Just As I Am ?

The project room smelled faintly of strong coffee and whiteboard markers—equal parts stress and potential. Vedha adjusted her chair as Satish wrapped up the morning stand-up.

"Charan will be taking the lead on the design architecture for the wellness app revamp," Satish announced, tapping his tablet. "Vedha, you'll work closely with him on UI transitions and usability testing."

Her stomach flipped. She nodded calmly, pretending her pulse didn't spike at the word closely.

As the others began dispersing, Charan walked over to her desk, stylus and tablet in hand.

"So," he began, a teasing smile playing at his lips, "you ready to suffer through my wireframe sketches again?"

Vedha chuckled. "You still draw arrows like they're part of a war strategy?"

He gasped in mock indignation. "It's called 'strategic flow.' Art, really."

"It's chaos."

"Fine. Strategic chaos," he corrected with a wink.

They headed to a quieter corner of the breakout zone, laptops open, coffee mugs steaming beside them. Outside the tall windows, Chennai's sun cast filtered patterns on the polished floor, making the space feel softer, warmer. They dove into design layouts and component hierarchies, their laptops surrounded by a growing forest of sticky notes and doodles.

She glanced at his tablet, amused. "You still sketch before jumping to Figma?"

"Always," he said. "Digital feels cold. Pen makes me think."

"Very analog of you."

"You still hoard stationery like it's gold?"

She blinked. "How do you even remember that?"

"You were the only one who came to class with three shades of highlighters and a fountain pen."

She mock-sighed. "That pen was sacred. My mom gifted it."

"I'm not mocking," he said, a little more gently. "It suited you. Kind of like this green kurta. Quiet detail. Not loud, but very you."

Vedha didn't know how to respond to that. Her fingers tapped lightly on the trackpad, buying time. Compliments always unsettled her—especially the kind that felt like someone saw her.

They worked for nearly two hours, slipping into the kind of rhythm that felt almost like remembering a song you hadn't heard in years. Vedha handled interface animations while Charan experimented with new layout grids. There were disagreements, of course, like whether the 'Relax' tab on the app needed a calming color palette or something more experimental.

"It's a wellness app, not a neon disco," she argued.

"But who says wellness has to be pastel?" he countered, holding up a bright coral mockup.

She gave him a slow look. "Charan... your design is giving 'spa with a DJ.'"

He laughed, holding up his hands. "Okay, okay. Muted coral?"

"Compromise accepted."

By noon, the table looked like it had weathered a small storm—scribbles, empty snack wrappers, and a long, enthusiastic to-do list.

Alekhya breezed in with a biscuit packet and a grin.

"Well, well," she said, eyes gleaming. "Look who's deep in designer telepathy."

Charan looked up. "It's called focus."

Vedha smirked. "Or selective hearing. He ignored me for ten minutes."

"I was in the zone, okay?" he said, grinning.

Alekhya leaned down and whispered, "Is that what they're calling flirtation these days?"

"Alekhya," Vedha muttered, cheeks warming.

"What? I'm just saying... there's tension. And it's design-certified."

Later in the afternoon, Vedha walked into the pantry. She wasn't expecting him to be there again—but he was. Mug in hand, stirring his coffee slowly.

"You again," she said, grabbing a teabag.

"Coffee break or escape plan?"

"A little of both. You?"

"Same. Needed a break from debating font sizes with myself."

She leaned against the counter. "So, what font did you offend this time?"

"Vedha," he said dramatically. "I would never disrespect typography. I merely challenged Helvetica's monopoly."

She rolled her eyes. "Blasphemy."

He smiled, that same easy, familiar smile. "You ever think about how far we've come from those days? From squinting at color wheels in dark labs to... building real things?"

"All the time," she said softly. "But sometimes it still feels like I'm pretending. Like I'm waiting for someone to tap me on the shoulder and say, 'Oops, sorry, you don't belong here.'"

Charan's expression shifted, more serious now. "Imposter syndrome. Every designer's secret roommate."

"You get it?"

"I used to panic every time I presented a wireframe in front of clients," he admitted. "Felt like they'd see through me. But you fake calm long enough, and it becomes real."

She looked at him for a beat. "That's... actually comforting."

He shrugged. "It's either that or cry over failed user tests."

"Been there," she said, grinning.

There was a brief silence, not awkward—just gently charged.

Then he said, "I kept something, you know."

She raised an eyebrow. "What?"

He pulled out his phone and found an old photo. "From Stella Tech." It was blurry but unmistakable—Vedha in the corner of the design lab, head bent over a notebook.

She blinked. "You still have this?"

"I don't delete memories easily."

She was stunned for a second, then smirked. "Stalker vibes, Charan."

He laughed. "Please. I was inspired. You were always lost in thought, scribbling. I used to wonder what you were writing."

"Mostly angst and overthinking," she replied. "I once wrote an entire poem about my mouse not working during a review."

He grinned. "Sounds intense."

"I called it 'The Scroll That Never Was.' Very Shakespearean."

He laughed again, head thrown back this time.

Something fluttered in her chest.

"I like this," he said.

"What?"

"Us. Talking. It's... effortless."

She didn't respond right away. Instead, she just looked at him—really looked. "Yeah. It is."

Back at her desk, Alekhya was waiting like a hawk.

"Okay, spill," she said, following Vedha to her seat.

"Nothing to spill," Vedha replied, trying and failing to look nonchalant.

"Vedha. He smiles at you like your debug logs are poetry."

Vedha groaned. "I swear, one more line like that and I'm revoking your snack privileges."

But truthfully? Deep down?

She didn't mind it. Not even a little.

Because somehow, in between wires and words, she felt seen.

And that feeling was hard to ignore.