Aanya Mehra believed in patterns.
She believed that the coffee machine on her floor would always break on Mondays, that clients who said "quick call?" meant forty minutes, and that elevators existed solely to make things awkward.
This belief was validated at 9:12 a.m.
The elevator doors slid open, and there he was.
Rohan Kapoor.
She didn't know his name yet—not consciously—but she knew his presence. Tall. Still. Always wearing those neutral colors like he didn't want to be remembered by security cameras. Laptop bag slung over one shoulder, phone in hand, expression unreadable.
They made eye contact.
For half a second too long.
"Hi," she said automatically, because silence felt illegal at that hour.
"Hi," he replied.
That was it. That was the entire exchange.
They stood there as the elevator descended, fluorescent lights humming overhead, their reflections faint in the mirrored walls. He faced forward, posture straight, like someone perpetually bracing for interruption. Aanya stared very intently at the floor numbers lighting up one by one.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
She became acutely aware of how loud her thoughts were.
Say something normal.
Don't say something weird.
Why does this feel like a performance review?
The elevator dinged. He stepped out first without another glance, walking briskly toward the operations wing.
She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
At her desk, her coworker Neha swiveled around almost immediately.
"Was that Rohan?" Neha asked, eyes sparkling the way they always did when there was anything to observe.
"I—who?" Aanya asked, opening her laptop.
Neha leaned closer. "Serious guy. Operations. Barely talks. Looks like he's judging everyone silently."
Aanya frowned. "He said hi."
Neha gasped. "He did?"
"Yes."
"Well. Mark your calendar," Neha said solemnly. "He always looks like he's carrying the weight of the company on his shoulders."
Aanya thought of the way he'd stood in the elevator. Still. Closed off. Like a locked door.
"Maybe he's just… quiet," she said.
Neha shrugged. "Or mysterious. Or grumpy. Hard to tell."
Aanya hummed noncommittally and turned back to her screen, but the image lingered—his voice, low and neutral, so different from the warmth in the words she'd read the night before.
She shook the thought away.
Wrong number. Stranger. Accident.
By lunchtime, she had almost convinced herself it hadn't mattered.
Almost.
Her phone buzzed at 10:47 p.m.
Unknown Number:
How was today?
Did it pop?
She smiled before she could stop herself.
Aanya curled onto her couch, legs tucked under her, the city lights blinking lazily through the window.
Aanya:
No popping.
But no disasters either. I'll take that as a win.
Unknown Number:
Low expectations are the secret to happiness.
Aanya:
Is that wisdom or surrender?
Unknown Number:
A little of both.
She laughed, the sound quiet but real.
Aanya:
You sound much more cheerful than someone who had a long day yesterday.
Unknown Number:
Text makes it easier.
You can edit yourself.
Her fingers paused.
Aanya:
Is that what you're doing?
Unknown Number:
Maybe.
Or maybe this is just the part of me that doesn't talk much during the day.
She stared at the message longer than necessary.
Aanya:
I get that.
Unknown Number:
Do you?
Aanya:
Yeah.
I'm better with words when I don't have to say them out loud.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Reappeared.
Unknown Number:
That makes sense.
She liked that he didn't ask why. That he didn't push.
Her phone buzzed again—this time with a call.
Maya.
She groaned affectionately and answered.
"Don't start," Aanya said immediately.
"Too late," Maya replied. "You disappeared last night. That's suspicious behavior."
"I was tired."
"Mm-hmm."
"And emotionally drained."
"Mmm-hmm."
"And absolutely not talking to a man."
Silence.
Then—"You said that too fast," Maya said.
Aanya rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. "I am not talking to a man."
"Then who are you smiling at?" Maya asked smugly.
Aanya glanced at her phone, still glowing softly in her hand.
"Someone who doesn't know my name," she said carefully.
Maya gasped. "Oh, I hate that I'm intrigued."
"It was an accident," Aanya insisted. "Wrong number."
"And now?"
"And now… we're just talking."
Maya hummed. "Dangerous sentence."
"I know."
They hung up soon after, Maya extracting a promise for brunch that Aanya fully intended to keep.
Aanya ended the call and stayed still for a moment, phone resting against her chest.
Maya's voice echoed faintly in her head — dangerous sentence — but the thought didn't feel dangerous. It felt… quiet. Safe. Like sitting in a room where no one expected anything from her.
Her phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number:
You vanished.
She smiled despite herself.
Aanya:
Sorry.
Friend check-in.
Unknown Number:
The concerned kind?
Aanya:
The kind who knows when I'm lying.
Unknown Number:
Those are rare.
Annoying, but rare.
Aanya laughed softly, pulling a throw blanket over her legs.
Aanya:
She thinks I should be sleeping.
Unknown Number:
And instead you're talking to a stranger.
Aanya:
When you put it like that, it sounds questionable.
Unknown Number:
Only if we make it weird.
Aanya:
Agreed.
Let's not make it weird.
A pause. Longer than the others. She wondered if he'd logged off, if this was where the conversation would naturally end.
Then—
Unknown Number:
For what it's worth,
I like talking to you.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the phone.
Aanya:
Me too.
It's easy.
Another pause.
Unknown Number:
Yeah.
It is.
She stared at the ceiling, listening to the distant hum of traffic outside. The city felt less loud somehow, like someone had turned the volume down.
Aanya:
We don't have to keep talking if it gets strange.
Unknown Number:
It doesn't feel strange to me.
She considered that.
Aanya:
Then… good.
She didn't ask who he was.
He didn't ask who she was.
Somehow, that made it better.
Aanya:
Goodnight, Wrong Number.
Unknown Number:
Goodnight.
She placed the phone face-down beside her, heart unexpectedly light.
Across the city, Rohan Kapoor did the same — slipping his phone into his pocket as he stood by his window, the office lights of nearby buildings still glowing against the dark.
He didn't smile.
He didn't overthink it.
But for the first time all day, the silence didn't feel heavy.