The Algorithm of Us

Lines Crossed

The office was unusually empty that late afternoon. Most interns had left for the day, and the hum of the ventilation system was the only background noise. Anushka was at her workstation, reviewing code on her screen, headphones in, unaware that Ayaan had stepped into the same wing of the lab.

She paused mid-line of code when she heard voices from the adjoining glass meeting room. Curious, she leaned slightly, careful not to be seen. Ayaan's voice carried easily — calm, precise, and unmistakably controlled.

"I'm sorry, Ms. D'Souza. I appreciate the interest, but I don't mix business with... personal distractions."

A second voice, warm and playful, laughed softly.

"Oh, come on, Ayaan. I'm just saying it's harmless fun. You're too serious all the time."

"I prefer to keep focus where it belongs," Ayaan replied, steady, almost protective of the boundary he drew.

Anushka's curiosity morphed into surprise. For all his controlled, commanding presence during meetings, this private glimpse made him real — someone who didn't succumb to flattery or superficial attention. He wasn't infallible, but he was grounded. She felt a subtle shift in perception: admiration tinted with something she couldn't yet define.

Later that evening, the office was quiet again. Anushka sat at her desk, the glow of her laptop illuminating her face. Her phone vibrated softly — a video call from home. She accepted it, and her parents' tense figures filled the small screen.

Their argument had started hours ago over trivial matters, but the weight of years of pretense and unspoken resentment surfaced sharply in that call.

"Why do you always interfere?" her father snapped, voice tight.

"I interfere because you never listen!" her mother shot back, hands trembling. "You think silence fixes everything, but it doesn't!"

"You exaggerate! I've done nothing wrong—"

"Exaggerate? Try living with constant disappointment, that's what it feels like!"

Words tumbled, voices rose, and the cracks in their facade were glaringly visible. Anushka tried to interject calmly, reasoning with them, but it was useless. She excused herself from the call, closing her laptop, tears welling in her eyes. She felt small, overwhelmed, and unbearably alone despite the technology that connected her to home.

Ayaan, passing by on his way to the lounge, noticed her posture immediately. She hadn't wiped her tears, hadn't spoken — just sat frozen, trembling slightly. Without asking, without touching, he pulled a chair next to her desk and sat down.

She flinched slightly at his presence but did not move away. The silence was heavy but not uncomfortable. His mere proximity carried a quiet assurance that words could not.

For minutes, they sat like that — the faint glow of the laptop between them, the hum of the office filling the gaps. Anushka's shoulders relaxed imperceptibly, her breathing steadying. She didn't know if it was relief, gratitude, or recognition of a first, fragile trust forming.

Ayaan, for his part, didn't speak. He didn't offer platitudes or advice. His presence alone was deliberate: steady, attentive, protective. He understood, without needing words, that some burdens couldn't be solved immediately — that sometimes, a safe space and quiet acknowledgment were enough.

In that shared silence, a subtle connection formed. Neither moved toward explicit comfort, yet the unspoken understanding bridged the space between them. She felt seen without exposure; he observed without intrusion.

It was the first time that the professional walls separating them felt porous, the first moment where vulnerability did not demand explanation. Something unspoken had shifted — a recognition that extended beyond admiration, respect, or professional boundaries.

Anushka dabbed her eyes with the edge of her sleeve, and without a word, Ayaan rose, gave a faint nod, and walked away, leaving her with her thoughts. She exhaled slowly, feeling a weight lift slightly.

For the first time, she realized that understanding didn't always need articulation. Presence could speak volumes, and perhaps, for the first time, she wasn't alone in navigating the complexities of her world — personal or professional.