Monday morning didn't feel like a beginning; it felt like a sentencing.
I didn't reach for the red saree. I didn't reach for the earrings that caught the light or the perfume that Adi once said reminded him of rain. I didn't wear anything that suggested I wanted to be noticed, loved, or even seen as a person. Instead, I put on a plain, stiff formal shirt—starched so heavily it felt like armor—and tied my hair back into a tight, perfect bun. Not a single strand was allowed to be out of place. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a stranger staring back. She was cold, efficient, and untouchable. She was exactly what the corporate world demanded: a machine.
I arrived at the office at exactly 1:00 PM. Not a minute early, not a second late. I walked through the heavy glass doors with a stride that didn't falter. I didn't glance at the mahogany desk as I walked in. I didn't look for the "Manager's nod" or the secret silver-pen tap that had been our hidden code just days ago. The "Golden Hour" had been eclipsed by a permanent winter.
I sat at my desk, opened my laptop, and began to work before I had even taken my coat off. The internal chat buzzed almost immediately, the orange notification blinking like a warning light.
Adi: Can we talk in my office? Please.
I stared at the screen for a long beat. A week ago, my heart would have leapt into my throat at those words. My pulse would have quickened, and I would have been through that door in seconds. Now, I felt nothing but a heavy, cold stone in my chest. I didn't let my breath hitch. I didn't let my fingers tremble. I typed back with a steady, mechanical rhythm.
Me: I am currently finishing the weekly ledger update, Sir. If it is regarding the marketing files, I can bring them in ten minutes. If it is personal, I am afraid I am too busy with my BBA assignments today.
The "Sir" was a weapon. It was a cold, iron boundary he couldn't cross. It demoted him from the man who held my heart back to the man who merely signed my paycheck.
I waited exactly ten minutes. Then, I stood up, gathered the folders, and walked toward his office. I didn't knock softly or wait for an inviting "Come in" like I used to. I gave two sharp, professional raps—the sound of a hammer on a nail—and walked in. I remained standing on the other side of the desk, keeping the massive mahogany barrier between us like a fortress.
"Here are the reports, Sir," I said, placing them down with a sharp thud. I kept my gaze fixed on the top edge of his monitor, refusing to meet his eyes.
"Alfha, stop," Adi said, standing up abruptly.
He looked terrible. The sharp, polished
Manager was gone. He looked exhausted, his white shirt wrinkled, his eyes bloodshot from a night spent in the same dark I had inhabited. He reached out across the desk, his hand hovering near mine as if to bridge the gap. "Look at me. Please. About last night—I didn't mean it to sound so—"
I pulled my hand back before his skin could even come close to mine. The movement was instinctive, a reflex of a body trying to protect itself from a burn.
"Is there a mistake in the data, Mr. Manager?" I asked, my voice as flat and cold as the Ahmedabad pavement in January. "If not, I have a lot of work to complete before 6:00 PM. I wouldn't want my 'studies to get in the way' of my professional duties, as you once warned me. We wouldn't want the intern to lose focus, would we?"
The look of genuine pain that flashed across his face was visible, even in my peripheral vision. His jaw tightened, and he looked like I had struck him. But I didn't let it soften me. I couldn't afford to. He had used his own pain, his own "depression," to justify playing with my life and treating my feelings like a clinical experiment. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing the wreckage he had left behind in me.
"Alfha, I was honest because I didn't want any more lies between us. The roommates, the suggestion—that was the beginning, but it's not the—"
"I am here to work," I said firmly, finally meeting his eyes with a gaze that was empty of everything except professional duty. "Nothing more. Nothing less. If the reports are satisfactory, I'll return to my desk now."
I didn't wait for his permission. I turned on my heel and walked out, the click of my heels on the tile sounding like a closing door. I sat back down and buried myself in numbers. For the rest of the afternoon, the Manager stayed behind his glass walls, and the BBA student stayed behind her wall of ice.
The "project" was over. The internship, however, had just become a lot more difficult.