Rudraksh

Rudraksh had overseen countless projects. None had stayed with him like this one.

Perhaps because it had taken time. Or perhaps because Prakriti had been part of every stage—steady, unwavering, thoughtful. Working with her had become familiar in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

During a review, he said, “You’ve made this place feel balanced.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I’ll assume that’s a compliment.”

“It is,” he said easily. “A rare one.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You really should practice giving those.”

“I reserve them for deserving people.”

She looked at him then, a quiet smile on her lips. For a second, he forgot what he had been about to say next.

Professionalism returned quickly. It always did.

But later, when they stood near the completed structure, the conversation slowed.

“You did well,” she said.

“So did you,” he replied. “More than you realize.”

Their eyes met. Neither spoke.

Rudraksh felt the unfamiliar warmth settle in his chest—not urgent, not demanding. Just present.

He didn’t question it. He didn’t name it.

Some things, he knew now, didn’t need immediate definition.