The entire 28th floor froze when Rudra Malhotra stepped out of the elevator.
He wasn't storming. He wasn't scowling.
He just… looked calm.
Which was somehow worse.
"He's quiet," a barely-there curve touched his lips.
Outside, Meera nearly dropped her pen.
"Did he just smile?" she mouthed.
Her coworker blinked. "Is that even physically possible for him?"
By noon, Rudra was back in meeting after meeting — cold, composed, ruthless.
Every number was questioned, every proposal challenged. He spoke like steel wrapped in silk.
No hesitation. No emotion.
Just control.
When the last meeting ended, his phone buzzed again.
Dad
He stared at the name for a long second before answering.
"Rudra," came the deep, measured voice. "I read the report. You negotiated the Sam contract well. That was sharp work. I didn't expect him to change his offer."
Rudra's tone was calm. "He wanted results. So did we. The terms were revised. It's done."
A pause.
"You could've told me directly. You know your mother asks about you often. It's been months since you came home."
Rudra's eyes drifted toward the city skyline outside his window — grey, endless, indifferent.
"I've been occupied," he replied evenly.
His father exhaled softly. "You're always occupied. Just… remember to eat. I heard from Meera that you're running on caffeine again."
"I manage," Rudra said flatly.
"You always say that."
There was silence then — the kind that hummed with unspoken things neither of them knew how to fix.
Finally, his father said, "…You've done well, Rudra. I'm proud of you."
Rudra's hand tightened slightly around the phone, but his tone didn't shift an inch.
"Thank you, sir."
A long pause followed.
"…Still calling me that," his father murmured.
"I have another meeting," Rudra said, tone clipped but polite.
"I see." The voice on the other end grew distant, resigned. "Take care."
"I will."
The call ended with a soft beep.
Rudra sat still for a while, staring at the dark screen. His reflection looked back at him — sharp suit, controlled face, calm eyes. Everything in place.
Then, the phone buzzed again.
Don't skip lunch. Please?
Rudra blinked once, the tiniest shift of expression breaking through.
He looked at the clock — 3:00 p.m.
At 3:01, he got up, walked to the far corner of his office, and quietly opened his lunchbox.
Outside, the floor descended into chaos.
"Is he eating?!" a junior analyst whispered.
"I thought he survives on intimidation and black coffee!"
"Maybe… he's human?"
"No, don't be ridiculous."
Meera stared through the glass wall, eyes wide. "He's… calm. And he's actually eating."
Inside, Rudra took a small, careful bite — the faintest warmth flickering across his otherwise still expression.
He didn't notice the stunned faces outside.
He didn't care.
Because at that moment, his phone buzzed again — another message lighting up the screen:
Stay hydrated! And drink water 😊
And without even thinking, Rudra reached for his glass and drank.