Unfinished (Some love stories don’t end. They just wait to be written right) - Chapter 3
Chapter 3: Stranger With a Name I Knew
The conference room slowly emptied, chairs scraping against the wooden floor as executives filed out, murmuring about KPIs and market trends. Laughter echoed lightly behind the glass door. But inside, it was quiet—palpably so.
Aditi stood by the presentation screen, organizing leftover files with methodical precision. Her eyes didn’t lift even once toward Aditya, who remained behind, typing something on his phone as if this meeting, and her presence, were nothing more than business as usual.
Not even a glance.
Not a flicker of recognition.
Not a trace of the man who once held her heart and tore it apart.
“Miss Aditi,” said her boss, breaking the silence, “can you brief Mr. Khanna about the delivery timelines? You’re the best person for it.”
She nodded crisply. “Of course.”
Her voice was steady. Cool. No trace of falter.
She walked over, placed the documents on the table in front of Aditya without looking directly at him.
“These are the current projections,” she said, her tone neutral. “We've locked in the production cycles with local vendors. Samples will be delivered by Monday. Shipments begin by the 20th.”
Aditya picked up the papers, his eyes scanning them without expression.
“Good,” he said after a beat. His voice was deep, measured. “Looks structured. No concerns.”
No smile. No emotion.
Just… words.
Aditi’s lashes flickered, just once.
She waited for a reaction.
Some sign of recognition.
Some crack in the calm.
But Aditya was unreadable. As if she were just another employee. As if the years they'd spent together were figments of a distant dream.
“Anything else?” he asked, not looking up.
“No,” she replied. “Unless you have queries.”
“I don’t,” he said.
A short pause.
She turned to leave.
Just as she reached the door, he added without lifting his eyes, “We’ll need precision in this collaboration. I expect full professionalism.”
She stopped mid-step.
Her back still to him, she responded, “That’s the only thing I have left to offer, Mr. Khanna.”
Then she walked out—measured steps, straight spine, expression calm.
Later That Night...
Aditi sat on her apartment’s tiny balcony, sipping black coffee that had gone cold. The city lights blurred before her eyes, more from exhaustion than emotion.
The meeting played over in her mind like a silent film. His face. His voice. His coldness.
How can someone become a stranger so completely?
A part of her had prepared for this moment every day for two years.
And yet... nothing could have prepared her for the emptiness she felt in that room.
No explanation.
No confrontation.
Just silence, again.
He didn’t even flinch.
She gripped the mug tighter.
“Why did I expect anything?” she whispered to herself.
Meanwhile, Across the City…
Aditya sat alone in his luxury suite. The skyline stretched beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, but he wasn’t looking at it.
A glass of scotch rested untouched beside him.
On his desk, her file lay open—the one HR had sent him before the meeting.
Aditi Mehra. Age 28. Senior Merchandise Lead.
He’d read every line the night before.
He knew she’d be there.
He just hadn’t expected it to hit this hard.
Her voice, calm and detached, had echoed in his chest like a ghost he couldn’t shake.
But he kept his expression cold. Unmoved.
Because that was the only way he knew how to survive.
He stood and walked to the window, pressing his hand against the glass.
"She signed those papers two years ago without a single question. Just like that..."
His jaw clenched.
He closed his eyes.
No.
He wouldn’t let the past interfere now.
Back to the Present
The next few days in the office were… awkwardly smooth.
Every time Aditya visited, Aditi kept her interactions minimal. No lingering glances. No side talks.
“Morning, Mr. Khanna.”
“Here are the reports.”
“Please approve the shipment invoices.”
She didn’t let a single personal note slip through.
And Aditya matched her cold for cold. Respectful, detached, professional.
Like they were strangers in a business suit.
Yet—
When she left the room, his eyes often followed for just a second too long.
And when he spoke to others, there was a flicker in his voice—like something held back, restrained.
The silence between them was no longer just professional.
It was protective. Painful. Familiar.
Like two people walking a tightrope between what they were… and what they could never be again.
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