There are few things I despise more than surprise assignments - except maybe people. Or being forced to interact with them. And today, I was getting all three.

After two blissful weeks of working from home, I was back in the office. I should've been getting a promotion - a proper one. Not just a pat on the back and more responsibilities shoved my way. But no. Now, I was being handed the task of showing around a few new editors - people who probably got in through connections. Apparently, mentoring clueless, overconfident hires was my new job description.

"Some stupid guys will come, and I'll have to handle their tantrums," I muttered through the entire drive, sighing like it was cardio.

Shoulders slumped, I walked into the office. Before I could even drop my bag, my assistant popped up like a push notification.

"Navya, the editor-in-chief wants to see you. Right away."

Of course.

I trudged toward his cabin like I was heading to a dentist appointment - no anesthesia, no escape.

I knocked and stepped in - and froze.

Three new editors stood there.

But I only saw one.

Striped shirt. Familiar disheveled hair. Same soft eyes.

The mystery singer from the caf�.

I blinked. Twice. Maybe three times. He stepped forward, completely unfazed by my shock, and extended his hand with a polite smile.

Oh, you've got to be kidding me.

"Hi, I am Shlok, looking forward to working with you Miss??" he said, waiting for me to fill in the blank.

"Nav... Navya," I stammered. "Yeah, hi," I added, quickly shifting my attention to the other two - one guy who looked a few years older than me, and a girl who seemed way too young to be in editorial.

"Nice to meet you all." I couldn't bring myself to look at him again. Did he remember me?

"I'll give you a tour of the office, introduce you to everyone. Then we'll go over your responsibilities." I added.

Before I could bolt, my boss chimed in. "Take it slow - they just joined. And don't forget, we have the welcome dinner tonight for all the new editors."

I clenched my jaw. Of course, he had to roll out the red carpet. God knows what connections these three had.

Dinner parties. Yet another item on the growing list of things I detest.

I nodded, disappointed, and motioned for them to follow me. Halfway through the introductions, I was already fantasizing about hiding under a desk.

"We should take a break," I finally told them - not out of generosity, but for my own sanity.

I collapsed into my chair, ran my hands through my hair, and groaned. Full-body groan. Soul-level.

Then - a knock.

I looked up, startled. It was him - Shlok.

And he had two black coffees in hand.

"Sorry, didn't mean to sneak up on you," he said, offering one.

I hesitated but took it. "Interesting choice. This is exactly what I drink. Thanks."

"You're welcome," he said, a little unsure. He looked... unassuming. Like someone who knew how to be quiet in a loud world.

"Where are the others?" I asked.

"Break room, I think," he replied. "I didn't want to be a third wheel."

I tilted my head. "Oh. I didn't realize they were... okay." I paused, then asked before I could stop myself, "You want to join me for lunch, then?"

------

We sat in silence for a while. I focused on my plate, not him.

"How long have you been working here?" he asked.

I looked up. "Four and a half years, I think. Joined right after college. Why?"

"I think you're really good at what you do," he said simply. "So I was curious how long it took you to get here."

"You figured that out in a few hours?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Not really. I've read some of your articles before."

I nearly dropped my fork.

"You've read my column?" I couldn't hide the surprise in my voice. "Most people don't."

He shrugged. "Yeah, people don't usually think I read at all."

"I didn't mean it like that," I said quickly. "Just - my articles aren't exactly trendy."

He smiled, and it did something strange to my insides.

That compliment? It shifted something in me. It felt sincere. I couldn't remember the last time someone had made me feel seen - for my work, not just my punctuality or output.

I finished my food and stood up. "I should get going. Some work came up."

On the way back, I bumped into Kanika, who immediately narrowed her eyes. "You didn't call me for lunch today, you traitor."

"Sorry, was in a hurry. But I have something to tell you - come with me."

We took the fire exit and settled on the stairwell - our unofficial gossip lounge.

"So?" she asked, practically bouncing.

"You remember the singer guy? From the caf�?"

"Yeah?"

"He joined my department. As a new editor."

"What are the chances! Did you tell him you are obsessed with his music?"

"Of course not. That would be weird."

"I want to see him now. I'm coming to your desk"

"You're not." I pointed at her like she was a crime scene. "You'll embarrass me."

"When have I ever done that?"

"Oh, I don't know - maybe when you shoved me into that marketing guy last month and made him ask me out?"

"That doesn't count. I was helping. And for the record, that marketing guy has a name - about time you remember it. How else will you address him during your dates?"

I groaned. "He's also coming to the welcome dinner tonight."

Kanika grinned. "It's going to be fun!"

"No, it's going to be torture. I just want to go home, crack open a beer, and fall asleep watching Friends."

"Too bad. You've got a charming singer-editor, a potential admirer, and your chaos-loving bestie tagging along. What could go wrong?"

I covered my face with both hands.

So many things, Kanika. So many things could go wrong.