"Why do all our meetings start with caffeine and end with existential crises?" Harsh muttered, scrolling through a badly formatted manuscript.

"I don't mind the caffeine." I glanced around the room. Aliyah and Shlok were still missing. "Do you know where Aliyah is?"

He shrugged without looking up. "Probably whisper-fighting with Shlok again."

I blinked. "They're fighting?"

"Dunno. Just feels? weird."

It had felt weird lately. Aliyah, usually sharp-tongued and composed, had been quieter. Off. And Shlok - well, Shlok had always been unreadable, but now there was something tighter about the way he carried himself. Like he was holding his breath.

They walked in a moment later. Aliyah's eyes were puffy, rimmed red. Shlok's jaw was clenched, expression unreadable. Shoulders rigid. But a second later, the expression dissolved - replaced by that same cold, calm serenity he wore like a second skin.

By the end of the meeting, he was even joking and complaining about work, offering commentary on the world's worst poetry submissions and an unhealthy number of cookies he pretended he didn't like.

"Do you ever actually do any work?" I asked as he flopped into the chair across from me.

"Define work," he said, stealing one of my post-its and doodling God knows what.

I rolled my eyes. "Something that involves effort. Focus. Commitment."

He looked horrified. "Absolutely not. I'm allergic to all three."

"You say that like it's charming."

"Because it is," he said, flashing a grin that was probably illegal in five countries.

It was... refreshing. Being around him. Shlok didn't care about my past, my moods, or my very complicated relationship with my feelings. He just existed in the moment, like a chaotic cat with excellent hair.

And I was dating Abhi now. That part was still new, still settling in. But it gave me this odd permission to just be around Shlok without overthinking it. Without reading into things that weren't there.

Besides, it was good to have a friend around. A fun one.

Especially when said friend was currently trying to convince me that a poem titled "My Lost Watch" was actually an ironic masterpiece.

"You know," Shlok said, flipping through a particularly awful manuscript, "if I have to read one more poem that rhymes cry with sky, I might actually grow wings and fly into it."

I snorted. "You're being dramatic."

"I'm being realistic," he said. "This one ends with, 'I'll wait and hope, not left alone, / For love and joy to find a home.' What does that even mean?"

He read it in an exaggerated whisper, eyes wide with mock grief. I laughed, and to my surprise, it felt easy. Normal. This was... fine.

Working next to him didn't make me hyper-aware of the fact that he smelled vaguely like coffee and sandalwood. Or that he always tilted his head when reading, like he was trying to see the soul behind the sentence.

"You've been in a suspiciously good mood lately," I said, scribbling a note beside another submission.

He shrugged. "The latte I had this morning was amazing."

He was deflecting. Or maybe distracting himself. I wasn't sure which.

"Ugh!! You are being so annoying, you're not allowed near coffee anymore."

I feigned mock irritation.

"You say that, but here you are - still laughing at my jokes."

I was. Unfortunately.

"Seriously, do you ever work?" I asked again.

"Not when there are foxes to draw and people to annoy," he said, flicking the pen at me.

I caught it mid-air. "You call that a fox?" I pointed the pen toward his doodle. "In what world is that a fox?"

"In the world where people don't judge."

I rolled my eyes and reached for my phone just as it buzzed.

Abhi: Hey, might have to skip dinner tonight. Last-minute work thing. Sorry, rain check?

I stared at the screen for a second.

Third time this week.

Not that I minded. I'd much rather have dinner with Kanika and her aggressive gossip updates than sit through another semi-silent meal with Abhi and his work calls. Still... I wondered if we were actually dating, or just vaguely scheduling each other in between deadlines.

I must've frowned.

"If you frown any harder, I swear you'll summon the moon," Shlok said casually, not even looking up from his doodle.

I blinked, surprised, then caught myself and smoothed my expression. "Uh...What??"

He finally glanced up. "What's wrong?"

"The fact that one of the editors refuses to do his job," I said with a grin, flicking the pen back at him.

He raised an eyebrow. "That's slander. You can't prove it."

"I literally have the poem in my hand."

"Still circumstantial." He grinned and I couldn't suppress a chuckle

And just like that, the heaviness passed - folded neatly under laughter.

Just as Shlok was dramatically reciting a terrible couplet about watches and wind, Aliyah popped her head in.

