Prologue
𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟
[Kaynaat’s POV ]
Vivaan was quiet.
Kaynaat noticed it before she even realised she was looking for him.
It wasn’t obvious at first. The office was the same. Phones ringing, keyboards tapping, someone laughing too loudly near the pantry. Everything moved as usual. Nothing had changed.
Except for one thing.
Vivaan hadn’t spoken.
Usually, by the time she finished her first email, he would have already said something unnecessary.
“Ma'am, agar client ne yeh approve kar duya na, toh main genuinely believe karunga ki miracles exist karte hain.”
Or
“Maam, main kaam kar raha hoon. Aap please mujhe disturb mat kariye...main khud hi disturb ho jaunga.
Or even just a dramatic sigh loud enough for three people to look at him.
Today nothing.
Kaynaat scrolled through a document, her eyes skimming lines automatically. She corrected, added a comment, and adjusted a heading. Routine. Controlled. Familiar.
Her gaze drifted, uninvited, to the far corner of the room.
Vivaan sat at his desk, shoulders slightly curved, eyes fixed on his screen. No pen spinning. No restless leg. No leaning back in his chair like he owned the place.
Still, quiet, working.
Exactly how he was supposed to.
Kaynaat looked back at her screen, focused.
Typed two lines. Deleted them. Typed again.
Her eyes moved again.
He adjusted his sleeves. Cracked his fingers softly. Continued typing.
She frowned, almost imperceptibly.
He always cracked his fingers when nervous. Usually followed by a joke. A distraction. Something to deflect attention.
But today, he just... continued working.
No joke.
No smile.
No glance around the room.
Rhea appeared beside her desk, lowering her voice like she was sharing classified information.
“Ma’am... Vivaan theek hai kya?”
[Ma'am...Is Vivaan okay?]
Kaynaat didn’t look up. “Why?”
“He hasn’t spoken since morning.”
Kaynaat clicked her mouse. “Maybe he’s working.”
Rhea hesitated. “He always works... and talks.”
Kaynaat didn’t respond.
Her eyes moved again.
Vivaan leaned slightly forward, reading something carefully. He looked... focused. Almost distant.
She realised she couldn’t remember the last time he looked this quiet.
Even on stressful days, he filled the silence with commentary.
“Ma’am, pressure mein main aur zyada useless ho jaata hoon. Yeh meri skill hai.”
[Ma'am, during pressure, I become even more useless. This is my skill]
Or
“Deadline dekh ke mera brain automatically dramatic mode mein chala jaata hai.”
[Seeing the deadline, my brain automatically goes into dramatic mode.]
Today, nothing.
Kaynaat stood up to grab a file from the printer. She walked past his desk without meaning to slow down.
He didn’t look up.
Usually, he did. Always.
Even if he didn’t speak, he noticed. His eyes followed movement unconsciously, like he was constantly aware of her presence.
Today, he didn’t.
Just the soft rhythm of typing.
She paused for half a second.
Then kept walking.
By mid-morning, the absence became louder.
Someone cracked a joke. No immediate response from him. Rhea said something sarcastic. No exaggerated reaction. Ayush asked for a file. Vivaan handed it silently.
Kaynaat noticed everything without wanting to.
At 11:20, she called out, “Vivaan.”
He looked up immediately.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Just that.
No extra word. No half-smile. No teasing.
She blinked once. “Send me the revised copy.”
“Okay.”
He looked back down.
That was it.
Kaynaat stared at her screen, the cursor blinking like it was waiting for her to process something she didn’t understand.
He had called her “ma’am” before. Many times. Usually in exaggerated tones.
“Ma’am, main sincere hoon.”
[Ma'am, I am sincere.]
“Ma’am, please meri creativity ko samjhiye.”
[Ma'am, please understand my creativity.]
“Ma’am, main emotional ho raha hoon.”
[Ma'am, I am getting emotional.]
Today it sounded... neutral.
Professional.
Distant.
She didn’t like how that felt.
At 12:40, she returned from a client call and stopped near her desk.
A Milkybar sat beside her laptop.
She frowned.
She hadn’t brought one today.
Her eyes moved automatically to Vivaan’s desk.
There was nothing there.
Usually, she left the chocolate quietly on his desk. He pretended not to notice, then eventually picked it up, glancing around like he’d been caught.
Once he had muttered softly, thinking no one heard, “Thanks.”
She hadn’t reacted.
Today, she had forgotten.
But someone else hadn’t.
She looked back at her desk.
The Milkybar rested there like a quiet question.
She glanced at him.
He was still working. Focused. Detached. Like nothing existed outside his screen.
He hadn’t even noticed.
That unsettled her more than anything else.
Rhea leaned toward her again. “Ma’am... seriously. Kuch toh hua hai.”
Kaynaat’s voice remained calm. “He’s working.”
Rhea whispered, “He’s never this quiet.”
Kaynaat didn’t respond.
Her gaze shifted again.
Vivaan rubbed his temple briefly, then continued typing. His expression was unreadable. No dramatic frustration. No commentary.
Just silence.
The office felt... different.
Too neat.
Too organised.
Too calm.
Kaynaat realised something slowly, like a thought forming against her will.
The noise had never bothered her.
She had always thought it did.
His unnecessary comments. His exaggerated reactions. His constant presence near her desk. She had labelled it distracting. Unprofessional. Immature.
But now, without it, the space felt... empty.
She looked at him again.
He didn’t look back.
Something tightened quietly in her chest.
At 1:15, she stood up again, walking past his desk deliberately this time.
Nothing.
No glance. No subtle shift. No awareness.
He just worked.
Professional.
Efficient.
Distant.
Exactly how she had wanted him to be.
She returned to her seat slowly.
The Milkybar still lay unopened.
Her fingers hovered over it, then withdrew.
She didn’t understand why she felt unsettled.
Nothing was wrong.
He was working.
He was quiet.
He was behaving professionally.
Everything was... correct.
Then why did the office feel like something important had gone missing?
Kaynaat leaned back slightly, her gaze drifting toward him one last time.
Vivaan sat there, expression calm, movements minimal, presence subdued.
Like someone had turned down the volume on him.
And suddenly, she realised something she wasn’t ready to admit.
She didn’t miss his jokes.
She missed the noise he brought with him.
She missed the way he filled empty spaces without trying.
She missed the distraction she had once labelled unnecessary.
She missed him.
And the worst part was... she didn’t know what had changed.
But something had.
And whatever it was, it had taken the loudest person in the room and left behind a silence she couldn’t ignore.
