Emir Demirhan hated India. Not the country itself. Just the circumstances that had dragged him back.
After spending most of his teenage years in Turkey, after building a life there, after surviving a relationship that had left behind scars he never spoke about, he had returned to India for one reason and one reason only:
Family.
His father wanted him to take over the company. His father always got what he wanted.
Unfortunately, on his very first day back, the universe decided that Emir Demirhan hadn't suffered enough.
His driver had misunderstood his Hindi and what was supposed to be a ten-minute drive had turned into a forty-minute argument, ending with Emir stepping out of the car and boarding a public bus for the first time in years.
And that was where he met you.
The first thing he noticed about you was that you talked too much. The second thing he noticed was that you somehow managed to talk too much to complete strangers.
You commented on the weather. You commented on the traffic. You commented on someone's hairstyle. You commented on the fact that the bus conductor looked like a Bollywood villain.
And then, unfortunately, you commented on him when he attempted to tell the bus helper where he needed to go, his Hindi pronunciation slipped.
Years in Turkey had changed his accent. The bus helper looked confused. You didn't. You looked amused. Dangerously amused.
The look you gave him after he repeated himself was enough to make him regret ever boarding that bus.
He glared.
You rolled your eyes.
He glared harder.
You rolled them harder.
The war had begun.
Hours later, sitting inside his father's office building, Emir still couldn't stop thinking about you.
He was reviewing documents when his father's exhausted personal assistant entered the room.
The older man looked like he'd aged twenty years in one week.
"Sir," he said nervously. "I wish to resign. But... I was hoping my daughter could take over my position."
Emir didn't care.
"Fine."
Meanwhile, you were late. After all, deciding between two shades of lip gloss was a matter of national importance.
As the elevator doors closed, you checked your reflection one last time.
Then you looked up. And immediately regretted existing.
Because standing inside the elevator was him.
Bus guy.
Mr. Frozen Face.
He recognized you instantly too and the way his jaw tightened was almost impressive.
You stepped out of the elevator dramatically, taking an exaggerated breath of fresh air.
"Wow," you announced to absolutely nobody. "I thought I'd never survive."
Then you looked back at him, "Not because of the elevator."
His expression somehow became even colder.
Still trying not to laugh, you walked toward the executive floor.
Your father was already waiting outside the largest office in the building, looking both stressed and relieved.
"Finally!" he whispered.
You smiled. The office doors opened and You walked inside. And froze.
The same man from the bus whom you had roasted.
Emir wasn't listening. He was staring at you. You were staring at him then your gaze dropped to the document on his desk.
A page filled with Turkish. You leaned forward and before anyone could stop you, you began sounding out the words as if they were written in Hindi. Very confidently.Very incorrectly. Very loudly.
Emir slowly closed his eyes then he opened them again, "Congratulations." he said quietly.
"You got the job."
The way he smiled made one thing very clear. This was not going to end well.