Chapter 4: Confessions and Consequences

I had someone run a background check on Sneha. My friend at an HR agency laughed, “Yaar, these social media types, always some story. Let me dig.” An hour later, he WhatsApped me a PDF thicker than a wedding invitation. Her previous company had gone bankrupt; she’d walked away with a five lakh rupee settlement. Insiders said her boss had harassed her. So Sneha was a repeat offender—a trail of ruined companies and sob stories. The more I read, the more I realized: this wasn’t an amateur.

Spreading rumours to get a payout, then vanishing—how clever. She wanted to confess to reduce her workload? I’d play along—and give her an even bigger “audience.”

The next day, I arrived at the office in the afternoon, wearing my most intimidating suit. The office buzzed with whispers. Even the watchman saluted me extra sharp. Sneha cornered me in the pantry as I made coffee: “Sir, I... I like you.” Her voice was barely audible, too shy to meet my eyes. She fiddled with her ID card, glancing everywhere but at me. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was genuinely nervous.

When I didn’t respond, she pressed on: “Sir, I joined the company just to get closer to you. I’ve liked you for a long time. Can you give me a chance?”

I looked at her coldly. “Kya tum ghar todne aayi ho, kya? You know I have a family, so what’s all this drama today?”

She looked like she wanted to disappear. She shrank back, bravado gone, a single tear sliding down her cheek. I adjusted my shirt collar, glancing at the CCTV camera—so aware of the office eyes.

I didn’t let her explain. The next second, I unlocked my phone, already on a conference call: nearly the entire PR department was listening. Their shocked gasps crackled through the speaker. Some muted themselves, probably to start gossiping.

“Sorry to interrupt your work report, but I hope everyone learns from this: the company allows office romance, but don’t get any ideas about the boss.”

My voice was calm, almost bored, as if I was announcing the dress code. But my message was clear—no more drama.

I didn’t miss the look of utter shock on Sneha’s face: her jaw dropped, eyes wide, clutching her phone with white knuckles. She was practically petrified. This time, the pantry’s AC hummed so loudly no secret recording could be made. I was one step ahead.

Before the day ended, the gossip had spread—with my help. A few ‘accidental’ emails went out. The cleaning staff got wind. Even the liftman was humming a new tune about interns and their “crushes.” The chaiwala downstairs grinned at me: “Bhaiyya, aaj toh office mein picture chal raha hai!”