Before the chai.
Before the project.
Before Vihaan even knew I existed.
I saw him.
And from that moment on, I never stopped seeing him.
The First Time I Saw Him
It was years ago.
A regular office afternoon—nothing special.
The cafeteria was buzzing with noise, filled with employees grabbing lunch, gossiping, and trying to squeeze in a break before the next wave of work.
I sat in my usual spot—corner table, away from the chaos, headphones in, coffee untouched.
And then—he walked in.
Vihaan Malhotra.
Bright. Effortless. Loud.
The kind of person who didn't blend in.
The kind of person who made everything around him feel different—alive—just by existing.
And that day?
He wasn't just walking in for lunch.
He was part of the cultural fest.
The office held cultural fests every year—music, dance, traditional clothes, the whole thing.
I never cared for it.
Never participated.
Never even watched.
But that day—
That day, I watched.
Because he was on stage.
Dressed in a simple kurta, sleeves rolled up, mic in hand, smirking like he owned the room.
And when he spoke?
His voice was confident, warm, unshaken.
A natural performer.
A storyteller.
A man who knew how to hold attention without even trying.
I should have looked away.
I should have finished my coffee and walked out.
But I couldn't.
Because something about him—the way he carried himself, the way he laughed so freely, the way he had this ridiculous energy that drew people in—
It was annoying.
And impossible to ignore.
After the event, I told myself it didn't matter.
That he was just some guy at work.
That I would forget about him by the next day.
But then?
I saw him again.
At the coffee machine.
At team events.
Laughing too loud in meetings.
Effortlessly talking to everyone like he had known them for years.
And me?
I stayed in my corner.
Stayed quiet.
Stayed unnoticed.
But my eyes?
They always found him.
I never spoke to him.
Never had a reason to.
But I noticed things.
How he was the first to help a junior struggling with work.
How he always got dragged into events because people loved having him around.
How he acted like nothing ever bothered him—but if you watched closely, you'd see the weight of responsibility on his shoulders.
Vihaan Malhotra was not just bright.
He was blinding.
And me?
I was just a shadow in the corner, watching from a distance.
I told myself it was nothing.
That it was just passing curiosity.
That it would fade.
But it never did.
Not even years later, when I finally met him face-to-face.
On a train.
With him falling on top of me like fate had finally run out of patience.
And the worst part?
He didn't remember me at all.