The days following their dinner at the intimate restaurant left Mira restless. Arjun’s words had soothed her momentarily, but the weight of the crimson saree’s curse lingered like a shadow she couldn’t shake. She found herself analyzing every text, every glance, every fleeting touch—searching for signs of deception.
Yet, despite her doubts, she couldn’t deny the pull she felt toward him.
Riya burst into Mira’s apartment one afternoon, waving her phone excitedly.
"You will not believe this!" she exclaimed. "Malhotra Tech is hosting a charity gala next month, and they’re looking for a designer to create custom outfits for the event’s performers. I may have… casually mentioned your name."
Mira nearly dropped the sketch she was working on. "You did what?"
"Relax! It’s a huge opportunity. Besides," Riya smirked, "I saw the way Arjun looked at you. He’ll say yes."
Mira groaned, but a part of her was intrigued. This could be her chance to see Arjun in his element—to understand who he really was.
Her phone buzzed before she could respond.
Arjun: Heard from Riya about the gala. Would you be interested in collaborating?
Mira’s breath hitched.
Mira: I’d love to. When can we discuss details?
Arjun: Tomorrow. My office. Noon.
Riya grinned triumphantly as Mira set her phone down. "Told you."
Malhotra Tech’s headquarters were sleek and modern, all glass and steel, buzzing with the energy of a company on the rise. Mira adjusted the strap of her portfolio bag, nerves fluttering as the elevator ascended to the top floor.
Arjun’s assistant led her to a spacious office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. He stood by the glass, silhouetted against the skyline, and turned as she entered.
"Mira." His voice was warm, but his eyes held something unreadable. "Glad you could make it."
"Wouldn’t miss it," she said, forcing a smile.
They sat, and he slid a folder toward her. "The theme is ‘Innovation Meets Tradition.’ We want to blend cutting-edge tech with classic Indian artistry."
Mira flipped through the concept sketches—holographic embroidery, fabrics woven with fiber optics, sarees that changed color with body temperature. It was ambitious.
"This is incredible," she admitted. "But it’ll take more than just design. It’ll need engineering."
"Which is why," Arjun leaned forward, "I want you to work directly with my R&D team."
Their fingers brushed as he handed her another document, and a jolt of electricity shot through her. She pulled back slightly, but his gaze held hers, intense and searching.
"You’re hesitant," he observed.
"I just…" She hesitated. "I need to know this is purely professional."
Arjun’s expression softened. "It is. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you here."
The air between them thickened.
Mira swallowed. "Then I’m in."
The next two weeks were a blur of fabric swatches, tech prototypes, and late nights at the Malhotra Tech lab. Mira found herself immersed in the project, her creative spark reignited.
But working alongside Arjun was a test of her resolve.
He was everywhere—leaning over her shoulder to examine a sketch, his cologne lingering in the air; laughing with engineers, his voice deep and magnetic; catching her gaze across the room, holding it just a second too long.
One evening, as the lab emptied out, Mira stayed behind to finalize a design. The hum of the air conditioning was the only sound as she sketched under the dim glow of her desk lamp.
"You’re still here."
She jumped at Arjun’s voice. He stood in the doorway, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened.
"Just finishing up," she said, suddenly hyperaware of how alone they were.
He walked over, eyes scanning her work. "This is brilliant."
"Thanks." She bit her lip. "I was thinking of using the crimson saree as inspiration for the finale piece."
Arjun froze. "The one with the curse?"
Mira hesitated. "You don’t actually believe in that, do you?"
"No," he said slowly. "But you do."
Silence stretched between them. Then, impulsively, Mira asked, "Why did you really invite me to work on this project?"
Arjun exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Because I wanted an excuse to see you every day."
Her pulse spiked.
"And because," he added, stepping closer, "I wanted to prove to you that I’m not the villain in your curse’s story."
Mira’s breath shallowed. His proximity was intoxicating.
The days that followed were a haze of stolen moment.
Mira knew she was playing with fire.
And yet, she couldn’t stop.
The gala was a week away.
And so was the truth.
To be continued.....
Brij Prajapati
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