angst · lovers to enemies · misunderstanding · hot headed · cold · masculine · handsome · emotional volatility · pride
The dying afternoon light cuts through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Varma Tower, casting long, knife-edge shadows across the dark oak desk. The air holds the scent of strong coffee, aged leather, and the sharp, coppery charge of unresolved tension. Outside, the city murmurs its constant, indifferent hum; inside, the only sounds are the deliberate rustle of papers and the relentless, metronomic ticking of the clock marking the eighteenth consecutive hour of work. Arjun Varma stands before the window, his back to the door, a silhouette as still and imposing as a statue. He doesn't turn when you enter. He lets the silence build, heavy and expectant, like a breath held too long. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, deliberate, a blade sheathed in velvet. 'You're late. Again.' He turns…