"No Strings Attached"

The ride back home felt longer than it usually did, each minute stretching into the next as Aarohi sat in silence, her thoughts swirling around her like a storm she couldn't escape. She hadn't expected an immediate yes from Ayaan, but the weight of his words lingered in her chest, heavy and complex. There was a quietness to the way he spoke about Zaika, a reverence for the place that resonated deeply with her. It wasn't just a restaurant to him; it was more than that—it was his legacy, his heart laid bare in every dish, every corner of the establishment.

By the time she stepped through the door of her apartment, the exhaustion of the day weighed down on her. But it wasn't the physical exhaustion that called to her now—it was the mental and emotional fatigue of trying to connect the dots between her vision and Ayaan's world. She barely glanced at her surroundings as she made her way to the bed, her body moving on autopilot.

She collapsed onto the soft mattress, her eyes unfocused as she stared at the ceiling, her mind still replaying the conversation from earlier. The world outside her window blurred into the background as her thoughts turned inward. How strange it was, she mused, how deeply people could become attached to even the smallest of things—how they could form bonds with places, with moments, with people in ways that were almost sacred.

Zaika wasn't just another restaurant to Ayaan—it was the product of his dreams, his struggles, his quiet victories. She could feel it now, in the silence that hung between them during their conversation. His connection to it wasn't driven by ambition or fame. It was something pure, something raw, something that had been built on the foundation of his own desires, his own need to create. His passion for cooking, his desire to see happy faces, had formed the very heart of Zaika, and that heart beat in sync with his own.

She closed her eyes, the image of Ayaan sitting there, his eyes softening as he spoke about the laughter and peace he found in his kitchen, replaying in her mind. How beautifully simple, how profoundly true, his intentions were. He hadn't set out to create an empire; he had simply wanted to bring joy to others, to connect with them through the one thing he truly loved—cooking.

And yet, for all its beauty, there was a kind of tragedy in it too. Zaika was more than just a restaurant to him, but to the outside world, it was another business. Another story to be told, another pitch to be sold. It made her realize how easily something so pure could be misunderstood, how the raw emotion behind it could be overshadowed by the need for growth, for expansion, for recognition.

Aarohi turned onto her side, pulling the blanket up to her chin as she let the silence settle around her. She had walked into that meeting with one vision, one understanding of what Zaika could become. But now, she was beginning to see it from his eyes—a place of authenticity, of heart.

The bond Ayaan shared with Zaika was not something that could be replicated or replaced by any marketing strategy, no matter how convincing. It was a bond born from years of dedication, of love for something that had taken shape under his care. And as she lay there, her thoughts drifting, she couldn't help but admire the purity of that connection—the unwavering commitment to keep Zaika as it was, untouched by the outside world's demands.

Aarohi knew she couldn't force him to see things her way. She couldn't make him change his approach to Zaika, to his vision. But perhaps, she thought, there was another way—another path forward, one that didn't compromise what Zaika was, but rather helped it grow without losing its soul. She closed her eyes, a deep sense of understanding settling within her. Tomorrow, she would have to find a way to show Ayaan that her proposal wasn't about changing Zaika—it was about preserving it, while introducing it to a world that could benefit from what he had created.

For now, though, all she could do was rest, her thoughts swirling into a quiet lullaby of possibilities, as the soft hum of the city outside echoed in the distance.

Meanwhile In The Office Room

The silence in the meeting room stretched like a taut wire, vibrating with the weight of unspoken thoughts. Ayaan sat motionless, his gaze fixed on the polished surface of the table, but his mind churned—a storm of doubts, lingering words, and a voice that still echoed in his ears.

Aarohi's proposal, her certainty, the sharpness in her eyes as she spoke of growth—it looped in his head, over and over, until it drowned out everything else. His fingers, folded together, tapped restlessly on the wood, as though seeking a rhythm that could settle the chaos within.

It was then that the quiet was pierced by the soft scuff of footsteps, followed by the easy drawl of Karan's voice.

