05-03-2026, 02:13 PM
The second meeting at The Bean Post wasn’t an accident. This time, there was no serendipitous collision of schedules. Bavi had arrived early, her laptop open to a complex architectural diagram she wasn't actually reading. She had swapped the formal saree for a deep maroon kurti and leggings, her hair left open—a silent surrender to the humidity and the hum in her blood.
When the bell chimed at 7:45 PM, she didn't even look up. She knew the weight of the footsteps.
Shri slid into the chair opposite her. He looked tired—dark circles under his eyes from a day of heavy sprinting—but the moment he saw her, his posture straightened, that athletic energy returning to his limbs.
"You came back," he said. It wasn’t a question; it was a victory.
"I needed better Wi-Fi," Bavi lied, finally meeting his gaze. "My home connection was... unstable last night."
Shri leaned forward, resting his large, tan forearms on the distressed wood of the table. "The connection was fine, Bavi. The firewall was the problem. You pulled the plug right when the data transfer was getting interesting."
Bavi felt the familiar flush creeping up her neck. "I’m the Lead, Shri. It’s my job to manage the traffic. If things get too heavy, I throttle the bandwidth."
"And what if I don't want to be throttled?"
He reached out, his hand sliding across the table. He didn't grab her hand this time. He just laid his palm flat, inches from hers. The heat radiating from him was a physical pressure. Bavi felt her fingers twitch, an instinctive urge to close the gap.
"You’re a junior, Shri," she whispered, the old defense sounding weaker even to her own ears. "You’ve been here three weeks. I have a career. I have a reputation."
"And you have a pulse that’s currently hitting 110 BPM," Shri countered, his voice dropping to a low, rough vibration. "I can see it in your neck. I can see it in the way you’re holding your breath."
He shifted his hand, his pinky finger finally hooking around hers. The contact was minuscule—just a sliver of skin touching skin—but in the quiet, amber-lit corner of the café, it felt like a high-voltage surge. Bavi gasped, her eyes fluttering shut for a heartbeat.
"Shri..."
"Look at me," he commanded softly.
She opened her eyes. He was watching her with a hunger that was terrifyingly honest. There was no office hierarchy here. No Jira tickets. No mothers calling from the next room.
"I’m not just some 'new joinee' looking for a thrill, Bavi," he said, his grip tightening around her finger, pulling her hand an inch closer to his. "I haven't been able to write a clean line of code since that first day in the training room. Every time I think of a variable, it’s named after you. Every time I see a 'Success' message, I think of how you’d look if you actually let go."
Bavi felt her resolve melting, the "Ice Queen" armor turning to steam. She turned her hand over, lacing her fingers with his. His palm was rough, warm, and broad—large enough to swallow her hand completely.
"My mother is expecting me in an hour," she breathed, her voice failing her.
"Then we have fifty-nine minutes," Shri replied.
He didn't move to kiss her. Instead, he brought her hand up to his face, his lips grazing her knuckles. The touch was lingering, purposeful. The sparks between them weren't just flying anymore; they were beginning to fuse the two of them together.
The café was full of people, but as Bavi looked into Shri’s dark, burning eyes, she realized the "Off-Site Protocol" was no longer a choice. It was an inevitability.
When the bell chimed at 7:45 PM, she didn't even look up. She knew the weight of the footsteps.
Shri slid into the chair opposite her. He looked tired—dark circles under his eyes from a day of heavy sprinting—but the moment he saw her, his posture straightened, that athletic energy returning to his limbs.
"You came back," he said. It wasn’t a question; it was a victory.
"I needed better Wi-Fi," Bavi lied, finally meeting his gaze. "My home connection was... unstable last night."
Shri leaned forward, resting his large, tan forearms on the distressed wood of the table. "The connection was fine, Bavi. The firewall was the problem. You pulled the plug right when the data transfer was getting interesting."
Bavi felt the familiar flush creeping up her neck. "I’m the Lead, Shri. It’s my job to manage the traffic. If things get too heavy, I throttle the bandwidth."
"And what if I don't want to be throttled?"
He reached out, his hand sliding across the table. He didn't grab her hand this time. He just laid his palm flat, inches from hers. The heat radiating from him was a physical pressure. Bavi felt her fingers twitch, an instinctive urge to close the gap.
"You’re a junior, Shri," she whispered, the old defense sounding weaker even to her own ears. "You’ve been here three weeks. I have a career. I have a reputation."
"And you have a pulse that’s currently hitting 110 BPM," Shri countered, his voice dropping to a low, rough vibration. "I can see it in your neck. I can see it in the way you’re holding your breath."
He shifted his hand, his pinky finger finally hooking around hers. The contact was minuscule—just a sliver of skin touching skin—but in the quiet, amber-lit corner of the café, it felt like a high-voltage surge. Bavi gasped, her eyes fluttering shut for a heartbeat.
"Shri..."
"Look at me," he commanded softly.
She opened her eyes. He was watching her with a hunger that was terrifyingly honest. There was no office hierarchy here. No Jira tickets. No mothers calling from the next room.
"I’m not just some 'new joinee' looking for a thrill, Bavi," he said, his grip tightening around her finger, pulling her hand an inch closer to his. "I haven't been able to write a clean line of code since that first day in the training room. Every time I think of a variable, it’s named after you. Every time I see a 'Success' message, I think of how you’d look if you actually let go."
Bavi felt her resolve melting, the "Ice Queen" armor turning to steam. She turned her hand over, lacing her fingers with his. His palm was rough, warm, and broad—large enough to swallow her hand completely.
"My mother is expecting me in an hour," she breathed, her voice failing her.
"Then we have fifty-nine minutes," Shri replied.
He didn't move to kiss her. Instead, he brought her hand up to his face, his lips grazing her knuckles. The touch was lingering, purposeful. The sparks between them weren't just flying anymore; they were beginning to fuse the two of them together.
The café was full of people, but as Bavi looked into Shri’s dark, burning eyes, she realized the "Off-Site Protocol" was no longer a choice. It was an inevitability.
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