Chapter 5: Your two minutes

The next few days refused to cooperate.

Her inbox was chaos. The client presentation kept crashing. And Ananya — her manager with the clipped tone and corporate smile — was more grating than usual.

“Mritika, you’ve missed the final report figures again,” Ananya said, hovering like a shadow.

“They’re in the shared folder,” Mritika replied, voice tight.

“Well, they weren’t this morning.”

Something inside her snapped — not loudly, but with surgical precision. Like a string pulled too far.

“OK, I’ll get back,” she said, colder than she meant to.

Ananya blinked. Around them, the office stilled. People pretended not to listen.

“I’m taking a half day,” Mritika said, shutting her laptop. “Not feeling well.”

She walked out before Ananya could respond.

The cab ride home was silent, except for her own breathing — uneven, brittle. The city blurred past: honking cars, fruit stalls, stray dogs dozing in the heat. Everything felt too loud, too alive.

At home, she dropped her bag, kicked off her heels, and stood still.

He was still there.

Every morning.

Same place.

Same word.

“Hi.”

It had stopped feeling like coincidence. It was ritual now — one he performed, while she pretended not to notice.

At first, she ignored him. Then came the mornings of quiet defiance — peeking from behind her curtain, hoping he wouldn’t be there.

But he always was.

Even when he wasn’t visible, she felt him — the shift in the air, the rustle of footsteps, the tension near the pickup point.