WOUNDED HEART

CHAPTER 3

Meera's two month passed in a blur of manuscripts, meetings, and creative discussions. She worked with new writers, suggested edits, and even received her first praise email from a senior editor. It was everything she had dreamed of.

But sometimes... dreams come wrapped in silence too still to be normal.

It started with little things.

Meera hadn't expected to find a friend so quickly.

Until Anaya walked in.

Anaya was a bubbly intern from the digital team-sharp-witted, full of sarcastic jokes, and the kind of person who could make even dull meetings feel like a gossip session. She had taken a quick liking to Meera, calling her "newbie with a poetic face" and often dragging her to the cafeteria for coffee breaks Meera didn't ask for but secretly looked forward to.

"You're too soft-spoken," Anaya teased one afternoon, nudging her shoulder. "Speak like you own the world. You're a manager now, babe."

Meera laughed, blushing. "I'm still learning."

"Learn fast," Anaya winked. "People here smile a lot, but half the time, I don't know what they're really thinking."

That comment stuck with Meera longer than she expected.

They shared lunch. Exchanged silly memes over email. Once, Meera even stayed back late just because Anaya didn't want to walk to the bus stop alone. It was nice. Familiar. Like a little sister she never had.

But then, one morning, Anaya didn't show up.

At first, Meera assumed she was just late.

But by afternoon, when her seat remained empty, Meera asked someone from her team, "Is Anaya on leave today?"

The girl glanced at her, surprised. "Didn't you hear? She resigned yesterday."

Meera blinked. "Resigned? But... she never said anything. We had plans to grab chai today."

The girl shrugged. "HR said she mailed in her resignation last night. Immediate exit."

Meera felt something strange tighten in her chest. That wasn't like Anaya. She loved to talk. Would've ranted about her decision, fussed over goodbyes. She wouldn't have left without a word.

During her break, Meera quietly went to HR to confirm.

"Yes," the woman at the desk said without looking up. "Anaya Sharma. Voluntary resignation. She mailed it in after work hours. IT deactivated her credentials this morning."

"Did she leave any message or note?" Meera asked, forcing a polite tone.

"Nope. Nothing unusual."

But it was unusual.

Anaya had left her scarf on her chair.

Her half-drunk mug of tea still sat on the corner of the desk.

No goodbye. No explanation. No forwarding number.

Just silence.

That evening, Meera sat at her own desk long after everyone had gone, staring at her inbox-hoping maybe Anaya had sent her something. A message. A goodbye.

Nothing.

Only the cold glow of the screen and the soft hum of the office lights above her.

And for the first time since joining Indigo Quill, Meera felt it-

That something wasn't quite right.

The warmth of Anaya's laughter had barely faded from Meera's memory, but its absence rang louder each passing day.

Indigo Quill still glimmered with its sleek glass walls, polished floors, and carefully curated modern art pieces that lined the hallways. Everything looked normal-elegant, precise, and high-functioning. But the deeper Meera sank into the daily rhythm, the more she realized that Indigo Quill was a place of surface smiles and whispered silences.

It had been four days since Anaya vanished without a goodbye, and Meera still felt the echo of something wrong vibrating through the space where her friend once sat. She found herself glancing at the empty cubicle more often than she'd admit. The HR lady had told her it was a "clean exit." But Anaya's half-written notes were still pinned to her corkboard. Her mug with the words "Trust No One" still sat there, gathering dust.

The words felt ironic now. Like a warning.

That Thursday evening, after back-to-back meetings and a minor editing crisis, Meera stayed late to wrap up an overdue report. Most of the office had already emptied out. A few night-shift editors clicked away in the design bay, and the lights above the reception flickered with the sleepy yellow hue of after-hours.

She packed her laptop, slung her bag over her shoulder, and headed toward the lift. But just as she stepped inside, the lights above her flickered-once, twice-then went completely dark for a moment. The elevator jerked suddenly before resuming its motion, slower than usual. She glanced at the panel. The LED showed something strange:

"B2" - glowing faintly for a split second before blinking back to "G".

Meera's breath caught.

She had never seen that floor listed before.

Even during orientation, the HR presentation had shown only the main floors and B1-used mostly for inventory and archived files.

B2 wasn't supposed to exist.

She tried to shake it off as a glitch, but her heart didn't buy it. Curiosity prickled under her skin like static. When the lift doors opened on the ground floor, she paused.

Instead of heading out, she took the stairs.

The polished white staircase spiraled neatly downward, echoing with each step. B1 was dim and quiet-rows of metal shelves stacked with old manuscripts, design props, and printing tools. She had been here once before with Anaya.

But something drew her deeper.

She found another set of stairs, older, narrower, behind a metal door marked "Authorized Personnel Only."

She hesitated.

Every instinct told her to turn back.

But her feet moved on their own.

