My Last First Love

~15~

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For the next six days, the office had a strange routine — at least for Sangeeta.
Every evening, she was the last one to leave. Every night, her table was the only one still lit under the flickering office lights.

And every night, Arunoday sat in his cabin, pretending to be busy while secretly watching her through the glass.

At first, he found it amusing.
The first two days, Sangeeta was irritated — visibly so. Her lips were pursed in a pout, her eyebrows furrowed, and her eyes shot invisible daggers every time he walked by. Arun couldn't help but smirk.

"Ah, look at that face," he muttered once, leaning back in his chair. "So expressive. It's almost entertaining."

But by the fourth day, something changed.

Sangeeta stopped reacting. She didn't pout, didn't glare, didn't even sigh dramatically anymore. She just worked — silently, robotically — taking every order with a calm nod.

It bothered him.
No, it infuriated him.

What happened to that fire in her? That spark he loved to see?

To provoke her, he began calling her for extra, pointless tasks.
"Miss Sangeeta, can you revise the layout again?"
"Add one more version."
"Change the color palette. No, not that one. Do it again."

But she didn't even flinch. She simply replied, "Yes, sir," and went back to work.

It was like fighting with a wall.

By the sixth night, Arun was restless. "Is she seriously not affected at all?" he muttered, pacing in his chamber. "Is she trying to win some kind of silent competition with me?"

The more he thought about it, the more irritated he became.

He purposely made her stay past 9 p.m. that night — assigning file after file, pretending it was "urgent company work."
But somewhere inside, he was just trying to break her calm face.

When she finally finished at 9:45 p.m., he expected another angry pout. But instead, she simply packed her things, walked out quietly, and disappeared down the hallway.

Something about that hurt.

As usual, Arun followed. He stood at the dark corner of the ground floor, hands in pockets, watching the elevator lights go down.

"She didn't even look back," he murmured bitterly.

Outside, the night air was cool. He saw her running — literally running — down the street toward the bus stop. Her bag bounced on her shoulder as her breath quickened.

He frowned. "Why is she running like that?"

He followed her quietly, keeping a safe distance.

After nearly ten minutes of running, she stopped at the bus stop, leaning forward with her hands on her knees, gasping for air.

Yes, she missed the last bus.

Arunoday saw it happen: a slow, orange tail-lamp as the bus pulled away, the driver not even glancing back. Sangeeta's shoulders sank. She stood at the empty stop, breath coming fast, cheeks pink from the run.