"Ugly robot."
The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
Ethan, standing there stiffly in his freshly pressed suit, blinked. "I can't decide whether I should be offended you called me ugly or the fact that you think I'm a robot."
I waved a dismissive hand, wobbling on my heels, eyes barely open. "Shhh… it's okay. I know you're gonna fire me anyway, so it doesn't matter what I say now, you dirty dog."
That last part? Whispered directly into his chest, because I had leaned in to make sure he heard every word.
His brows rose in complete disbelief, and he stepped back—probably to escape the fumes of whatever cocktail mix I had drowned myself in. But I didn't let him go. I grabbed his tie. Clumsy fingers. Tight grip.
"You know…" I whispered, looking up at him with glassy eyes, "it's extremely difficult to work around you, but—" I hiccuped, "you're also way too sexy for your own good."
And then, without warning, I kissed him.
I don't remember what happened after that. Just that my lips were on his—and then everything went black.
The next morning—or maybe it was afternoon—I woke up to the sound of Dadi yelling.
"She's behaving like a five-year-old! Gets herself hit by a car! What next? Jumping into a well? Getting bitten by a monkey? God help me!"
I groaned. My body felt like it had been hit by a truck. Which, to be fair, was almost true.
"Dadi, calm down!" Alex's voice came from somewhere nearby. "She's okay now."
"She better be okay! And what even caused this nonsense? First the whole viral video disaster, now this!"
"Ya, she either gets hit by a car or bursts her butt on the ground every time her crush gets engaged," Alex muttered under his breath.
My eyes snapped open. Crush. Engagement. Why are we talking about this right now?
Dadi turned to him like a predator spotting prey. "Crush? What crush? What are you talking about?"
Alex's mouth opened and closed like a dying fish. "I mean, I was just joking! You know… general emotional trauma!"
She narrowed her eyes. "Hmm."
But I had already drifted off… not to sleep, but into thoughts I had successfully avoided for a while now.
Andrew.
I hadn't thought about him in days. Was it the accident? The job? Ethan's impossible schedule? Maybe.
Or maybe… I didn't like him anymore.
That thought sent a weird ache through my chest. I had crushed on him for years. I used to dream about our wedding, name our kids, stalk his movie updates… but now?
Now my brain was consumed by… Ethan.
The way he handed me the pendant. The way he didn't fire me. The way he showed up after the accident. The way he was… annoyingly always there.
I definitely do not like him.
Right?
I kissed him, but that doesn't mean anything. I was drunk.
But I don't go around kissing people I hate.
And I hate Ethan.
My thoughts were spiraling, and just in time, Noah walked in.
"Sorry I'm late," he said with that ever-charming smile. He made himself comfortable, chatting with Dadi and Dia, and won over everyone like he was the hero of a 90s movie.
He stayed for a while—cracking jokes about Alex's non-existent love life, teaching Dadi a reel dance, and claiming Dia had a secret mafia side hustle.
He stayed for a while, made me laugh, and said he had to leave… but then, he came back.
Before he left, he walked back in, looking a little flustered. "Sana," he said, standing by my bed, "I know this is probably the worst time, but I need to say this."
My heart paused.
"Ever since I met you… I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. You're kind, creative, funny… a bit chaotic and messy, sure, but I can work with that."
My eyes widened.
"When I heard about your accident… it really shook me. I don't want to wait anymore. Will you be my girlfriend?"
Silence.
My mouth refused to move. This wasn't some casual flirting like before. This was real. Serious.
I turned and saw everyone staring.
Even Dadi looked more excited than me. "Oh ho! That's your man right there! You should've proposed me, I'm still young! Come on girl, say yes! I've dated plenty at your age!"
Everyone was waiting. I looked at Noah. He was great. Funny. Understanding. Safe.
And Ethan? I hated him. Or thought I did. And he was probably dating Neha. He never even brought up the kiss. It clearly meant nothing to him.
I took a deep breath. "What could go wrong…?"
I smiled at Noah. "Yes."
The room exploded into cheers. Alex jumped. Dia squealed. Dadi started dancing.
Noah was practically bouncing. I laughed. "But hey, can we start dating from tomorrow? I just got hit by a car today."
Everyone laughed, including Noah. "Deal. Tomorrow it is."
Dadi fake-pouted, "Oh, don't mind me and Noah flirting like an old movie couple in the background."
Noah winked, "She's way more fun than you, Sana."
Later that evening, Ethan came.
He stood by the door like he owned the place, arms crossed, sharp as ever.
"You really know how to cause chaos," he said, pulling up a chair. "Did you get drunk again the moment you left my house?"
My eye twitched. "No."
He ignored the sass and sat beside me. "You should take care of yourself."
"I'm fine."
He raised an eyebrow, looked at the bruises, then called the doctor like he was the patient's legal guardian. Asked about meds, healing time, everything.
"It's not too bad," he said finally. "You'll need a week's rest. Take it. But don't use it to break more bones."
"Thanks," I muttered.
