Executive Affairs

A Cloudy Wednesday Morning, It was one of those grey, slow-moving Wednesday mornings where even time seemed to be dragging its feet. The sky hung low, thick with clouds, and a quiet melancholy wrapped itself around me like a worn-out blanket. I sat motionless, phone in hand, aimlessly scrolling through a blur of reels and posts—none of which sparked the slightest flicker of interest. I wasn’t in the mood. Not for people, not for plans. Just... not today.

And then, Rhea called.

Rhea—my best friend. My chaos, my calm. We didn’t meet often, but when we did, it was like a fireworks show colliding with a warm hug. Every memory with her shimmered with laughter, drama, and a sense of coming home.

“Heyyy! I’m back in Mumbai!” she said, her voice bubbling through the line. “Just for three days! We have to meet. I miss you like crazy!”

My heart skipped, leapt, danced—while the rest of me struggled to catch up. I was still wrapped in my blanket of gloom, but somehow, hearing her voice punched a hole right through it. The corners of my mouth lifted before I could stop them.

“Oh my God, Rhea! Yes—tonight. No, scratch that—this evening. No, wait—now!”

She laughed. “Our cafe? The usual spot?”

“Yes. A thousand times yes.”

“Done, done, done!” she sang back.

Just like that, the day changed. The clouds still lingered outside, but inside, it was all sunshine.

So, I got up—still floating on the excitement bubble Rhea’s call had created. First thought? What to wear. Obviously, it had to be picture-perfect because let’s face it—we were going to click at least a hundred selfies, a few dramatic candids, and maybe even a boomerang or two for good old nostalgia.

I hit play on Ariana Grande’s Dangerous Woman. Volume up. Mood on. The room slowly transformed into my runway, the mirror my spotlight. I swayed to the beats, smiling like I already knew I was about to be the walking, talking main character at the café. Charisma, charm, chaos—that was the vibe.

I stood in front of the mirror, took a deep breath, and met her eyes—my eyes. Let me introduce you to the woman I saw staring back.

A young-not-so-young lady in her late twenties. Introverted, but you wouldn’t guess it—no glasses, no shrinking presence. Wheatish skin kissed by the sun, a slim frame that carried a hint of soft curves—chubby in the way childhood memories stick around. Maybe I need to lose a little weight, but hey, I’ve been saying that since forever.

Height? A humble 5′2". A tiny human in a tall world.

Hair? Falling gently to my shoulders, a little below, unruly in the prettiest way.

Lips? Plump enough to pout without trying.

Face? A little sleepy, a little excited, and all heart.

Meet Nivedita.But my best friend, the wild and wonderful Rhea, calls me Niaa.

And today—Niaa was coming out to play.

With my face done—blush kissed, eyeliner winged just right, and highlighter catching the soft morning light—I didn’t waste much time deciding what to wear. Honestly, there was only one dress meant for this kind of evening.

A red bodycon.Sheer. Sleeveless. Full-length.The kind that didn’t just make a statement—it was the statement.

It clung in all the right places, hugged like it knew my story, and when I twirled (yes, I did a tiny one in the mirror), it whispered confidence.

To pair? Black stilettos?

Pfft. Who am I kidding?

Reality check: They were red block heels with thin straps—stylish yet merciful, because tonight wasn’t about surviving fashion, it was about living it.

A bold red lipstick was the final touch. The kind that said, “I didn’t come here to play.”

Just then, my playlist flipped to Cardi’s Please Me. It was the perfect anthem to strut out the door to—but I paused it. No need for a soundtrack now. The real scene was about to begin.

I turned to my fluffy little bundle of love, my Persian cat, Aish—a snow-white diva with ocean-blue eyes. She blinked at me slowly from her favorite cushion, the queen that she is.

I crouched down and whispered, “Don’t miss me too much, baby. Mamma’s going to cause some drama tonight.”

One last affectionate rub on her forehead, a soft purr in response, and I grabbed my bag, locked the door behind me.

The city was calling. And Niaa was on her way.

I reached our once-favorite café in Santacruz—the one right next to our college, where countless coffees, secrets, and giggles were shared.

I was exactly 7 minutes and 32 seconds early. Yes, I counted. That’s the thing with old friendships—you anticipate them like an old song about to hit the chorus.

And then—lo and behold—there she was.

The one my eyes had been thirsting to see for what felt like forever. Rhea.

In her all-time favorite black dress—mid-length, chic, effortless. Her legs, smooth and glowing, reminded me (not for the first time) how she somehow managed to skip the entire body hair chapter in life. An evolutionary upgrade, if you ask me. I’ve spent years questioning that genetic miracle.

Her signature specs perched perfectly on her nose, framing those mischievous, almond-shaped eyes. 5’5” of pure sunshine and sass. Her hair—soft, wavy, and drama-free—flowed all the way down to her mid-back like it belonged in a shampoo commercial.

And then—that smile.The one that could make a grumpy stranger grin or calm a thunderstorm. That smile that says, “I’m here, and I missed you more than you know.”

We locked eyes.

And like a scene from a feel-good movie, two slightly chaotic but very adorable women squealed and ran into each other’s arms, colliding in a hug so tight it almost hurt—in the best way.

Laughter, perfume, and a thousand memories filled the air in that one perfect second.

Niaa and Rhea.Back at the café.Back where the madness began.

We talked.And talked.

Hours folded into seconds as if time itself was eavesdropping on our reunion and didn’t want it to end.

We ordered our usual—mac and cheese, creamy and sinful, just the way we used to like it. The laughter came in waves, loud and full-bodied, echoing through the café like we owned the place. We were that duo again—untamed, unapologetically ourselves. We didn’t care who was watching.

Until I did.

Rhea got a call and we stepped out—casually, still giggling—onto the sidewalk just outside the café. That’s when I noticed them. A group of guys, lounging at the corner table across the street. Loud. Confident. All testosterone and banter. The kind that usually made me roll my eyes.

But one of them…One of them made me forget to blink.

Our eyes met—and the world thinned out.

Light brown eyes. Not the kind that sparkles—they smoldered. Hooded and intense, framed by arched brows like brushstrokes made by a poet in love. A nose that was sharply cut, almost arrogant in its elegance. And lips—God, those lips.

Heart-shaped. Soft. Dangerously inviting.

And suddenly, I realized I was staring. At his lips. I blinked, tried to look away—too late.

He’d caught me. And he smirked.

Not a shy one. Not an awkward one. The kind that undresses thoughts. And then—he licked his lips. Slowly. Like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he had read every sentence of the script I hadn’t written yet.

My breath caught.Niaa, get it together.

And yet, in that fraction of a second, something electric passed between us. A glance that held the weight of unsaid things, of “what ifs” too dangerous to entertain under the soft glow of streetlights.

Rhea returned, her voice distant, asking something about the café and dessert. But suddenly, the air felt too thick, the café too hot, my body too aware.

“I have to leave. Urgently,” I said, too quickly. She blinked. “What happened?”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.Not without confessing the storm in my chest and the way that stranger’s smirk still traced itself across my lips like a lingering kiss.

I walked away, heart thumping, senses lit like fireworks.

I felt his gaze follow me. Or maybe it was just my imagination playing dress-up with my desires.

Either way, I didn’t look back.

But I knew this wasn’t over.