THEM 'Ishman'

His Prettiest Storm

Umm...this chapter is a gift for 42 follwersss.. Ahhh I am soi soi happieee.... T^T

Let me know your thoughts on it, pweaseeee ('3')

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Shubman Gill prided himself on his calm demeanor. In a world filled with chaos, he was the eye of the storm: composed, methodical, and entirely predictable. 

Shubman liked his life the way he liked his suits: pressed, precise, and completely predictable. His office was an extension of his personality—a sanctuary of order and control. 

The pens were arranged by ink color, his calendar was immaculately planned, and even his coffee arrived at exactly 8:02 a.m., hot but not scalding.

Then came Ishan Kishan, the human embodiment of a tiny, cute glitter-filled hurricane.

Ishan was Shubman's personal secretary, though "personal chaos coordinator" felt more accurate.

From the moment Shubman hired him—a decision he revisited (and regretted) daily—his life had been a whirlwind of misplaced files, dramatic declarations, and way too many glittery post-it notes.

Ishan wasn't just a secretary. 

He was a whirlwind wrapped in prettiness, with wide, innocent eyes that sparkled when he was excited (which was often) and a personality that could only be described as aesthetic chaos. 

If chaos had cute doe-eyes, tiny button nose, pretty sunshine smile and wore pastel cardigans, it would be Ishan.

Shubman had admit it very first day that Ishan was breathtakingly pretty, with soft, flawless skin and wide eyes that sparkled like they held entire galaxies. 

But behind that angelic face lurked a tornado of disarray, one that seemed hell-bent on upending Shubman's carefully constructed world.

Every day since hiring him had been a new adventure—or disaster, depending on Shubman's mood.

Shubman still remembered the interview.

"I'm super organized. My last boss said I was the glue that held the office together. Without me? Disaster." Ishan had declared, running a hand through his shiny and soft curly hair in which a tiny daisy was tucked....accidentally.

Shubman had been skeptical, but Ishan's dazzling smile, paired with his eerily perfect resume, had silenced any doubts.

Two weeks in, Shubman realized his mistake. 

The "glue" Ishan mentioned? More like glitter glue—sparkly, messy, and impossible to clean up.....but lightens up the dull cardboards also.

And, today was just like other days, remembering his choices for Shubman and normal for Ishan.

It started innocently enough. 

Shubman arrived at the office to find Ishan perched on his desk, holding what looked like an exploded bouquet of flowers.

"Good morning! Do you like them? I thought your desk needed some pizzazz!" Ishan chirped, smiling brightly.

Shubman arched an eyebrow, taking in the chaotic arrangement of mismatched flowers spilling over papers, pens, and his neatly stacked folders.

"Pizzazz." He repeated flatly.

"Yes! It's very... avant-garde." Ishan said, waving his hand like a dramatic artist.

Shubman sighed, setting his briefcase down. "I don't need avant-garde. I need my desk to look like a desk, not a florist's fever dream."