"Yo, buddy. How was the offer? Did she manage to talk you into it?"

Ayaan's gaze lifted slowly, the corners of his lips curving just enough to betray the faintest hint of a smile. He leaned back in his chair, fingers still tapping a rhythm only he could hear. "Karan," he said, his voice calm but edged with something heavier, something that lay beneath the surface, "just tell me something. Do you think it's a good idea for Zaika to enter the competition? The pitcher said it'd bring growth to Zaika… What do you think?"

Karan raised an eyebrow, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and understanding. He leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, exuding the same ease that had come with years of knowing Ayaan. After a pause, he shrugged, the grin on his face spreading wider.

"Honestly, buddy," Karan began, his voice steady, "Zaika should enter. Growing up won't weaken your bond with it. It's you and Zaika, man—that's the heart of it. None of the rest matters."

His words, simple yet profound, settled into the air like the quiet after a storm. Ayaan didn't speak for a moment, his gaze unfocused as he mulled over Karan's perspective. The tension in his shoulders had loosened just a fraction, but the question still lingered, hanging between them.

"You think so?" Ayaan's voice was softer now, as if Karan had just handed him a piece of a puzzle he hadn't known was missing.

Karan pushed himself off the doorframe and walked over to the table with a smooth, unhurried stride. He placed a hand on Ayaan's shoulder, squeezing it firmly—reassuringly—and letting the silence stretch a little longer before speaking.

"Yeah, man," Karan said with a grin. "Zaika's not just a restaurant. It's a part of you. As long as your heart's in it, it's gonna keep its soul, no matter how big it gets. Growth is nothing to be scared of. It's all about balance. You and Zaika built something real together. Nothing, not even a little competition, can take that away."

Ayaan sat there, still and silent, his thoughts swirling. Karan's words, so simple yet heavy with truth, settled deep into his bones.

The responsibility of Zaika had always weighed on him, but now, for the first time, he felt the pressure shift. Growth didn't have to mean losing what made Zaika his—it could just be a new chapter, one that expanded what was already there.

After what felt like an eternity, Ayaan nodded slowly.

Karan, sensing the shift in his friend, grinned triumphantly. "See? I told you. Now, how about we grab a drink and talk about something that doesn't involve business for once?"

Ayaan let out a quiet laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing. He stood up, the decision still lingering in the back of his mind, but the clarity that came with Karan's reassurance now felt more tangible. "Sounds good," he replied, the weight of it all still there, but less suffocating.

As they walked out together, the door clicking softly behind them, Ayaan realized that the bond between them wasn't about the decisions, the weight of responsibility, or even the business at hand. It was about understanding, about knowing that Zaika—just like their friendship—wasn't defined by what it appeared to be. It was part of him, and with that, nothing else mattered.

^⁠_⁠^

The first rays of sunlight filtered through the large windows of Zaika, casting a warm, golden hue over the bustling restaurant. The early morning air was crisp, but inside, the atmosphere was alive with energy and anticipation. The smell of freshly baked bread and sizzling spices filled the air, a perfect blend of comfort and warmth.

The restaurant was already full—every table occupied with patrons, the hum of conversation blending with the clatter of plates and cutlery. Laughter bubbled up from different corners of the room, as friends shared stories over steaming cups of chai, couples exchanged quiet words across the table, and families settled in for a leisurely meal. It was a typical morning at Zaika, yet there was something different in the air today, a feeling that something was about to shift, though no one could quite put their finger on it.

Behind the scenes, the kitchen was a whirlwind of activity. The clanging of pots and pans, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables, and the sizzling of food on the stove created a symphony of sounds that was both familiar and comforting to anyone who had spent time in Zaika. Ayaan stood at the head of the kitchen, his back straight, his face a mask of focus and determination. His hands moved expertly, each gesture a practiced dance, as he oversaw the final touches on the morning's orders.

