Familiar Stranger

After all those afternoons in Aliza's cabin—her voice steady and her presence a quiet comfort—I'd almost started to believe that things might feel normal again.

But normal is a fragile thing.

Her space always had a peaceful vibe. It was quiet, and I could breathe. But the moment I stepped back onto the second floor, the loud noise and energy hit me again. Calls, footsteps, keyboards—everything felt louder than it should be.

But no matter how safe her cabin felt, it wasn't always available. She had meetings, calls, interviews—whole hours when she was in her HR bubble. And that was when I started wandering into the studio.

The studio wasn't part of my department, but it had become my safe space. A small room with friendly faces, a cozy atmosphere, and none of the pressure that came with my team.

Karthik was the first person I'd grown comfortable around here, his warm, easy-going energy impossible to resist. Kirti, on the other hand, was the opposite. She spoke in a soft, deliberate voice, never louder than necessary. She was polite, mature, and unfailingly gentle, but she also had a quiet boundary, around her you could feel without her ever saying a word.

And yet, both of them made room for me. Even on days when I wasn't sure I deserved it.

I wasn't close to them in the beginning, but when I told them how my team ignored me, they had opened up a little. So, whenever Aliza was busy, I started spending my breaks with them in the studio.

The studio itself was a funny little room and had its own personality. It itself felt like a separate universe from the rest of the office. One wall had this ancient AC with a remote so useless, you could never tell what temperature you'd set. It was either blasting Arctic winds strong enough to freeze your eyebrows or puffing out air so warm it felt like the AC was sighing in defeat. The opposite wall was green—an enormous green screen that stretched floor to ceiling. Two of the other walls were glass: one completely clear, the other covered in translucent white stripes that blurred the view of the hallway.

Inside, the room was divided into zones by three tables. The small white wooden table was where Kirti usually perched, tapping at her laptop in her quiet, composed way. The full wooden brown table belonged to Ayaan—or at least, that's what everyone said. Back then, it was mostly empty, waiting for him to come back. And the biggest piece of furniture was the massive curved white table, dominated by an ultra-wide production monitor—one of those editing displays that looked exactly like a television until you got close and saw all the video timelines stretched across the screen. I really thought that time it was a TV and they watch dramas, movies and YouTube on it

And then there was the glass door…

God, that door.

The first time I used it; I nearly fractured my shoulder. Most glass doors have the courtesy to swing shut gently when you let go of the handle. But not this one. No, this door was possessed by some spirit. You'd open it, step in, and the instant you released your grip, it would SLAM forward with the strength of a vengeful ghost—slapping the frame with a thud that could shake the floor.

It didn't matter how slowly you tried to ease it closed. The second your hand left the handle; it whooshed forward like it had somewhere urgent to be. More than once, I'd heard it crash shut behind me and wondered if the glass would finally surrender and shatter.

I always imagined it as the studio's way of announcing: Someone's here! Pay attention!

Some days, I wondered if it was alive.

I pushed open the glass door of the studio to say hi to Karthik and Kirti—and of course, the door acted wild again. That door had a mind of its own. When you let go of the handle, it didn't close slowly like other glass doors. No. It rushed forward and slammed shut with a loud bang. Every single time. It was like it had anger issues or something. One time it even pushed me hard—almost made me fall.

"God, this door is cursed," I mumbled, rubbing my shoulder.

Karthik looked up and laughed. "One day it'll throw someone straight across the floor."

Kirti smiled, like always, quietly enjoying the drama.

"Break time?" he teased.

"Sort of," I said, dropping into the chair beside him. "I needed a change of scenery."

Kirti was perched on the edge of her chair, her laptop is in her lap. She gave me her soft, polite smile, but as usual, she didn't say much.

"Nothing," I sighed

Karthik chuckled under his breath. He had a way of making everything sound casual, even when it wasn't.

"By the way," he said, lowering his voice, "you know who's coming back today?"

I tilted my head. "No."

He looked at Kirti, who was still quietly smiling, and then back at me. "Ayaan."

I blinked. "Who?"

"The other face of our company videos," I said automatically, remembering how sometimes I'd seen him in the company's YouTube promos—usually standing beside Priyanshu, one of them pretending to look serious and other is always excited using his hands while talking and they always have some upbeat track played in the background.

Karthik grinned wider. "Yeah. He's been in the US a while. He didn't want anyone to know he was coming back today. But you know how it is—nothing stays secret."

Kirti looked up briefly, her eyes flicking from me to Karthik, like she was quietly amused by our curiosity.

She didn't say anything, but her soft hum of agreement felt like approval.

.

I stayed a little longer, pretending to scroll through my phone, then slipped back out. The door did its usual drama—yanking out of my hand and nearly smacking my shoulder before thudding shut.

I am back at my desk, I clipped my earphones on and tried to focus. But even with the calls, I was half aware of the hum behind the glass wall.

I didn't have to wonder long.

It was maybe half an hour later when the main door opened. From where I sat, facing that right corner, I could see perfectly.

A small chorus of excited voices floated out. Someone—probably Karthik—laughed loudly.

And then he stepped through.

Ayaan.

He looked exactly like those videos—only taller, somehow more real. He wore a simple Army green T-shirt, and he walked with that easy self-assurance that made people turn to look before he even spoke.

He didn't glance around much. Just went straight into the studio.

The moment he stepped inside, the energy in that room jumped. You could feel it even across the floor. The team practically lit up, like he was the missing piece they'd been waiting for.

I tried to pretend it didn't register, but it did.

I watched the door swing back—its usual violent flourish—and bang into place behind him.

Then I looked back at my laptop, but my mind was already buzzing.

A minute later, Karthik messaged me on the Whatsapp chat:

He's here. Lol.

I typed back:

I noticed. Your studio door almost announced it.

Haha. You'll see—he's nice.

I didn't reply.

Because in that moment, I wasn't sure what I thought.

Just that for the first time in weeks, the office felt like it was bracing for something new to happen.

And maybe, in some small way, so was I.