Destined To Love You

CH 2

Sayra's POV

The sun had climbed a little higher by the time I stepped out of the temple gates, the morning heat beginning to settle over the city like a quiet hum. I slipped into my car, the engine purring to life as I tied my hair into a loose bun and slipped my sunglasses on. The air inside smelled faintly of vanilla and sandalwood from the incense sticks I kept on the dashboard—my own little version of calm before the storm that was my work life.

Traffic was mild, thankfully. Mondays usually weren't kind, but today felt oddly smooth. I tapped the screen to shuffle my playlist—old Bollywood classics mixed with some calming acoustic tunes. I let the music wash over me as I drove through the familiar lanes of South Delhi, past street vendors setting up their stalls, joggers on their last laps, and sleepy-eyed students running for buses.

My office was a tall, glass building nestled in one of the quieter corners of Saket. "DesignVerse"—our firm—was known for blending modern elegance with traditional charm. And I... well, I lived for that balance.

I walked through the sliding doors, offering a polite smile to the receptionist. "Morning, Riya."

"Good morning, ma'am," she replied with a bright smile.

I stepped into the elevator, watching the numbers tick upward. My mind was already going through my mental checklist—client calls, a site visit later in the day, some revisions on the Singhania residence design. Nothing too overwhelming. Just a regular Monday.

The doors dinged open to reveal the buzzing hub of creativity that was the third floor. My floor.

I walked past the line of cubicles, my heels tapping rhythmically on the wooden floor, exchanging greetings with the team, and finally reached my glass cabin. The nameplate outside read:

Sayra Dixit
Senior Interior Designer

I unlocked the door and stepped in, immediately placing my bag on the side table. My cabin was minimalist—white walls, a tall indoor plant in one corner, soft pastel sketches of old projects hung with pride. The huge desk held swatches of fabric, floor plans, two cups from yesterday's caffeine overdose, and a small frame of a photo—me and Meher, clicking a selfie on site in Jaipur, mid-laughter and covered in paint.

I smiled at the memory just as a sharp knock sounded on the glass door.

"Enter," I called out, already knowing who it was.

Simran Kapoor pushed open the door with a dramatic sigh. "Sayraaaaaaa. You're early! Again! What kind of alien are you?"

I chuckled. "Good morning to you too. I came straight from the temple."

Simran plopped herself onto the guest chair, her hair perfectly styled and her blazer a shade of fierce red. She was a walking power-statement.

"You and your sanskari Monday mornings. Ugh. I woke up 15 minutes before I had to leave. My eyeliner rebelled. I rebelled. The end."

I laughed softly, sipping from the cup of water I'd just poured. "You still look like a boss."

She grinned. "Flattery won't save you. We have a presentation at 11, remember? The new resort in Mussoorie?"

I groaned. "Right. Thank you for reminding me. The mood boards are ready. Just need to finalize the lighting plan."

We slipped into work mode seamlessly, switching between professional jargon and gossip like pros. Simran was my office anchor—brilliant, blunt, always ten steps ahead, and yet the only one who called me out on my endless 'perfectionist' tendencies.

The day passed in a blur of site visits, client calls, approving paint samples, fighting with the AC remote, and laughing over chai breaks. By the time the clock hit 6:30, my bun was messy, my kurta a bit crinkled, but my mood surprisingly light.