Manu's fingers moved steadily across the keyboard.
The code was simple. Familiar. Predictable. Lines forming patterns he had written a hundred times before. His screen glowed softly, rows of logic aligning into quiet order. Around him, the office hummed, keyboards clacking, chairs shifting, voices murmuring about deadlines and coffee breaks.
None of it reached him.
Inside, the rhythm continued.
Not aloud. Not on his lips. Only within.
The chant of "Radha" flowed in a steady undercurrent of awareness, unbroken even as his eyes scanned data and his hands typed responses. It had no urgency, no force. Just presence like breathing, like a river that never announced itself. It was a result of a lot of log, patient practice.
He was midway through code when the intercom crackled.
"Manu."
The voice cut through the air.
His fingers paused not from surprise, but acknowledgment. The chant did not stop. It tightened, quickened slightly, as if gathering itself.
Not fear. Not excitement. Attention.
"Come to my office. Immediately."
Around him, a few heads lifted. Someone glanced at the clock. Someone else smirked. Manu did not notice. He straightened his chair, and walked toward the elevator with the same unhurried pace he carried everywhere. Each step echoed faintly, absorbed into the rhythm inside.
The elevator doors slid shut.
The ascent was smooth, silent. The mirror reflected a man in normal clothes, expression calm, eyes steady. Anyone watching would have seen nothing unusual.
Inside, the chant moved faster.
Not louder. Not emotional. Just more present.
He stepped out onto the executive floor and walked toward the office at the corner, the one with glass walls and power woven into every surface.
A knock.
"Come in."
He entered.
The room felt different immediately. Sharper. Heavier. Perfumed. The air carried intention, control, possession, expectation. He stood where he always stood when summoned: hands relaxed at his sides, spine easy, breath even.
She rose.
He heard the heels before he saw her move. The sound circled him, precise and deliberate. He did not turn. There was no need. He was already listening.
Her voice flowed around him measured, intimate, testing.
"You're very efficient, Manu."
Yes, he thought simply.
"But you're also very… distant."
The word passed through him without resistance. Distance implied separation. He did not feel separated from anything.
Her finger touched his jaw.
Warmth registered. Pressure. Texture.
The chant did not break. It accelerated rapidly.
Her proximity changed nothing except the tempo inside, now faster, more alert.
"You're not even nervous."
No, he wasn't.
"So tell me… where is your mind?"
The question hovered.
"Look at me. I am your CEO. I control your career. Your future."
He registered them the way one registers weather.
Wind passing over skin. Sound passing through space.
Her hand closed around his tie. The pressure shifted his balance just enough to require adjustment. He allowed it. Resistance would have been unnecessary effort. His gaze met hers—not because he was pulled, but because it was the most efficient response.
Her eyes were sharp. Searching. Wanting confirmation of effect.
Inside, the chant accelerated even more.
She was close now close enough that he could sense the tension behind her perfume, the need behind her authority. She wanted entry. Validation.
"And yet," she said softly, almost confused, "you won't let me in."
He had to say something now.
"Yes miss, you are my CEO. I am looking at you only." Manu said.
He said that as the most generic response while continuing his chant inwardly.