He stood, paused, then turned to leave.
"Ethan."
He looked back. "Is something wrong?"
"Thank you. For bringing me to the hospital."
"Employee safety is important to me."
"What happened that night?"
He looked slightly caught off guard but answered evenly. "You passed out. I took you home. The moment you walked in, you puked in my living room."
"You cleaned it?"
"No. I have staff."
"Oh…"
"You look disappointed," he said dryly. "Anyway, I made you sit on the sofa. Maybe you took off your pendant there. The maid found it the next day and gave it to me. I didn't know it was yours."
"It was my mom's," I whispered.
Something flickered in his eyes. But he didn't say anything.
Before the air could grow heavier, Alex leaned in with a grin. "So, you're the founder of the Robot Hate Club?"
Ethan replied flatly, "I guess so."
Sana looked at him as he left. "Thank you."
Ethan just shook his head and walked out.
The week passed in a blur. Noah visited every day. He was warm, consistent, thoughtful.
Still… I caught myself checking my phone for messages that never came.
One night, I couldn't sleep.
I kept thinking about what Rahul said—that Roshni gave him the pendrive and used my name.
Why me?
Unless she didn't think it was a risk.
I wasn't a tech genius, but I knew someone who was. I texted Aryan from IT.
Sana:Hey. Need a favor. Off the record. About the pendrive incident. Can we talk?
Later that night, Aryan called me.
"Okay, I pulled the metadata logs. A device labeled 'PROJECT_FINAL_R' was plugged into your system at 2:17 PM… but also used earlier that day."
"Where?"
"Roshni's system."
I froze. "You're sure?"
"It's the same device ID. Tracked on both systems. She copied the file before it ended up on yours."
"Thanks, Aryan. Really."
"I won't ask questions," he said. "But if you need help burning someone to the ground, count me in."
The next morning, I woke up to the sound of cardboard being aggressively flattened and Dia shouting, "Alex! That's not how you wrap fragile items!"
Dragging myself out of bed, I made my way to the living room where it looked like a small warehouse had exploded. Boxes everywhere. Rolls of bubble wrap, twine, thank-you cards, and—of course—sarees, pickles, hand-embroidered bags… all from Dadi's now-viral small business.
"Need help?" I offered, pulling my hair into a bun.
Dadi beamed at me from behind a mountain of packages. "My darling child! Just in time. Here—fold these shawls and pack them neatly, customers in Mumbai love these patterns."
I sat down and got to work. It was chaos, yes. But the good kind. The kind that made you feel alive. Purposeful. Part of something.
We worked together for hours. Wrapping, taping, scribbling sweet notes Dadi insisted go in every order ("Add a smiley face! It shows we care!").
And in between, we laughed. Ate biscuits. Listened to 80s Bollywood music.
Watching Dadi take calls like a CEO and seeing Alex coordinate deliveries and Dia manage customer messages on Instagram—it hit me how much of a team we had become.
"I'm so proud of her," I whispered, nodding toward Dadi as she carefully adjusted a sari in its packaging.
"Same," Dia smiled, wiping her hands on her kurta. "She's literally building an empire in her nightie and with a WhatsApp group."
"And we're just the humble minions," Alex added dramatically, taping another box. "But hey, we're family. This is what we do."
I looked at them—these chaotic, loud, overly involved people who had somehow become my soft place to land. I smiled.
"We really are."
Just then, Dadi shrieked. "Hai Ram! I've reached fifty thousand followers!"
We all froze.
"What?!" Dia ran over, nearly tripping on a spool of ribbon.
Dadi held out her phone like it was an Oscar. "50k! Look! Look at all the red hearts and clapping emojis! One aunty even asked if I'm single!"
Alex whistled. "Okay, influencer queen! Don't forget us when you launch your own product line."
"I'm launching pickled lemon candy next week, actually," Dadi said smugly. "Very trendy."
We broke into spontaneous celebration—blaring music, dancing around the boxes, Dia tossing confetti from leftover packaging paper, and Alex lifting Dadi like Simba in The Lion King.
For the first time in days, I wasn't thinking about scandals, office politics, or mysterious pendrive sabotages.
Just… this.
This strange, beautiful family.
And how lucky I was to have them.
Later that evening, the doorbell rang—and Noah walked in with a cake that said "50K & Fabulous!" in pink frosting.
"Figured the queen of reels deserved a royal celebration," he grinned, holding the box out like it was a crown.
Dadi clapped in delight. "Oh ho! Look at this boy, always knowing how to win hearts."
We cut the cake, danced some more, and took way too many pictures.
And for once, everything felt light.
Later, after the sugar rush and confetti had faded, I found myself out on the balcony, legs stretched out on the wicker chair, attempting to paint my nails for the fourth time.
Attempting being the key word.
The breeze was nice. The view was average. My nails? A complete disaster.
I had managed to smudge the pink on three fingers, overshot the cuticle on the fourth, and somehow got polish on my ear. Don't ask.