The air grew colder as she descended, the light flickering in the stairwell like a dying heartbeat. When she reached the bottom, a strange sight greeted her.

A long hallway. Dimly lit. Silent.

The tiles here were darker, the paint slightly cracked, and a musty scent hung in the air not old, exactly. Just... closed.

She crept forward, heart pounding.

Down the hall was a door. Heavy, metal, unmarked.

As she approached, she noticed a camera nestled in the corner above. For a moment, she wondered if she was being watched. But the red light on it was off.

She reached out, slowly placing her hand on the door.

Before she could push it open-

A voice broke the silence.

"Excuse me. You shouldn't be here."

Meera spun around, heart in her throat.

A tall man stood behind her in a grey suit, no name tag, no emotion on his face. His voice was calm but carried the weight of command.

"I'm... sorry," she said quickly, stepping back. "I was looking for the inventory office. I think I took the wrong staircase."

The man studied her for a long moment before nodding slightly. "This area is off-limits. Kindly return to your floor."

Meera didn't argue.

She rushed past him, climbing the stairs two steps at a time, her heart racing.

Back in the main lobby, she forced herself to walk slowly to avoid suspicion. But the feeling in her gut didn't fade.

When she got home that night, sleep didn't come easy.

She kept replaying the moment in her head-the blank hallway, the unmarked door, and the man who had appeared so silently, as if he had been waiting.

---

The next morning, she entered the office early, trying to act normal.

But things were... off.

A designer she barely knew-a quiet woman named Nidhi-stared at her for a moment too long near the coffee machine. When Meera offered a polite smile, the woman looked away quickly, whispering something to a colleague.

At 11 a.m., she received an internal message from an unknown ID.

"You should be careful where you wander."

There was no sender name. No trace in her inbox. Just a popup that disappeared in seconds.

She stared at her screen, fingers frozen.

Was this a prank?

Was someone watching her?

She swallowed hard and decided not to mention it to anyone. Not yet.

---

At lunch, something strange happened.

Karan Malhotra the elusive, enigmatic owner of Indigo Quill approached her near the central lounge.

Tall, sharply dressed, and almost too poised, Karan had the aura of someone used to being obeyed without question. Meera had only one interaction with him until now. He rarely interacted with new staff.

But today, he smiled at her.

"Ms. Meera" he asked smoothly.

She nodded, startled. "Yes, sir."

"Would you mind joining me for lunch? I want to discuss something with you about new project."

She nodded, unsure if she could refuse.

They walked toward the executive lounge a place . The doors slid open to reveal a plush, private dining room. White marble floors. Dim gold lighting. Soft jazz playing.

They sat at a corner table, away from the others.

Karan ordered without asking grilled vegetables, lentil soup, and lemon tea. Meera tried to hide her discomfort.

"So, how are you finding your new role?" he asked, sipping his tea.

"It's... exciting," she said carefully. "A bit overwhelming, but I'm learning."

"And the office? Comfortable environment?"

She nodded again, watching him closely. "Yes. Though... I did notice some restricted areas in the basement yesterday by mistake."

His expression didn't flicker. Not even a blink.

"We have confidential printing operations in B1," he replied smoothly. "Some government contracts. Sensitive material."

"Of course," Meera said softly.

But something in his voice felt too... prepared.

As if the answer had been practiced.

When lunch ended, he stood, buttoning his coat. "Let me know if anything ever feels... unclear. We like transparency here."

She smiled, nodded, and thanked him.

But her stomach twisted as she watched him walk away.

Because for all his talk of transparency, there was a mirror behind him-and for a brief second, Meera saw something in his reflection.

A second face.

Someone watching their conversation from the far end of the room, almost hidden behind the glass partition.

And when she turned around to look directly-there was no one there.

They talk about only work and upcoming projects and after some time Meera come out of the dining hall.

---

Back at her desk, Meera found her files rearranged.

Not deleted. Not altered.

Just... moved.

A folder she always kept on the left was now on the right. Her system settings had reset.

She hadn't done that.

Was IT updating systems? Or... something else?

She walked down to the tech bay and asked casually, "Hey, did anyone update my system today?"

The guy at the desk shook his head. "Nope. Your name's not on the queue."

"Maybe an auto patch?"

He frowned. "There wasn't one."

Meera walked away, her throat dry.

Someone had been on her computer.

But once again, there was no proof.

No trail.

No evidence.

Just little things-too small to accuse, but too strange to ignore.

That evening, as she left the building, she glanced up at the glass windows of the upper floors.

One light flickered on the executive level.

She could've sworn she saw someone watching her.

But when she looked again-it was gone.

"First, it was Karan Malhotra inviting her to lunch out of the blue. Now, she couldn't shake the unsettling feeling of being watched. Something about all of it felt... off."

__________

Note :

In the next chapter i will introduce Abhimanyu sehgal