"Shlok? Got a minute?"

He glanced at me briefly - half annoyed, half unreadable - and stood. "Duty calls," he said with mock solemnity.

As they walked out, she handed him her phone, murmuring something under her breath.

"Tell him yourself next time," I barely caught her saying.

He didn't respond.

Kanika arrived just in time to witness this scene unfold...she leaned in closer, not even pretending to be subtle. "What was that about? I thought she and Harsh were a thing."

I shrugged, fiddling with the corner of my notepad. "You've gotta stop being a gossip for like, five seconds."

She smirked. "As if you're not curious."

"Why would I be curious?"

"I don't know," she said, faux-serious. "Sometimes you look very... humanlike, and I forget that you weren't born but actually created in a lab."

I gave her a look. "Rude."

"True."

Across the table, Shlok returned to his seat like nothing had happened. Aliyah didn't. She disappeared down the corridor with her phone pressed to her ear, face unreadable.

Kanika tilted her head at the empty chair. "Definitely not nothing."

"I said stop," I warned, but my eyes flicked toward the corridor anyway. Not because I cared. Just... habit.

Kanika raised a brow, catching the glance. "Humanlike," she mouthed.

I rolled my eyes and turned back to my notes, pretending to focus. But in the back of my head, I remembered seeing Aliyah in the pantry two days ago - face blotchy, eyes a little too shiny. I hadn't said anything then. Still wasn't planning to. But curiosity was a strange thing. It lingered.

*****

After work, everyone decided to grab drinks - it was Friday, not that this bunch ever needed a reason to party.

I was joining, thanks to Abhi cancelling our dinner plans.

Ryan and Kanika claimed the passenger seats in my car, declaring they planned to get hammered and had no intention of driving back. Which automatically made me the designated driver. Again.

Harsh revved his flashy sports bike. Aliyah, instead of hopping on behind him like usual, quietly said she'd go with Shlok.

He didn't react. Not really. Just gave a small nod and walked to his car like someone who had learned not to ask questions.

The bar was loud, alive, pulsing. We grabbed a booth near the stage. I stuck to cranberry juice. Everyone else dove into tequila and bad decisions.

Someone ordered another round of shots. Kanika was already laughing at something Ryan said, Harsh was telling a story to which Aliyah was nodding and smiling - they looked fine - and I sat back, nursing my glass of cranberry juice like the ever-sober chaperone I never volunteered to be.

It was Ryan who started it.

"Hey Shlok, since you're the only decent singer here, I think you should give us a show. What do you say?"

Shlok gave him a look. "I'm not drunk enough for this."

"We'll fix that!" Harsh shouted, handing him a beer.

A few more taunts and dares, and Shlok stood, muttering, "You're all terrible people."

He sang something soft. Sad. Something that felt older than the room. No dramatics, no show. Just a boy and a broken tune.

For those three minutes, the room stilled.

When he came back to the table, the praise rolled in, but he brushed it off with a grin and slipped away toward the smoking area. Something felt off.

Should I ask him about it? A nice colleague would, right?

...No, I shouldn't meddle. Should I?

After contemplating for a few more seconds, I decided to go out.

He stood just beyond the back door, leaning against the wall, phone in hand, scrolling through something. The air was cool, the hum of the city felt distant.

I hesitated before speaking. "You okay?"

He didn't look at me right away. "Yeah. Just needed air."

The silence that followed wasn't heavy, just? aware.

"You were really good in there," I said. "How'd you get into music?"

That finally made him glance over. "My mom. She was a singer. Performer, actually. Classical stuff, mostly. Quit after she got married, but kept her instruments, her notes? shelves full of them. I used to mess around with them when no one was watching."

His voice had softened, like he was reaching for something he hadn't touched in a while.

I nodded, not sure what to say, but felt like offering something back.

"My mom loved books," I said. "Used to read to me every night - even when I stopped asking. I've still kept her old books, even now that she's gone."

Why am I confessing my life story? Maybe in hopes of knowing more about his. Or maybe... maybe I've found a friend in him.

Shlok looked over again, this time more steadily. "That explains the obsession with words."

I smiled. "And yours with sound."

"Maybe we're just clinging to echoes."

"Maybe."