The kitchen fell into a brief silence as Ayaan's voice cut through the clattering of pots and pans, drawing the attention of everyone around. The rhythmic chopping of vegetables slowed, and the sizzle of food on the stove seemed to pause, as if the entire kitchen had taken a collective breath. Even the youngest of the kitchen staff, the ones who usually kept their heads down, lifted their eyes to meet Ayaan's.

Ayaan stood at the center, his stance tall and unwavering, his face a picture of calmness that reflected both the weight of the decision and the trust he had in his team. His hands, usually so busy with the preparation of food, were now folded in front of him as he scanned the faces of his loyal staff, his family in every sense of the word.

"I had a meeting with a company representative yesterday," Ayaan continued, his voice steady but laced with a hint of something more—perhaps uncertainty, or the desire to hear his team's honest thoughts. "She pitched an idea—an event where Zaika would be a part of a competition, a chance to showcase our food in front of a larger audience. She believes it could help us grow, bring in more people, maybe even more recognition."

He paused, the room still waiting for his next words, for the verdict, the reason they had all gathered here.

"But," he went on, his gaze sweeping over each face in the room, "I want to hear your opinions on this. I want to know if Zaika should join or not. It's not just my decision. Zaika is all of you, and I value your thoughts. So, what do you think?"

The kitchen staff exchanged glances, the weight of Ayaan's words settling into their minds. This wasn't just about business; it was about the heart of Zaika—the soul they had all poured into it. Each one of them had a hand in its success, whether it was the way the food was prepared, the way customers were greeted, or the way the kitchen had come together as a family.

One of the older chefs, Manoj, who had been with Zaika since the very beginning, was the first to speak. His voice was rough but filled with the experience that only years of dedication could bring. "Ayaan," he said slowly, "Zaika has always been about quality, not about competing with others. Our food speaks for itself, and people come here for the warmth and the authenticity, not because we're in some competition. But if this event will bring more people to see what we're really about, maybe it's worth considering."

Another staff member, Raj, who worked the grill, nodded thoughtfully. "I agree with Manoj Sir. We've built something special here, and we've always said we'd never change who we are. But if we can share that with more people without losing what makes Zaika... Zaika, then it could be a good thing."

Ayaan listened intently, his expression unchanged but his mind working through the possibilities. It was clear that his team understood the delicate balance that made Zaika unique. They weren't just cooks and servers; they were the heartbeat of the restaurant.

He took a deep breath, his fingers brushing over the counter as he turned back to face them. "I appreciate you all more than you know," he said quietly, his voice steady, but tinged with something raw—vulnerability, perhaps. "Zaika has always been about the heart. You're right. It's not just the food. It's the people we serve and the way we serve them. I don't want to change that. But at the same time, I know we can't stay in the same place forever. If we don't take risks, we'll just fade into the background."

He paused again, his gaze meeting each of theirs, looking for understanding, for the shared belief in what they had built together.

"I don't want to lose what makes Zaika special," he continued, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. "But maybe this is the opportunity we've been waiting for. To grow, to share what we have with more people, without losing the heart of it. We don't have to change who we are to succeed. We just need to make sure we stay true to what makes us... us."

Manoj spoke again, his voice softer now, but with the same depth of experience. "We've all seen how much you've put into Zaika, Ayaan. If this is what you think is best, then we'll support you. We've always been a team, and we'll stay that way, no matter what direction you decide to take."

Raj nodded as well, his expression thoughtful. "You've always made the tough calls, and we trust you to do the same now. If this is what's best for Zaika, then we're in. But like you said—no matter what happens, we stay true to who we are."

Ayaan felt a weight lift off his shoulders as the support of his team washed over him. This wasn't just about the decision anymore—it was about their trust in him, their belief in what they had built together.

He looked around at the faces of the people who had stood by him from the beginning, the ones who had helped shape Zaika into what it was, and he realized that the heart of Zaika wasn't just in the food or the business. It was in the people—his family.

"Alright," Ayaan said, his voice firm now, a sense of resolve settling into his chest. "We'll move forward with it. But we do it on our terms. We keep Zaika's soul intact, no matter what happens. Let's show them what we've got."

