1. The Beginning
If someone had told me I’d end up falling for Arjun Mehra, I would’ve laughed in their face.
He was everything I hated — arrogant, loud, and annoyingly confident.
The kind of man who thought rules were suggestions and hearts were puzzles meant to be broken.
And yet, there he was, standing in the conference room of AdVibe Media, smirking like he owned the place — and apparently, he almost did.
“Team, meet your new creative head,” our manager said, clapping.
“Arjun Mehra.”
He flashed a grin, all charm and danger.
“Looking forward to working with everyone,” he said — his gaze landing directly on me.
It lingered. A challenge.
I straightened my posture, refusing to blink.
“I’m not impressed,” I muttered under my breath.
Unfortunately, he heard me.
“Don’t worry,” he replied smoothly. “You will be.”
God, I already wanted to strangle him.
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2. Sparks and Fire
Working with Arjun was like surviving a thunderstorm — loud, unpredictable, and impossible to ignore.
We were assigned to the same project: a luxury brand campaign that could make or break the company’s quarter. And we disagreed on everything.
“This tagline is too emotional,” he said one afternoon, flipping through my ideas.
“It connects with the audience,” I shot back.
“Or bores them to sleep,” he countered.
We glared at each other across the table. My blood boiled. His lips curved into that annoying half-smile again — the one that made me want to slap him and maybe kiss him, too.
Not that I’d ever admit that.
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3. The Clash
The turning point came during a pitch meeting.
He presented his version of the campaign — bold visuals, sharp words, pure adrenaline.
I followed with mine — warm, heartfelt, layered with emotion.
When the clients left, our manager said, “Both are strong. You two need to find a balance.”
But we didn’t find balance. We found war.
“You think you’re smarter because you use fancy words,” I snapped later in the hallway.
“And you think being sentimental makes you deep,” he fired back.
We stood there, breathing hard, glaring like enemies across a battlefield. Then, suddenly, his expression softened.
“You know,” he said quietly, “you’re the only person who actually argues with me.”
“Because you’re always wrong,” I shot back.
He laughed — and for the first time, I realized how his eyes crinkled when he did.
Something shifted, dangerously.
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4. The Accident
The night before the final presentation, we stayed late in the office. Everyone else had gone home.
I was editing slides; he was pacing with coffee.
It was past midnight when the storm began — thunder, wind, rain pounding against the glass windows.
“Maybe we should call it a night,” I said.
He looked at me, hair slightly damp from when he’d gone to the balcony earlier. “You’re scared of thunder?”
“No,” I lied. “I just don’t like chaos.”
He smiled faintly. “Chaos makes life interesting.”
Then the lights went out.
“Great,” I muttered. “Now we’ll die in a blackout.”
“Relax, drama queen,” he teased. “I’ve got my phone flashlight.”
He shone it toward me — and for a second, our faces were inches apart.
The world outside thundered, but inside, it was just us — our breaths, our stubborn hearts, the strange pull that had been growing for weeks.
And then, without thinking, he kissed me.
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5. The Kiss
It wasn’t gentle.
It was fierce, clumsy, and electric — like we’d both been waiting for it but didn’t want to admit it.
His hand cupped my face; my fingers clutched his shirt. The rain outside felt like background music to a disaster I couldn’t stop.
When we finally broke apart, we were both panting.
“That was a mistake,” I said, trying to sound steady.
“Yeah,” he whispered, still close enough that I could feel his breath.
“A beautiful mistake.”
I pushed him away and grabbed my things.
“Don’t ever do that again.”
But deep down, I wasn’t sure I meant it.
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6. The Silence
For days, we didn’t talk.
Emails became formal. Meetings were awkward. The air between us was sharp enough to cut through.
But every time he walked by, my pulse betrayed me.
One evening, I found him on the rooftop, staring at the city lights. He looked tired — not his usual confident self. Something inside me softened.
“Why do you always have to fight with me?” I asked quietly.
He turned, surprised. “Because it’s the only way I can talk to you without losing my mind.”
I froze.
“Arjun…”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re infuriating. You challenge me, mock me, make me question myself. And I can’t stop thinking about you.”
The rain began again — soft this time, like the sky was listening.
I wanted to say something, but before I could, he walked away.
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7. The Fall
The campaign went live and became a huge success — a perfect mix of his edge and my emotion.
We were praised, celebrated, even shortlisted for an award.
But behind the smiles, something had broken.
He avoided me completely. And I told myself it was for the best.
Then, one night, I saw him at an office party — laughing, glass in hand, standing too close to another woman from marketing. Something ugly twisted in my chest.
Jealousy.
I walked up to him. “Looks like you’ve moved on fast,” I said coldly.
He smirked. “Why, did you expect me to wait?”
The words cut deeper than I wanted to show.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I snapped. “You mean nothing to me.”
He leaned close, his voice low and dangerous. “Funny, because you look like you’re about to cry.”
I slapped him.
And walked away before he could see the tears that really did come later.
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8. The Distance
After that night, we worked like strangers.
Professional, distant, almost robotic.
But every little thing reminded me of him — his coffee mug left on the counter, his cologne lingering in the meeting room, the empty rooftop that still echoed his voice.
One evening, I received an email:
“Transfer approved — Arjun Mehra, London Office.”
My heart sank.
I didn’t even know why I cared. Maybe because I hated the thought of him leaving without a word.
But he did. No goodbye. No closure.
Just silence.
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9. One Year Later
Life went on.
I got promoted. I published a few articles. People called me strong, independent, successful — all the words that sound good on paper but mean nothing when you’re lonely.
Then one morning, I received an invitation:
AdVibe Annual Gala — Celebrating Global Success.
And there it was, his name — Arjun Mehra, Guest Speaker.
I almost didn’t go.
But curiosity is cruel.
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10. The Reunion
The event was glamorous — champagne, cameras, laughter.
And then he walked in, wearing a black suit, looking every bit the man I had tried to forget.
Our eyes met across the room.
The noise faded.
Later, I found him by the balcony — just like old times.
“Congratulations,” I said softly.
“You too,” he replied. “Heard your campaign won an award.”
“Yeah.” I hesitated. “London suits you.”
He smiled faintly. “Maybe. But it doesn’t feel like home.”
Something in my chest tightened.
I looked away. “You left without saying goodbye.”
He sighed. “You slapped me.”
“You deserved it.”
He laughed — low, genuine. “I probably did.”
We stood there in silence for a while, the city lights glittering below. Then he said, “Do you still hate me?”
I looked at him — really looked. The arrogance was still there, but so was something softer. Regret. Vulnerability.
“I tried to,” I whispered. “But hate’s too close to love, isn’t it?”
He stepped closer.
“It always was, with us.”
And this time, when he kissed me, there was no storm — just peace.
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11. The Aftermath
We didn’t promise forever that night.
We were both too flawed for fairytales.
But we decided to start again — slowly, carefully, with honesty.
No more pretending hate was safer than love.
He’d still argue about my ideas. I’d still roll my eyes at his ego.
But beneath it all, there was understanding — that strange, rare connection born out of chaos.
Because sometimes, love doesn’t come softly.
Sometimes, it crashes, collides, burns — and still survives.
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12. Epilogue
A year later, we launched another campaign — this time together, officially as partners.
The tagline read:
“Sometimes, the best things start with a fight.”
Arjun looked at me during the press conference and whispered, “Told you chaos makes life interesting.”
I smiled. “And I told you — emotions connect.”
We were both right.
And maybe that’s what love really is — two stubborn hearts learning to meet in the middle.
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Written by Tanya Singh
