Chapter 4: Business Trip Beginnings
The air inside the plane was stale, recycled a thousand times. Sid shuffled down the narrow aisle, his carry-on knocking against the seats. He found her already settled by the window, her face lit by the dim glow of the reading light. She looked up, offering a small, completely professional smile, the kind you give any colleague you’re traveling with. It was a masterpiece of acting.
"Hey," he said, heaving his bag into the overhead bin.
"Hi. Made it." Her voice was calm, even. She was wearing the jeans. The ones he liked. They hugged her perfectly, fading in just the right places. A simple white top completed the look. Casual travel attire. To anyone else, it was just that.
He sank into the middle seat beside her, acutely aware of the few inches of fabric and space between them. The scent of her perfume was different today—lighter, fresher, like lemongrass and clean linen. It made him think of morning light, which felt like its own kind of joke.
"So, the deck looks good," he said, pulling out his phone as the cabin crew began their safety dance.
"It’s solid. The client should bite on the influencer integration spend. The metrics are persuasive." She shifted, her knee brushing against his leg. She didn’t pull away. He didn’t move. The contact was a live wire.
"Yeah. Makes a strong case for... deeper investment," he said, staring straight ahead at the seatback screen showing a flight path animation.
The engines whined, building to a roar. The plane pushed forward, pressing them back into their seats. As they lifted off, the city dropping away into a grid of twinkling lights, he felt the strange suspension of reality. They were in a tube in the sky, untethered from their normal lives. The rules were blurrier up here.
He glanced at her. She was staring out the window, her reflection faint on the plexiglass. Her thumbs were typing rapidly on her phone, held low in her lap.
His own phone buzzed in his hand.
An unknown number. A message. ‘Blue. White was too predictable for a business trip.’
He read it, then slowly typed back, saving the number. ‘Noted. But blue could mean anything. Light blue? Navy?’
‘Guess you’ll have to conduct a thorough inventory later. For accuracy.’
A flight attendant passed with the drink cart. They ordered water, their voices polite and synchronized. When the small plastic cups were handed over, their fingers touched. The transaction felt more intimate than it should have.
For two hours, they talked shop. They refined talking points. They debated the slide order. It was a believable performance for anyone who might be listening. All the while, a separate, silent conversation pulsed between them on their screens, a drumbeat under the calm professional melody.
Landing was rough. The wheels screeched, the cabin shuddered. They shared a look—not of fear, but of shared impatience. Let’s get this show on the road.
The client’s office was all glass and brushed steel, cool and impersonal. They were ushered into a conference room with a long, polished table. Kirti set up her laptop, her movements efficient and graceful. She plugged in the HDMI, and their presentation lit up the screen on the wall.
"Ready?" she asked, clicking the presenter clicker once.
"Born ready," he said, and took his seat to her left.
For the next ninety minutes, they were a perfect, seamless team. Sid handled the broad strategy, the market vision. His voice was easy, confident. Kirti drilled down into the data, her explanations crisp and clear. She leaned forward to point at a graph, and the neckline of her white top gaped slightly. Sid, from his angle, saw a flash of intricate red and black lace. Not blue at all. She’d lied. The deception was a gift.
He had to look away, focusing on the frowning, thoughtful face of the client lead across the table.
His phone vibrated silently against the polished wood.
‘Told you it wasn’t blue.’
He coughed, covering his mouth to hide his smile. Under the table, he typed. ‘Red. Black lace. Misleading your project partner is bad form, Kirti.’
‘Consider it a cliffhanger. Keeps you engaged for the next session.’
The meeting wrapped up thirty minutes ahead of schedule. The clients were pleased, nodding, shaking their hands with firm grips. "Really compelling," the lead said. "You two make a great team."
"Thank you," Kirti said, smiling warmly. "We complement each other's strengths."
In the taxi to the hotel, the professional facade finally cracked. They sat in the backseat, the humid Pune air blowing through the slightly open window. They didn't speak for a few blocks, the silence thick and heavy. The driver had the radio on, some old Bollywood love song turned low.
Sid looked at her. She was staring straight ahead, but her hand rested on the seat between them, palm up. He placed his hand over hers. Her fingers immediately laced through his, tight, almost desperate. No words. Just the tight grip, the shared, accelerating heartbeat.
Their rooms were on the same silent, carpeted hallway. They wheeled their suitcases side-by-side, the wheels whispering on the plush pile. They stopped at 708.
"This is me," he said, sliding his key card into the slot. The green light blinked. He didn’t open the door.
"And I’m down there," she said, nodding toward 712. She made no move to go.
“We should probably unpack,” he said. His voice was rough.
“Probably. Settle in. It’s been a long day.”
“Yeah.” He still didn’t open the door. He was looking at her mouth.
“Dinner?” she asked. “We should eat. We skipped lunch.”
“Right. Dinner. Downstairs? In an hour?”
“An hour.” She finally moved, pulling her suitcase behind her. She stopped four doors down. The key card slid, the green light blinked. She looked back at him, holding his gaze for three long seconds before she pushed the door open and disappeared inside.
Sid walked into his own room. It was generic. A king bed, a desk, a TV, a minibar. He dropped his bag. The emptiness was a physical pressure. The anticipation was a tight coil in his gut, wound unbearably taut.
He unzipped his suitcase. He hadn’t packed any jeans. He pulled out a pair of dark, casual trousers. He took a shower, the water as hot as he could stand it. He shaved slowly, meticulously. He dressed. The whole time, his mind was four doors down, imagining her own ritual.
His phone chimed.
‘Room service has a chocolate cake on the menu. Looks decadent.’
He replied. ‘Are you ordering it?’
‘No. I think some things are better shared in person. Don’t you? See you in the restaurant in twenty.’
Sid stood in the center of the cold, impersonal room. He could feel it, the night gathering itself, tightening around them like a knot. The presentation was done. The professional obligations were met. All that was left was the wait, and the wait was almost over. He checked his reflection once more, took a deep breath, and went to meet her.