Continue," he said flatly.
The marketing head fumbled through his presentation, voice trembling.
"I- uh-the Q4 projections are positive, sir, though… the client approval is-uh-still pending- "
Rudra's gaze flicked up.
The poor man went pale. "W-we'll finalize it by today, Mr. Malhotra!"
"Good." Rudra leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen once against the table. "If not, the file doesn't exist. Neither does your weekend."
The man almost saluted.
Just then, the door clicked open.
Meera, his secretary, stepped in, hands full, eyes uncertain. She never interrupted his meetings. Ever.
"Sir, I… there's a delivery."
The entire room froze.
Delivery?
For him?
Rudra frowned. "I don't accept deliveries during- "
She set a simple paper bag on the table. "It's addressed to you, sir. From… a café."
Now everyone was staring at that poor, harmless bag like it might explode.
Rudra's jaw tightened. He almost dismissed it outright until his eyes landed on the tag.
The handwriting. That familiar soft, slanted script.
The irritation drained away as quietly as it had come.
"Meeting is over," he said suddenly.
Everyone blinked.
"Sir?" the finance head dared.
Rudra stood, straightening his tie. "You heard me."
They scrambled to their feet so fast half the chairs hit the wall. Within thirty seconds, the room was empty.
Rudra waited until the door shut behind them, then pulled the bag closer. Inside were two soft cupcakes and a neatly wrapped cup of coffee.
The aroma hit him first caramel and warmth. The kind Ayaan always made for him when he was too tired to speak.
Tucked between the cupcakes was a folded note.
'If I overdid things yesterday, please forgive me
Also, eat something sweet and smile a little today, okay?
– A'
For a long moment, he didn't move. His fingers traced the edge of the paper, slow and thoughtful.
He could almost hear Ayaan's voice in those words, that shy, gentle tone that somehow melted every wall he built.
He picked up the coffee, took one small sip and exhaled softly.
From her desk outside, Meera glanced at the frosted glass of the conference room, frowning.
Had her boss just… smiled?
No. That couldn't be right.
Rudra Malhotra didn't smile.
He made others lose their ability to.
Still, when he walked out a minute later, there was something undeniably different.
His steps were lighter. His voice, when he spoke to her, wasn't cutting. it was merely cool. Professional. Almost… human.
"Meera," he said, pausing by her desk. "Reschedule the afternoon meeting to tomorrow."
She blinked. "Yes, sir."
"And postpone the lunch with the investors."
She blinked again. "Yes, sir."
"And," Rudra added, adjusting his cufflinks, "make sure no one disturbs me for the next thirty minutes."
He went back inside his office, closed the door, sat at his desk, and quietly ate both cupcakes.
For the first time in days, the air around him didn't feel heavy.
He didn't text Ayaan back not yet. But a small, almost invisible smile tugged at his lips.
Somewhere across the city, in a quiet café, a phone buzzed with a single message:
Coffee received.
Cupcakes: acceptable.
Message: noted.
Ayaan chuckled to himself as he read it, shaking his head. "He really doesn't know how to say thank you, does he?"
But he was smiling anyway.
The café bell chimed softly as the first rays of sunlight spilled through the glass door.
Ayaan was already there, apron tied, sleeves rolled up, humming under his breath while arranging the muffins on the display rack.
He wasn't usually this early.
But today, today he'd woken up smiling.
Last night still lived in his veins: the quiet heartbeat of Rudra's breath so close, the warmth of that kiss, the way his hands had trembled after.
And then Rudra's eyes dazed, red at the edges, like he didn't know whether to run away or pull him closer again.
Ayaan had barely managed to leave at 10:30, heart racing so fast he'd almost forgotten his house keys.
He'd spent half the night staring at the ceiling, whispering to himself:
We really did it… after all this time.
He wasn't sure who fell asleep first him or his thoughts.
Now, surrounded by the scent of roasted beans and soft music, he couldn't stop smiling. It was quiet, but his smile reached his eyes, unguarded and easy, the kind that made strangers feel safe.
"Someone's glowing," teased Mira, the head barista, from behind the counter. She'd just come in, hair tied in a messy bun. "You look like a man who's either in love or found a new recipe."
Ayaan laughed, trying to hide his blush behind a tray. "Neither."
"Oh, so both then."
"Mira!"
She grinned. "Okay, okay. But seriously what's with the happy face? You didn't even complain about the supplier delay this morning."
Ayaan wiped the counter, mumbling, "Just a good morning, that's all."
"Mmhm." She leaned closer. "And does this good morning have a certain cold, terrifying CEO in it?"
Ayaan nearly dropped the tray. "W–what?"
"Oh, come on," she whispered, eyes glinting. "Every time he comes here, you turn into a flustered marshmallow. And now you're smiling like he texted you a poem."
"He doesn't write poems," Ayaan said before he could stop himself. Then realized,too late.
Mira gasped dramatically. "He texted you?!"
Ayaan froze, then sighed, defeated. "Fine. Just one message."
She clasped her hands like a fangirl. "And?"
Ayaan's lips twitched. "He said… 'Coffee received. Cupcakes acceptable. Message noted.'"
There was a beat of silence.
Then Mira lost it.
"That's his way of saying thank you! Oh my god, that man is hopeless!" she said between laughs, clutching her stomach. "Only you would understand that language."
Ayaan couldn't help smiling wider. "He doesn't like words much. But he means it."
She softened at that. "You really care about him, don't you?"
He paused, hands stilling over a cup. "Yeah. I do."
For a moment, the café was quiet just the low hum of the espresso machine and the rhythm of hearts learning how to trust again.
Then the bell over the door jingled again.
A familiar customer walked in a young woman with round glasses and a notebook. She'd been coming in for weeks, always sitting by the same corner table, always ordering a latte and quietly writing something.
Her name was Maya.
"Good morning!" she chirped.
"Morning, Maya!" Ayaan greeted warmly. "The usual?"
"Yes, please!" she smiled, settling at her spot coincidentally the one near the window where Rudra always sat. Her gaze flicked to the empty chair there and her grin turned mischievous. "Your scary customer isn't here today?"
Ayaan chuckled. "He's… busy."
"Oh," she said dramatically, pretending to sigh. "That's tragic. I was hoping to see him glare at people again. Inspiring energy."
Mira snorted from behind. "You mean terrifying energy."
Maya just smirked. "You both don't get it. It's peak romance. The cold CEO, the sweet barista, the coffee that melts him"
"Maya!" Ayaan blurted, his ears turning red.
"What? I'm just saying." She winked. "He's totally into you."
Ayaan busied himself with the milk frother, muttering, "You all talk too much."
But his heart was glowing again, soft and golden.
He finished the latte, added the faintest swirl of art on top, and glanced at his phone once more.
No new messages. Just the old one still sitting there, dry and minimal like everything Rudra said.
And yet…
his smile didn't fade.