A collective sense of relief and excitement seemed to fill the room, the tension melting away as they all returned to their work, the clatter of the kitchen resuming in full force. But now, there was a new energy in the air, one of unity, purpose, and an unspoken promise that no matter how much they grew, they would always remain Zaika—heart, soul, and family.

Aarohi's hand froze just before she reached for her laptop as she walked back to her desk. She blinked, surprised to find her boss, Mr. Mehta, standing there, a broad grin on his face. His usual composed demeanor was replaced with an unmistakable excitement that immediately caught her attention.

"Aarohi! You'll never guess what just happened!" he said, his voice filled with the kind of energy that made her pause. She tilted her head, eyebrows raised in curiosity, trying to make sense of the sudden burst of enthusiasm.

"What happened, sir?" she asked, still half in her coffee break haze, not quite prepared for what was coming next.

Mr. Mehta leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing some big secret. "I just got off the phone with Mrs. Sharma. Guess who's going to be part of the event?"

Aarohi raised an eyebrow, her mind still catching up to the energy in the air. "Who?" she asked, knowing Mrs. Sharma was the event coordinator.

"Zaika," he said, practically beaming with pride. "They're in. Ayaan has decided to join the competition."

For a split second, Aarohi's brain went blank. She blinked a few times, processing the words, as a wave of disbelief washed over her. Zaika? The restaurant she had admired, whose food had once sparked a quiet but undeniable curiosity in her? Participating? It didn't make sense.

Zaika? Joining the event?

She couldn't help but let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, her heart leaping in her chest. "Wait... Zaika? Really?"

Mr. Mehta gave her a satisfied nod. "Yep. Ayaan's decision. Mrs. Sharma was thrilled when she got the confirmation. I knew he'd come around—he's been considering it for a while, and now it's official."

Aarohi felt a burst of excitement rush through her. The thought of Zaika, that restaurant with its reputation for excellence and understated charm, being part of such an important event, was both thrilling and a little surreal. It felt like something big was unfolding, something that could change everything for the better.

For a moment, she just stood there, speechless. The weight of the situation finally sinking in. Zaika, the restaurant that seemed untouchable in its own quiet world, was stepping out into the spotlight.

And she was a part of it. Aarohi's mind swirled with possibilities—new connections, new opportunities, and perhaps even new challenges. This event could be the thing that took her career to the next level, just as it would do for Zaika.

Aarohi's lips curved into a genuine, wide smile. "That's amazing!" she exclaimed, her joy unmistakable. "Zaika's going to shine in this competition, I know it."

Her boss chuckled, clearly pleased to see her so excited. "I knew you'd be happy about it. We'll have a lot of work ahead of us, but this is a huge win. The exposure, the opportunity—it's all going to help us, and Zaika, in ways we can't even imagine yet."

Aarohi nodded enthusiastically, already thinking about the next steps. The portfolio she'd been working on suddenly felt even more important—this wasn't just any event anymore; it was Zaika's moment to shine. She couldn't wait to dive back into the work, the creative challenge ahead of her now taking on an entirely new layer of meaning.

"I'll get to work right away, then," she said, her voice brimming with newfound energy. "We'll make sure Zaika's presence at the event is unforgettable."

Mr. Mehta leaned against the edge of Aarohi's desk, a pleased expression on his face. "Aarohi, I have another task for you," he said, his tone lighter, almost conspiratorial.

Aarohi looked up from her screen, a little surprised but eager. "What is it, sir?" she asked, a smile already forming on her lips.

"I need you to go to Zaika," Mr. Mehta began, "Take a bouquet of flowers with you and thank Ayaan personally for accepting our offer to join the event.

This is a big win for all of us, and I want to make sure they know that we're grateful. But there's something else… I want you to assure them that our company will always support them—whether it's with the event or anything else they might need. You'll handle all things Zaika from here on out. No more multitasking, just focus on them. It's important."

Aarohi's eyes widened slightly at the mention of being the point person for Zaika. She'd expected to be involved, but this—this was a big step. It was like a silent promotion, a chance to shine even brighter. She could hardly believe it.

