05-03-2026, 02:10 PM
The Friday morning sun over Chennai was brutal, reflecting off the glass facade of the IT park like a giant, blinding searchlight. Bavi walked through the lobby, her heels clicking with a rhythmic, military precision that masked the fact she hadn't slept more than four hours.
She had dressed with extra care—a formal navy-blue cotton saree with a high-collared blouse. It was her "Armor." It signaled authority, distance, and a complete lack of availability for late-night Slack flirtations.
When the elevator doors opened on the 10th floor, the first person she saw was Shri.
He was leaning against the reception desk, a cup of black coffee in one hand and his badge in the other. He looked infuriatingly well-rested. His white shirt was crisp, the sleeves rolled up to reveal those powerful, athletic forearms, and his hair was perfectly styled.
As Bavi walked past, she kept her gaze fixed on the biometric scanner.
"Morning, Lead," Shri’s voice was a low, velvet drawl that bypassed her ears and went straight to her spine.
"Morning, Shri," she replied, her voice clipped and professional. She didn't stop. She didn't look back.
She retreated to her glass-walled cubicle, burying herself in a mountain of network logs. But the "cold shoulder" strategy had a major flaw: in an open-plan office, you can ignore someone’s voice, but you can’t ignore their presence.
Every time Shri walked to the printer, he passed her desk. Every time he went for water, his tall frame cast a shadow over her monitors. She could hear him laughing with the other developers—a deep, resonant sound that made her fingers falter over her keyboard.
Around 11:00 AM, a notification popped up on her internal dashboard.
CRITICAL ALERT: Node 4-B Connectivity Intermittent.
Node 4-B was the switch located in the small utility closet right behind the Development bay. His bay.
Bavi grabbed her toolkit, her heart doing a nervous stutter. She walked toward the back of the floor, keeping her eyes down. As she reached the utility closet, she felt a sudden shift in the air.
"Having trouble with the connection, Bavi?"
She spun around. Shri was standing there, blocking the narrow hallway. He wasn't smiling. His dark eyes were intense, searching her face for any crack in her "Ice Queen" facade.
"It’s just a hardware glitch, Shri. Please move, I need to reset the switch."
"Is that what you did last night?" he asked, stepping closer until she was backed against the heavy metal door of the utility closet. "The conversation was just getting interesting, and you pulled the plug. Why?"
"I told you why. It was unprofessional."
"Unprofessional," he repeated, his voice dropping to a whisper. He leaned one hand against the door above her head, his large body creating a private alcove in the middle of the busy office. "Or were you just scared of how much you liked it?"
"Shri, people are literally ten feet away," Bavi breathed, her resolve crumbling under the sheer magnetism of his proximity.
"They’re looking at their screens. No one is looking at us." He reached out, his thumb lightly grazing the edge of her navy-blue saree at her shoulder. "You look beautiful in this. But I liked you better in the café. You were... real there."
Bavi looked up at him, her breath hitching. The tension was no longer a spark; it was a high-voltage current, humming between them, threatening to blow every fuse in the building. She wanted to push him away, but her hand rested on his chest instead, feeling the steady, powerful thrum of his heart.
"I can't do this here," she whispered, a desperate plea.
"Then tell me where," Shri replied, his gaze dropping to her lips. "Because the 'cold shoulder' isn't working, Bavi. It’s just making me want to see how long it takes for you to melt."
The sound of a heavy door opening nearby made them spring apart. Bavi fumbled with her keycard, her face flushed a deep crimson, while Shri turned and walked back toward his desk with a triumphant, easy stride.
The connection wasn't just intermittent. It was reaching a breaking point.
She had dressed with extra care—a formal navy-blue cotton saree with a high-collared blouse. It was her "Armor." It signaled authority, distance, and a complete lack of availability for late-night Slack flirtations.
When the elevator doors opened on the 10th floor, the first person she saw was Shri.
He was leaning against the reception desk, a cup of black coffee in one hand and his badge in the other. He looked infuriatingly well-rested. His white shirt was crisp, the sleeves rolled up to reveal those powerful, athletic forearms, and his hair was perfectly styled.
As Bavi walked past, she kept her gaze fixed on the biometric scanner.
"Morning, Lead," Shri’s voice was a low, velvet drawl that bypassed her ears and went straight to her spine.
"Morning, Shri," she replied, her voice clipped and professional. She didn't stop. She didn't look back.
She retreated to her glass-walled cubicle, burying herself in a mountain of network logs. But the "cold shoulder" strategy had a major flaw: in an open-plan office, you can ignore someone’s voice, but you can’t ignore their presence.
Every time Shri walked to the printer, he passed her desk. Every time he went for water, his tall frame cast a shadow over her monitors. She could hear him laughing with the other developers—a deep, resonant sound that made her fingers falter over her keyboard.
Around 11:00 AM, a notification popped up on her internal dashboard.
CRITICAL ALERT: Node 4-B Connectivity Intermittent.
Node 4-B was the switch located in the small utility closet right behind the Development bay. His bay.
Bavi grabbed her toolkit, her heart doing a nervous stutter. She walked toward the back of the floor, keeping her eyes down. As she reached the utility closet, she felt a sudden shift in the air.
"Having trouble with the connection, Bavi?"
She spun around. Shri was standing there, blocking the narrow hallway. He wasn't smiling. His dark eyes were intense, searching her face for any crack in her "Ice Queen" facade.
"It’s just a hardware glitch, Shri. Please move, I need to reset the switch."
"Is that what you did last night?" he asked, stepping closer until she was backed against the heavy metal door of the utility closet. "The conversation was just getting interesting, and you pulled the plug. Why?"
"I told you why. It was unprofessional."
"Unprofessional," he repeated, his voice dropping to a whisper. He leaned one hand against the door above her head, his large body creating a private alcove in the middle of the busy office. "Or were you just scared of how much you liked it?"
"Shri, people are literally ten feet away," Bavi breathed, her resolve crumbling under the sheer magnetism of his proximity.
"They’re looking at their screens. No one is looking at us." He reached out, his thumb lightly grazing the edge of her navy-blue saree at her shoulder. "You look beautiful in this. But I liked you better in the café. You were... real there."
Bavi looked up at him, her breath hitching. The tension was no longer a spark; it was a high-voltage current, humming between them, threatening to blow every fuse in the building. She wanted to push him away, but her hand rested on his chest instead, feeling the steady, powerful thrum of his heart.
"I can't do this here," she whispered, a desperate plea.
"Then tell me where," Shri replied, his gaze dropping to her lips. "Because the 'cold shoulder' isn't working, Bavi. It’s just making me want to see how long it takes for you to melt."
The sound of a heavy door opening nearby made them spring apart. Bavi fumbled with her keycard, her face flushed a deep crimson, while Shri turned and walked back toward his desk with a triumphant, easy stride.
The connection wasn't just intermittent. It was reaching a breaking point.
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