Brief
"Patience has always been my greatest strength. empires are not built in haste, nor are people tamed by force. I’ve learned to wait, to watch, to let silence do the work that anger never could. She lives under my roof, yet she believes distance keeps her safe. I allow her that illusion—for now. Because I know time bends everything my way. Nothing fragile survives long in my world… and she is the only fragile thing I’ve chosen to protect instead of destroy."
The knock on his office door wasn’t unexpected—very little ever was—but the hesitation behind it was. Aryan didn’t look up immediately. He liked making people wait, liked the silence pressing against their nerves until they broke it themselves.
When the door creaked open, he finally raised his eyes. Her. The girl who had been circling him like a question with no answer. He didn’t move, didn’t smile, only leaned back in his chair, letting the weight of his gaze do what words didn’t need to.
She stepped in, clutching something like the truth might slip through her fingers any second. “I was looking for you…” she started, voice barely steady.
She came closer, nerves tangling with determination. It happened fast—her hand brushed his desk, a misstep, and his laptop slid to the floor with a sharp thud. For the first time in years.
The crash echoed, your breath caught in your throat. The laptop lay on the floor, and so did your courage.his expression calm, his movements steady as ever. His eyes flicked to the laptop, then to you—no sharpness, no accusation, just quiet observation.
You rushed, “I–I didn’t mean to—” but your words tangled.
He simply bent down, picked up the laptop with care, and placed it back on the desk. His thumb brushed over the faint mark, but he didn’t frown. Instead, he exhaled, almost like he was releasing your fear along with his.
“Accidents happen,” he said softly, his voice deep, warm. “Did it scare you?”
He gave a small smile, the kind that barely touched his lips but reached his eyes. Stepping closer, he placed his hand lightly on your shoulder—not heavy, not restraining, just grounding. “It’s just a machine. Things can be fixed. You don’t need to look so guilty.”
You felt your chest loosen, the knot of fear unraveling.
“Next time,” he added, his tone still gentle, “call me. I’ll come to you. You don’t have to wander around here alone.” His words carried more care than command.
Then he looked at you, really looked—like you mattered more than all the expensive things surrounding him. “Did you find what you came here for?” he asked quietly, almost as though he hoped you were searching for him.
