After a few months, the batch stopped calling itself a batch.
People belonged to teams now.
Some moved to different processes or different shifts.
A few resigned after getting offers from other companies and spent their notice period explaining why they were making the biggest mistake of their lives.
Sudharma’s work changed too.
He still trained new joiners when required, but most of his time went into handling escalations and helping team leaders who had discovered that experience did not automatically produce answers.
He enjoyed it.
He liked being the person people came looking for.
Sanvi had started spending more time with another group.
Not suddenly. Mostly because her breaks no longer matched his.
She had weekend plans that did not include him. Sometimes she would call and sometimes forget.
When they did meet, they spoke exactly as before.
The gaps were longer.
Neither of them pointed it out.
One evening they sat in the cafeteria over coffee.
She was telling him about someone from another process.
“He is planning to do his MBA.”
“Good for him.”
“He actually studies.”
“That is already suspicious.”
She smiled.
“He also listens when people talk.”
“I also listen.”
“No. You wait for your turn.”
He laughed.
“I’ll improve.”
She stirred her coffee for a while.
“You won’t.”
There was no argument.
The break ended.
Both of them got up and walked in different directions.
A few nights later, Sudharma was at his desk when somebody placed a small diary beside the keyboard.
Jahnavi.
“My pen is not working.”
He looked at the diary.
“That is not my department.”
“I know.”
She waited.
He opened the drawer and gave her a pen.
She took it.
“Thank you.”
“Keep it.”
“I’ll return it.”
“It costs five rupees.”
She nodded seriously.
“I’ll still return it.”
She did.
Two days later she left the pen on his desk before her shift started.
The cap had been replaced with one from a different pen.
He looked around.
She was already back at her seat.
The boys on the floor had started giving nicknames to everyone.
One fellow was called Professor because he wore spectacles.
Another was called America because he spoke to customers with an accent even during lunch break.
One night somebody asked Jahnavi what nickname she wanted.
She said she already had one at home.
“What is it?”
She shook her head.
“Secret.”
The matter ended there.
During tea break, one of the girls from her team walked over to Sudharma.
“She is scared of the lift.”
“Who?”
“Jahnavi.”
He looked towards the lobby.
She was standing near the staircase.
“Then use the stairs.”
“We are on the sixth floor.”
She shrugged.
“So?”
That night, while leaving, he saw Jahnavi and two others climbing down.
“You people missed the lift?”
One of the girls laughed.
“She doesn’t trust it.”
Jahnavi looked embarrassed.
“It gets stuck.”
“Has it ever happened?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“My grandmother says not to stand inside boxes hanging by ropes.”
The other girls started laughing.
Sudharma laughed too.
“Fair enough.”
He took the lift.
They took the stairs.
The next evening she came to his desk.
“My grandmother was right.”
“What happened?”
“The lift stopped for two minutes.”
“Were you inside?”
“No.”
He looked at her.
She looked completely satisfied.
He could not think of anything to say.
A few desks away, Sanvi walked past with her team.
She waved at him.
He waved back.
Someone called her.
She turned and joined the others.
Jahnavi was still standing there.
“So,” Sudharma asked, “stairs again today?”
She nodded.
He pointed towards the staircase.
“Go. Before the lift changes its mind.”
She smiled at him for the first time since he had known her.
It was a small smile.
Then she walked away.
On his desk, beside the monitor, lay the pen she had returned.
The cap still did not match.
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