I sighed dramatically, holding my hand up like a wounded soldier.
"You planning to fight someone with that weapon of mass destruction?" a familiar voice said behind me.
I turned to find Noah, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his usual stupid grin in place.
"I was trying to be cute," I muttered. "You wouldn't understand the struggle."
"Oh, I understand. I just happen to be better at it."
He walked over, plopped down on the pouffe next to me, and took the bottle of nail polish from my hand. Then grabbed another one. And another.
"Excuse me?" I blinked. "What are you—"
"Shh. I'm in the zone." He held up my hand gently, brows furrowed in concentration. "Let me work."
I stared as he selected a mix of nude, turquoise, and a deep maroon. Each nail a different shade, painted in clean, careful strokes.
"You're disturbingly good at this," I mumbled.
He smirked. "I've painted more canvases than you've painted your face."
I snorted. "Wow. Compliment and insult in the same breath. That's talent."
"Thank you, thank you." He finished one hand and blew gently on it. "Try not to move. Even though I know you're physically incapable of sitting still for more than five seconds."
"Shut up," I said, but I smiled. Watching him work so carefully, so thoughtfully—it was... unexpected. Soft, even.
"Okay, for real," I said. "You never told me you were an artist."
He hesitated, brushing the last bit of polish on my little finger. "Yeah… I don't talk about it much."
"Why not? You're amazing."
He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Because my dad doesn't think so."
I tilted my head. "What do you mean?"
"He thinks painting's a hobby. Not a job. Not a career. Not something 'a man with ambition' should do. In his words, I'm wasting potential. Said I should've taken over the family business or gone into finance."
I felt something sting in my chest.
"Does he even look at your work?"
Noah shrugged. "Doesn't have to. He already decided it's useless."
I reached out, touched his arm gently. "You know… it's not about what he sees. Or what anyone sees."
He looked at me.
"At the end of the day," I said, "we love what we love. And sometimes, that's enough. Even if no one else gets it. Especially if no one else gets it."
He didn't say anything at first. Just watched me like he was trying to memorize that sentence.
Then, softly, "You're kind of amazing, you know that?"
"Yeah, well," I muttered, "you did just give me the best nail art of my life. So we're even."
He chuckled and held up my hands. "Beautiful. We should frame them."
"Let's not get carried away."
But I was smiling. And so was he.
And for a few moments, there was no drama, no scandals, no internet wars—just quiet.
Two people on a balcony, talking about dreams and colors, painting the pieces of themselves they'd kept hidden too long.
Finally, I got back to work and arrived to office. I was almost excited. As crazy as work was, I missed it. The chaos. The gossip. The files. My dumb boss.
I saw Roshni at the coffee machine.
Laughing.
Like nothing had happened.
Like no one had nearly lost their job.
Like a guy wasn't still being blamed.
Like she hadn't used my name to frame someone else.
I didn't confront her. Not yet.
But I wasn't alone anymore.
I had backup.
The next morning, Aryan and Raha cornered me near the IT desk.
Raha, HR's secret Sherlock Holmes, handed me a coffee and said, "We've been quietly digging."
Aryan leaned in. "And we found things. Sketchy things."
"Define sketchy," I asked, heart already racing.
"Roshni's system logs," Aryan said, pulling up a file on his tablet. "The same pendrive that showed up in your system at 2:17 PM? It was connected to her computer earlier that day. And not just once. Multiple times."
"She copied multiple versions of the same file," Raha added. "Including the one with the altered content—the swapped presentation. All timestamped. All logged."
I blinked. "You're sure?"
Aryan nodded. "We triple-checked. Her device ID, her user session, her port number—everything lines up."
"She was banking on you not noticing," Raha said quietly. "And she didn't think anyone would question her. Because she made it look like you gave her permission."
"She told people that?" I asked.
Raha hesitated. "Not directly. But when we asked her to explain why the pendrive was in your system, she said, 'Sana asked me to put it in since she was running late.'"
I swallowed hard.
So that was her version.
In her story, I was the careless one. The scapegoat.
Aryan's voice dropped. "We're forwarding the logs to HR. They'll take it from there. But we wanted you to know first. Off the record."
I nodded slowly. My throat felt tight. "Thank you. Both of you."
"Anytime," Raha said. "You don't deserve to go down for this."
As they walked away, I stood frozen for a moment.
It wasn't just about files anymore.
It was about being lied about.
Framed.
Used.
And this time… I wasn't just scared.
I was ready.
Later that afternoon, I was called into Ethan's cabin.
He didn't look up. "Your internship's over. That's your appointment letter. Take it or leave it."
I grabbed it instantly. I wanted to throw something at him. Preferably a stapler.
"We're going to Chennai tomorrow. Branch expansion."
"Me? Why me?"
"You can keep the letter just as quickly as you took it."
"…I mean, I have a leg injury."
He just stared.
"Okay, fine."
"Pack some formals. And party wear. Four days."
I nodded, internally screaming: No. Why meeeee?!