. But she forced herself to sit up straight. She couldn't let this spiral while she was sitting in her childhood home.
Bavi [10:28 PM]: I'm signing off, Shri. Let's stick to the sprint goals tomorrow. Goodnight.
She didn't wait for his reply. She clicked her status to Away, closed the laptop lid with a sharp clack, and shoved it toward the end of the bed. Her heart was still hammering, a mix of lingering desire and a sudden, cold dose of reality.
The connection was there, but for tonight, she had pulled the plug.
She lay on her bed, the glow of her laptop screen the only light in the room. She was supposed to be clearing the backlog of support tickets for the Singapore shift, but her eyes kept drifting to the bottom right corner of the taskbar.
Ping.
The Slack notification sound, usually a source of low-level anxiety, made her heart lurch. It wasn't the general #dev-ops channel. It was a direct message.
Shri [10:12 PM]: Still awake, Lead? Or did the "investigative committee" put you in lockdown?
Bavi bit her lip, her fingers hovering over the keys. She told herself she should be professional. She told herself she was two years his senior. Then she typed:
Bavi [10:13 PM]: Lockdown is a strong word. Let's call it 'supervised maintenance.' Why are you still online, Shri? Aren't juniors supposed to be sleeping off their bugs?
Shri [10:14 PM]: Hard to sleep when the code I’m looking at keeps reminding me of someone.
Bavi felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the Chennai humidity.
Bavi [10:14 PM]: Is that so? Which part? The complex logic?
Shri [10:15 PM]: No. The part where the system won't respond unless I use the right... touch.
Bavi stared at the screen. The subtext was so thick she could practically feel his breath through the pixels. She leaned back against her pillows, the silk of her night-kurti shifting against her skin.
Bavi [10:17 PM]: You're playing with fire, Developer. That’s a violation of the Acceptable Use Policy.
Shri [10:18 PM]: I’ve always been better at breaking policies than following them. Besides, we’re off-clock. No witnesses. Just you, me, and a secure encrypted tunnel.
A small bubble appeared: Shri is typing... Bavi waited, her pulse thrumming in her fingertips.
Shri [10:20 PM]: I can still smell your perfume, Bavi. Jasmine? It's been stuck in my head since the café. It makes me want to see if the rest of you is just as sweet.
Bavi’s breath hitched. The flirtation was escalating too fast, moving from the safe territory of tech puns into something visceral and real. She looked at her bedroom door, then at the photo of her family on her nightstand. The weight of her position, her reputation, and her mother’s voice in the next room suddenly felt like a physical barrier.
The sparks were there—terrifyingly bright—but the risk was starting to outweigh the rush.
Bavi [10:22 PM]: Shri, stop. This is getting... unprofessional. We work together.
Shri [10:23 PM]: We aren't at work right now, Bavi. Don't hide behind the badge.
Bavi [10:25 PM]: I'm not hiding. I'm being realistic. You're a new joinee, and I'm a Lead. If anyone saw this... if HR even suspected...
Shri [10:26 PM]: No one is seeing this. It's just us. Don't tell me you didn't feel that in the elevator.
Bavi closed her eyes for a second, the memory of his heat against her back flooding her mind. But she forced herself to sit up straight. She couldn't let this spiral while she was sitting in her childhood home.
Bavi [10:28 PM]: I'm signing off, Shri. Let's stick to the sprint goals tomorrow. Goodnight.
She didn't wait for his reply. She clicked her status to Away, closed the laptop lid with a sharp clack, and shoved it toward the end of the bed. Her heart was still hammering, a mix of lingering desire and a sudden, cold dose of reality.
The connection was there, but for tonight, she had pulled the plug.
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