Chapter Text
Hey. I'm Shubman.
And my boss is a bitch.
Okay, that's not my opinion. That's just what I've heard. Repeatedly. Usually near the coffee machine. Or whispered after meetings like we're in some corporate horror movie.
His name's Ishan.
Forty. Founder. Tech genius. The kind of guy people suddenly sit straighter around. I swear the air changes when he walks in.
I'm nineteen. Intern. Which is just a fancy word for "please don't let me mess this up." I still check my bank account before ordering food. I still Google things like "how to sound professional in email" even though I've been here three months.
I sit near the back. I just sort of migrated there. It feels safer. I've got my company work on one side of the screen and my college homework on the other. Yes, I know that's risky. No, I have not learned.
Here's the thing. I'm actually decent at coding. I mean, I wouldn't be here if I was terrible. But I overthink. And when I overthink, I rush. And when I rush, I do dumb stuff.
That day started normal.
I came in five minutes late because the metro decided to pause for "operational reasons," which I'm convinced just means vibes were off. I didn't run, but I walked fast enough to look guilty. Grabbed coffee. And began what I'm sure is going to be the weirdest day of my short life.
I had an assignment to test a small feature update. Nothing huge. Just clean it up, run checks, push it to the test branch. I've done it before. Easy.
At the same time, I had a data structures assignment due at midnight. So I was flipping between tabs. Work. Homework. Work. Homework. Like I was juggling two lives.
And it was fine.
Until it wasn't.
I finished testing the feature. Everything looked good. Green checkmarks. No errors. I remember thinking, wow, I'm actually getting the hang of this.
And then I pushed it.
Except.
I didn't push it to the test branch.
I pushed it to the live branch.
I didn't even realize at first. I just leaned back like, okay, productive king, we're done.
Then one of the dashboards on the shared screen flickered.
Then someone from sales said, "Uh... why is this graph doing that?"
That sentence went straight through my spine.
I clicked back into the repo.
Checked the branch name.
Looked again.
And then I saw it.
Not test.
Live.
I had pushed my cute little "harmless" update directly into production.
For a second, I just stared at it like maybe it would undo itself out of embarrassment.
It didn't.
And that's when the panic started.
Alright.
So I'm mid–internal funeral because I just pushed code to live like a clown.
People are moving faster. Computer is pinging. Someone says, "Get Ishan."
And I swear my body just goes cold. Like okay, this is it. My internship lasted three months. That's not embarrassing at all.
I grab my laptop even though it's literally the problem. My chair flies back. I turn the corner too fast—
—and slam straight into him.
Not a soft bump. A full "we share the same oxygen now" collision.
My laptop tilts. He catches it. Obviously. Because of course he has fast reflexes. Of course he does.
And here's where things get worse.
Because I'm slightly taller than him.
So instead of looking up at my terrifying boss...
I'm looking down.
And he's right there.
Close.
Way too close.
His hand is on my forearm to steady me.
And listen.
No one touches me.
Like. Ever.
Not in a dramatic way. Just... I live alone. My friends don't hug. My parents aren't the touchy type. The last time someone held my arm like that was probably a nurse in tenth grade.
So the second his hand wraps around my arm, firm, steady, my brain just—
Blue screen.
He looks up at me.
And I notice things I absolutely do not have time to notice.
Like how his hair is slightly messy today. Not boardroom perfect. Just enough to look human. And his jaw is sharper up close. And his eyes are—
Okay. Stop.
This is not the time to analyze your boss's face.
My brain, however, has other plans.
Why am I noticing that.
Why is this happening right now.
My heart is beating like I ran up stairs but I did not. I walked into my boss. That's all. That's normal. Very corporate behavior.
But why is this... kind of—
No. No.
"What happened?" he asks.
I should answer.
Instead my brain is going:
Why is his hand still on my arm.
Does he know he's still holding my arm.
Do I want him to move it.
No. Yes. No. Shut up.
"I—" I start. My voice cracks. Fantastic. "I pushed to live."
Great. Concise. Love that for me.
A tiny pause.
"You pushed to live," he repeats.
His grip tightens just slightly. Or maybe I imagine it. I don't know. I'm not reliable right now.
I try to answer. Instead I'm aware that we are still close. Like very close. Like if I breathe weird it'll be obvious.
This is the part where I should apologize. Be serious. Act professional.
There are people behind us. I can feel eyes. I can feel heat crawling up my neck. I am absolutely blushing. I haven't blushed since I was fourteen. This is not okay.
Kill me.
He looks at me like he's trying to decide if I'm stupid or brave.
I can feel the blush getting worse. I look composed. I hope I look composed. On the inside I am fighting three battles:
1. I might get fired.
2. I just made a joke.
3. Why does he look like that this close?
He hands the laptop back to me.
"Walk me through it," he says.
Still calm.
Still not moving.
I start explaining. Words tumbling. I'm hyper aware of everything.
The way his thumb shifts slightly against my sleeve.
The way he doesn't step back.
The fact that I can feel his breath when he exhales.
This is insane. I am fixing code. Why am I thinking about this.
I swallow. Try to reset my brain into "engineer mode" instead of "why is my boss dangerously attractive at this distance" mode.
"Which branch?"
"Who reviewed?"
"Did you test locally?"
At one point our shoulders brush.
And I almost forget what I was saying.
This is humiliating.
I manage to fix the issue. Thank God. I can finally breathe.
"I'm sorry," I say automatically.
He looks at me for a long second.
"You'll make worse mistakes," he says. "Next time, watch where you're going."
Oh.
Oh that's about the collision.
And because I cannot leave well enough alone, I say, "I usually do. You're just... unexpectedly solid."
Oh my God.
Why would I say that.
Did that sound weird? That sounded weird. That sounded very weird.
Why am I like this.
There's the faintest shift in his expression. Not a smile. But something close.
"Is that so?" he says.
I want the floor to open.
"No— I mean..... I just didn't expect—" Stop talking. Stop talking. "I'll be more careful."
Please let this moment end.
He steps back finally.
And the space feels too big all of a sudden.
Air returns to my lungs.
And as he walks away, I realize two things:
One, I need to never joke with him again.
Two, I am in serious trouble if standing that close to my boss makes my brain act like this.
This is not sustainable.
I need therapy.