Head over Heels ☑️

Chapter 38 - Khushi

🎶 Rangi Saari - Kavita Seth

It was bright and early. Khushi's pulse fluttered like hummingbird wings as the elevator dinged open, ushering her into the sleek, polished embrace of her new workplace.

The fifteenth floor of the high-rise towered above the early morning bustle of the city, and housed Pehchaan—a name she had whispered to herself countless times since the internship offer had arrived. And now, she was finally here.

The office was a wide open space lit with golden morning sun filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows. The ceiling stretched high above her, scattered with abstract lighting installations that resembled folded origami clouds suspended mid-flight. A curved digital screen wrapped around the far wall, flashing visuals of editorial campaigns—models swathed in flowing fabric, dramatic silhouettes, and sharp tailoring.

Nervous excitement curled in her stomach as she walked further in. The reception desk stood like a minimalist runway—sleek white marble, edges softened. Behind it stretched a moodboard wall—fabric swatches, pinned sketches, handwritten notes, and Polaroids of models in motion, caught mid-laugh and mid-twirl.

She swallowed hard and glanced at the clock; 7:03 a.m.

Reporting time was eight but she was intentionally early. She had left home at the crack of dawn, too jittery to sit still, too afraid of being late on her very first day.

She smoothed down the front of her cream silk salwar suit, checking for creases. The outfit was pristine—pressed, pinned just right at the shoulders, the dupatta neatly draped over one side. She had barely leaned back in the car, afraid of wrinkling it.

A sharply dressed woman sat behind the reception desk, tapping away at a tablet. Her dark suit was tailored to perfection, hair pulled back in a neat low bun.

The rest of the office was quiet. Only a few desks were occupied—early birds hunched over coffee mugs and color palettes, the air still scented with Lizol floor cleaner and brewing espresso.

"Good morning," Khushi said brightly. "I'm the new intern—it's my first day here!"

The receptionist barely glanced up. "Welcome. State your name, please."

"Khushi Kumari Gupta Singh Raizada," she replied happily.

That got the woman's attention. She paused mid-keystroke, raising an eyebrow. "One more time—slowly, please."

"Sure!" Khushi murmured, repeating her name at a more manageable pace.

The receptionist's face didn't shift, but her sigh was almost audible, as though writing down five names was a personal affront.

"Please look at the camera," she said, waving a manicured hand toward a tiny webcam placed discreetly on the counter.

Before Khushi could rearrange her face, the woman said, flatly, "Done."

"Er—"

A mechanical hum followed. Within a minute, an ID card slid out of the printer. The receptionist picked it up and wordlessly placed it on the counter, along with a case and a pin. In the same monotone, she added, "Thank you. Please wait here. The Head of Department will arrive shortly and walk you through the onboarding process."

"Um, sorry to interrupt," Khushi said, eyes fixed on the ID card.

It bore a single bold word under her picture: Khushi. But that wasn't the problem.

Khushi hadn't even been looking at the camera. The photo had been taken mid-turn, her face barely angled toward the lens. It was blurred, the whites of her eyes shining eerily and dominating the sockets—making her look like she was mid-teleportation, straight out of an intergalactic space jump.