𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 - 𝙏𝙒𝙊
464 Words
" 2 A.M. AND HIS NAME IN MY HEAD"
~That night I could not sleep.
I lay in bed looking at my ceiling fan going around and around.
His face kept appearing in my head.
Not in a romantic way. I told myself that very firmly. It was professional. I was a crime consultant. He was connected to a murder case. It was completely normal to think about people connected to murder cases at 2 a.m.
I lasted forty-five minutes with that story.
Then I got up, opened my laptop, and typed his name.
Aryan Malhotra.
The results came immediately. Pages of them.
He was big. Not just rich — important. His father had built one of the largest business empires in Maharashtra. His father had also died six years ago. Officially — heart attack. The whispers, I noticed in one old article, said something different. Aryan had taken over the entire company at age twenty-six. Had turned it into something three times bigger.
Every article used the same words about him: Brilliant. Ruthless. Private.
One gossip column said: The most unattainable man in Mumbai.
There were photos.
I should not have looked at the photos.
He was — look. I study people. It is literally my job. So when I say he photographed like someone who knew how to hold themselves, who had a face that cameras liked, who always seemed to be slightly apart from whatever crowd he was standing in — I mean that as an observation.
Not as — whatever my stomach was doing.
I shut the laptop at 2:14 a.m.
Sat in the dark for a bit.
Then I made a mistake.
I took his business card out of my wallet. Set it on my desk.
Just looked at it.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number. One message.
Go to sleep, Dr. Singhania. You will need the energy.
I sat very still.
I typed back: How do you have my number?
Three dots appeared. Like he had been sitting there. Waiting.
You filed a consultation form with the police department. I have a good relationship with the department. Also — I asked.
Then a second message: Also. I saw you look up four times tonight. Go to sleep.
My jaw tightened.
Not from anger.
From something I did not want to name yet.
I typed: This is inappropriate.
His reply came in five seconds.
I know. Go to sleep, Zara.
First name.
He used my first name.
I put my phone face-down. Did not reply. Did not block him.
Did not sleep for two more hours.
When I finally slept, I dreamed about dark eyes that did not look away.
I woke up the next morning annoyed at myself.
The card was still on my desk.
I left it there.
- Writer