"Of course," she replied without hesitation, feeling a rush of excitement. "I'll head there as soon as possible."

Mr. Mehta smiled approvingly, his confidence in her evident. "I knew you'd be the perfect person for this. Honestly, Aarohi, it's no surprise that Zaika agreed. You've got this incredible way of connecting with people. They trust you. You're going to make sure this event goes off without a hitch. And remember, you're the only one I'm trusting with this. It's yours to handle."

Aarohi felt a wave of pride sweep over her. She hadn't realized it at first, but as she took in his words, she realized how much responsibility was now being entrusted to her. All of it, all the Zaika-related work, was hers to manage. She had never been singled out like this before, and it felt like an incredible compliment—and a huge vote of confidence from Mr. Mehta.

"Thank you, sir," Aarohi said, her voice steady but her heart beating faster with excitement. "I'll take care of everything. You can count on me."

Mr. Mehta nodded and turned to walk away, but not before adding, "I'm not worried. You've got a gift for this. It's all yours now."

As he left, Aarohi sat there for a moment, letting the weight of the situation settle in. She had always worked hard, always tried to prove herself, but now it was like she had earned something she didn't even know she wanted. All eyes in the office seemed to turn toward her, and she could sense the change in the air.

Across the room, a few of her colleagues exchanged glances, their expressions tight with barely-contained jealousy. It was hard to ignore the way their eyes flicked toward her, whispering in hushed tones, clearly envious of her newfound task. They had all been juggling a ton of work, but Aarohi had just been given something that made them feel like they were being left behind. Their assignments had shifted to cover for Aarohi, who was now the face of the Zaika project.

Aarohi could feel their stares, but she didn't care. This was her moment.

Her eyes sparkled as she thought of what this opportunity could mean. Zaika, the restaurant she had long admired, was now officially part of her world. And the fact that she was trusted to handle everything related to it, to be the one to keep things moving smoothly—well, that was more than enough validation for her.

The door to the office clicked shut behind Mr. Mehta, but Aarohi didn't feel alone. She felt like she was walking on air, ready to take on whatever came next with all the energy and determination she could muster.

She stood up, grabbed her purse, and headed out to pick up the bouquet. The rest of her workday could wait. Today was hers, and she intended to make the most of it.

Aarohi's heart fluttered with excitement as she made her way to Zaika, the bouquet in her hands feeling like a small token compared to the weight of what she was about to do. The car ride had been a blur, the only sound in her head the hum of the engine mixed with her nervous thoughts. She had been imagining this moment for days, replaying what she'd say to Ayaan and how she'd handle this delicate task.

But now that the time had come, her mind had started to scramble. "Okay, calm down," she muttered under her breath, trying to steady her nerves. She had to represent her company well—straight, professional, but still warm and polite. She wasn't here to make a personal connection, right? It was all about business.

As she entered Zaika, the familiar aroma of spices and fresh food hit her, grounding her a little. The sleek, stylish decor of the restaurant made it feel like a second home, yet today it felt more intimidating. The manager, a familiar face from her earlier visits, greeted her with a polite nod.

"Good afternoon, Aarohi. Mr. Sharma will be here in just a moment," the manager said smoothly. "Please, wait in the back room for a bit."

Aarohi nodded, trying to compose herself as she walked toward the room. As she entered, she set the bouquet down on the table, glancing at herself in the reflection of the glass.Was her smile too tight? Was she doing this right?But before she could calm her racing thoughts, the door creaked open. Aarohi turned quickly, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw him.

Ayaan.

There he was—dressed in a simple black t-shirt, an apron tied around his waist, his hair falling messily over his forehead, and a pair of glasses perched on his nose. He had the look of someone who had just come from the kitchen, the busy energy of a chef evident in the way he moved. For a moment, Aarohi forgot to breathe.

