Chapter 7: Deals, Distractions, and a Dance of Almosts
Narrated by Aanya Kapoor
I woke up to two things:
1. Simba's paw firmly planted on my forehead.
2. A text from Rohan.
Rohan:
"Meeting today. 4 PM. The Ridge. Bring your laptop. And your sarcasm."
I stared at the screen, half-dazed.
The Ridge was a co-working café downtown — a little too hipster for my taste, but great coffee and decent WiFi.
Why there?
Why now?
Still… I couldn't help but feel a little thrill in my chest.
Maybe it was stupid.
Maybe it was reckless.
But after last night's phone call — the vulnerability, the honesty — some part of me wasn't scared anymore.
Some part of me was ready to trust.
Maybe not completely.
But enough to show up.
---
By 3:45 PM, I was outside The Ridge.
Laptop in my tote.
Simba's fur still clinging to my jacket.
Heart pounding so loudly I was surprised passersby weren't giving me concerned looks.
Inside, the place smelled like expensive coffee beans and ambition.
Freelancers clicked away at keyboards.
Startup bros huddled around whiteboards.
A girl in a beanie was aggressively sketching what looked like a dystopian unicorn.
And in the back, by the windows, sat Rohan.
God help me.
He looked obnoxiously good.
Dark green henley. Sleeves shoved up to his elbows.
Messy hair that practically screamed run your fingers through me.
I took a breath, squared my shoulders, and walked over.
"You're early," I said, sliding into the seat across from him.
"You're late," he countered, grinning.
I checked my watch.
3:59 PM.
"Technically, I'm early."
"Technically," he agreed, pushing a latte toward me. "But I like when you argue with me. It's charming."
I narrowed my eyes, but couldn't fight the smile tugging at my lips.
"Flattery will get you nowhere," I said, taking a sip.
It was my favorite: caramel latte, extra foam, just the right amount of sweetness.
He remembered.
Of course he did.
---
"So," I said, setting down the cup. "What's this big meeting about?"
He leaned in, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"I might have found us some help."
"Us?"
He smiled — slow, wicked.
The kind of smile that should come with a warning label.
"You and your app," he said. "Me and my questionable reputation."
I snorted. "Sounds promising."
He pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, and slid it across the table.
On the screen was an email thread.
Subject line: Potential Collaboration Inquiry.
From: Arjun Mehta.
My stomach flipped.
Arjun Mehta was the name in tech mentorships — ran a huge accelerator program, helped dozens of startups get funding, built apps that went viral overnight.
And he wanted to meet us.
"How?" I breathed.
Rohan shrugged, like it was no big deal. "Old connection. I reached out after... everything. Thought maybe it was time to stop hiding."
I looked up at him.
Really looked.
And for the first time, I saw it — not just the charm and the flirty sarcasm.
The bravery.
He was risking it.
All of it.
For me.
For us.
---
"Okay," I said, forcing my voice to be steady. "What's the catch?"
He smiled. "He wants a demo. A live one."
My heart sank.
"Nudge isn't ready," I said. "It's barely in beta. Half the features crash if you sneeze too hard."
"I know," he said. "That's why I asked you to bring your laptop."
He pulled out his own.
"Today," he said, "we debug. We polish. We prep."
"And tomorrow?" I asked.
He grinned.
"Tomorrow, we impress the hell out of Arjun Mehta."
---
We spent the next four hours hunched over our laptops, deep in code and caffeine.
There were arguments.
"There's no way that feature matters!" I snapped.
"It matters because users are lazy!" Rohan shot back.
There were insults.
"You code like a drunk hamster," I muttered.
"You design like a colorblind squirrel," he countered.
There were moments of laughter — real, full-body, snorting laughter — when the app randomly renamed all the buttons to 'boop'.
There were accidental brushes of hands across the keyboards, quick glances that lasted a heartbeat too long, silences filled with unsaid things.
By the time the sun started dipping below the horizon, the app was... not perfect.
But it was good.
Better.
Ours.
---
We leaned back in our chairs, exhausted but buzzing.
"We might actually pull this off," I said.
"We will," he said, confidence ringing clear.
I smiled.
For the first time in a long time, I believed it too.
---
"Okay," Rohan said, stretching his arms over his head — and giving me an unfortunate glimpse of toned abs under his shirt. "Time for a break."
I shook my head, laughing. "You have the attention span of a goldfish."
"Incorrect," he said. "Goldfish have a memory of at least three seconds. I have four."
I rolled my eyes. "What kind of break?"
He grinned mischievously.
"Come with me," he said, grabbing his jacket.
Before I could protest, he was tugging me toward the side door.
---
The Ridge had a rooftop garden — a poorly kept secret, fairy-lit and breezy, usually deserted at night.
Tonight, it was empty.
Just us.
And the city lights glittering beyond the edge of the building.
Rohan walked over to an old Bluetooth speaker tucked in the corner, fiddled with it for a second, then shot me a look.
"Trust me?"
Dangerous words.
But somehow… I did.
He pressed play.
Soft, jazzy music filled the air.
He held out his hand.
"One dance," he said, smiling like he knew exactly how dangerous he was.
I hesitated.
Dancing?
With him?
In a place like this, at a time like this?
It was stupid.
It was reckless.
It was perfect.
I put my hand in his.
---
He pulled me close — not too close, just enough to feel the warmth radiating off him.
We swayed.
Badly.
Terribly.
He stepped on my foot once.
I elbowed him in the ribs.
We laughed so hard, we almost collapsed.
But then...
Then the laughter faded.
And there was just this.
This closeness.
This breathless, shimmering thing between us.
His hand settled at my waist.
Mine found his shoulder.
His forehead rested against mine.
And for a moment — a heartbeat, a breath — it felt like we were the only two people in the world.
Like maybe, just maybe, we could have this.
All of it.
Without fear.
Without doubt.
Without ghosts from the past clawing us apart.
---
But just as I closed my eyes, just as I leaned a little closer…
His phone buzzed.
Urgent.
Loud.
Jarring.
We froze.
Reality slammed back in.
He pulled away, checking the screen.
I watched the color drain from his face.
"What is it?" I asked, heart hammering.
He swallowed.
Looked at me.
And said:
"Isha just filed a lawsuit."
---
End of Chapter 7.
---
Teaser for Chapter 8:
A legal threat.
A choice between running or fighting.
And Aanya discovering that sometimes the biggest risks... lead to the biggest rewards.