Devansh Joshi
My palms were damp against the handle of my leather portfolio.
Three security checkpoints.
Two Intelligence Bureau officers.
One Joint Secretary.
Countless signatures.
The reality finally settled in.
This wasn't a corporate job.
This was the Prime Minister's residence.
For nearly three hours, I completed biometric registration, signed confidentiality agreements under the Official Secrets Act, and underwent provisional security clearance.
"Mr. Joshi," the senior officer said, leading me through the secured residential corridor, "your background verification has been provisionally approved. Final field verification will follow. As the Prime Minister's Personal Assistant, you'll be expected to maintain twenty-four-hour administrative availability within the private residence."
"I understand."
I hoped my voice sounded steadier than I felt.
My heartbeat refused to slow.
Then the heavy teak doors opened.
Kabir Mehra stood beside the tall windows of his private study, dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal-grey suit.
The moment his dark eyes met mine...
Everything else faded.
The anxiety.
The noise.
The panic.
Gone.
It was ridiculous.
Just looking at him somehow grounded me.
God... he's unfairly handsome.
"Sit, Devansh."
His deep voice carried effortless authority.
I obeyed.
Only then did I notice two familiar faces standing nearby.
Gayatri Devi.
Devendra Mehra.
Neither looked pleased to see me.
"This appointment is absurd," Gayatri Devi said coldly. "An inexperienced young man with no administrative background? The Cabinet Secretary recommended a far more suitable candidate."
Kabir didn't even look at her.
"The appointment has been finalized."
His voice was calm.
Final.
"Devansh has cleared the required procedures."
Before anyone could respond, a cheerful voice interrupted.
"You're the conclave guy!"
I looked down.
A little girl in an oversized hoodie grinned up at me.
Kiara.
"I'm Devansh."
"I'm Kiki."
She folded her arms proudly.
"I like your hair."
Then she glanced at Kabir.
"And Papa needs someone who's not another boring politician."
I laughed.
"That's... surprisingly honest."
"It always is."
"Kiara."
Devendra struck his cane against the marble floor.
"This is an official discussion."
"Go to your room."
She dramatically rolled her eyes.
"You're so dramatic."
She flashed me a quick smile before walking away.
For the first time since entering the residence...
I didn't feel completely alone.
---

Kabir Mehra
"The defence procurement files have been cross-referenced with the internal audit reports, Sir."
Devansh placed the folder neatly on my desk.
"Good."
"Leave them in the secure tray."
I kept my voice deliberately cold.
Professional.
Detached.
Because anything else was dangerous.
He had worked flawlessly all afternoon.
Organized.
Efficient.
Quick.
Yet every time he stepped closer...
I caught the faint scent of vanilla.
Every accidental brush of our hands demanded more restraint than I cared to admit.
Control yourself.
I rose from my chair and reached for a constitutional law volume on the top shelf.
A sudden wave of exhaustion blurred my vision.
The heavy book slipped.
"I've got it, Sir."
Devansh moved instinctively.
He caught the book-
-but the narrow space between the shelf and desk left almost no room.
He ended up standing far closer than either of us expected.
We both froze.
For one suspended moment...
Neither of us spoke.
Neither of us moved.
His eyes lifted to meet mine.
Wide.
Uncertain.
My heartbeat echoed painfully inside my chest.
This was wrong.
I stepped back first.
"The winter parliamentary session requires uninterrupted administrative support."
My voice returned to its usual controlled tone.
"Daily commuting creates unnecessary logistical and security complications."
I picked up another file.
"You'll be staying in the eastern guest suite beginning tonight."
He blinked.
"...Tonight?"
"Yes, Sir?"
"It is an administrative requirement."
He hesitated.
"Is that... standard procedure?"
"It is now."
I kept my eyes on the paperwork.
"You have ten minutes to inform your family."
---

Devansh Joshi
I sat on the edge of the enormous bed in the guest suite.
My phone rested loosely in my hand.
I'd already texted my parents.
I was officially moving into the Prime Minister's residence.
Nothing about my life made sense anymore.
A soft knock sounded.
The door opened just enough for Kiara to peek inside.
She carried a sketchbook under one arm.
"Can I come in?"
"Of course."
She walked inside and sat cross-legged on the rug.
"Grandmother and Uncle Devendra are having another argument."
She sounded almost impressed.
"They're really upset you're staying here."
I smiled.
"Should I be worried?"
"No."
She grinned.
"It just means I like you even more."
I laughed.
"Thanks."
She looked up thoughtfully.
"You know..."
"Papa almost smiles around you."
That sentence alone was enough to make my heart forget how to function.
Before I could answer-
The door opened again.
Kabir stood in the doorway.
Expression unreadable.
Hands behind his back.
"Kiara."
His voice carried quiet authority.
"I told you not to disturb the staff quarters."
"We're just talking."
She pouted.
"I know."
"But Devansh has work."
She sighed dramatically.
"Fine."
She picked up her sketchbook and headed for the door.
As she passed him, she muttered just loudly enough for both of us to hear,
"You're impossible."
The moment she disappeared into the hallway, silence settled between us.
Kabir looked at me.
"You should synchronize your official devices with the residential network before 2100 hours."
"I expect complete confidentiality and absolute professionalism."
"Understood, Sir."
For a brief second...
Neither of us looked away.
Then he gave a single nod.
"Good evening, Devansh."
He turned and walked away, leaving the room just as quietly as he'd entered.
I sat there for several moments after the door cl
osed.
Somehow...
Living under the same roof as Kabir Mehra felt far more intimidating than getting the job itself.
--
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