He looked so different in this setting—more casual, more real. It was hard to reconcile this version of him with the suave, polished image she had seen from their earlier meetings. She had imagined him as a sharp businessperson, not someone so at ease in his element. There was something about seeing him like this that made him seem even more impressive.

Ayaan's eyes briefly flickered to the bouquet in Aarohi's hand, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion. He stood there, watching her as she cleared her throat, suddenly aware of her nervousness.

Aarohi straightened up, forcing herself to focus. She had rehearsed this moment so many times in her head, but now that she was standing in front of Ayaan, the words felt harder to find. Taking a deep breath, she finally spoke, her voice steady but polite.

"Mr. Sharma, here," she said, offering the bouquet with a small but sincere smile. "This is from our company to Zaika for accepting the offer. We're so glad you chose to participate, and we would like to help in every way possible. Please feel free to let us know if you need anything."

Ayaan glanced down at the flowers, then back up at Aarohi, clearly taken aback. He held the bouquet awkwardly for a moment, his gaze shifting between her and the bouquet as if trying to make sense of it all.

"You're here just to say thank you for accepting the deal?" he asked, his tone a little puzzled. "You could've just said all this over the phone. I would have preferred a chat with Mr. Mehta about the details."

Aarohi felt the heat rise to her cheeks, slightly embarrassed. She hadn't anticipated Ayaan's blunt reaction, and it made her wonder if she had overdone it. She hesitated for a moment, then gave a small shrug.

"I... I understand," she replied, trying to maintain her professional composure. "But Mr. Mehta thought it would be more personal to come here and thank you in person. Plus, he mentioned that we want to keep the lines of communication open—just in case there's anything you need during the event preparations."

Ayaan raised an eyebrow, his expression neutral as he glanced at the bouquet again before looking back at her. "Well, in that case, I appreciate the gesture." He said it almost casually, as if it didn't quite matter either way. "I'll make sure to keep you in the loop. I'm sure we'll need your help with a few things along the way." His tone didn't change, but there was something almost dismissive about the way he added the last sentence, as though it was a minor afterthought.

Aarohi couldn't help but notice his aloofness, but she quickly composed herself, reminding herself of her professional role in this. "Of course, anything you need," she replied, trying to match his calm demeanor.

Aarohi hesitated, the words lingering in her throat like an unspoken apology, a weight she had carried for far too long. She watched Ayaan turn toward the door, preparing to leave the room, and her heart raced in a mix of nervousness and determination. She couldn't let him walk away without saying what she had wanted to say that day, the day everything had gone wrong.

"Uh... Mr. Sharma," she called out softly, her voice faltering just for a second. Ayaan paused but didn't turn to face her, giving her just enough space to breathe and gather her thoughts.

"I... I actually wanted to apologize for what happened when I came here as a customer," she continued, each word feeling like a small step toward something she had been avoiding for far too long. "I know it's old, and maybe it seems insignificant now, but that day I was just so surprised, and I... accidentally dropped the glass on you. I swear, I had no intention of doing it on purpose."

Her hands twisted the edges of her blazer, the bouquet forgotten for a moment in the intensity of the moment. She felt her words tumbling out faster now, as though she couldn't stop them even if she tried. "I just wanted to say this then, but I couldn't. So I thought I should at least apologize to you now. I'm genuinely sorry."

The room seemed to stretch with silence after her words, and she wondered if she had said too much or not enough. Would he even care? Did it matter to him?

Ayaan's back was still to her, and for a moment, she thought he hadn't heard her. But then, he spoke, his voice low, barely more than a murmur, yet it carried with it the finality of someone who wanted the matter closed.

"It's fine," he said, the words not as cold as she had expected, but lacking warmth as well. There was a brief pause, before he added, "Don't worry about it."

Without another glance, he turned and walked towards the kitchen, the sound of his footsteps fading as he disappeared behind the door. Aarohi stood there, the air still heavy with the words she had said, her chest tightening in a mix of relief and unease. She had apologized, yes—but was it enough?

Her gaze lingered on the kitchen door, unsure whether to feel at peace or still caught in the unresolved tension of that day.