Rhea Kapoor sat on her bed, half wrapped in a blanket, typing furiously on her phone. The rain was tapping on her bedroom window like impatient fingers, and her Spotify playlist blared slow jazz tunes in the background. She was talking to her best friend Sanaya about her new boss at the ad agency.
"If this guy breathes too loudly, I swear I will smash the keyboard in his face. Rahul Sharma is the human embodiment of migraine."
Giggles, Rhea pressed the "send" button.
But as her thumb lifted from the screen, her stomach sank.
She hadn't sent the message to Sanaya.
She had sent it to... Rahul Sharma.
Her boss.
She stared at the screen in horror. It read: "Delivered." Followed by the cruel "read" mark.
"No. No-no-no. This is a dream," Riya whispered, holding her phone as if it would bite her.
She quickly typed another message:
"Oh my god. I'm so sorry! This was for someone else. Please ignore!!! I was joking. I mean—it's a meme! I copied it from Instagram! Haha."
She wished the earth would open up and swallow her whole.
Ten minutes passed.
No reply.
She stared at the message thread. Rahul's status was "Online."
Then it became "Typing...."
Her heart thumped in her ears.
Then it stopped.
There were no messages.
He went offline.
The next morning, Riya entered the office like a soldier being led to a firing squad. Every other step felt heavier than the last.
To her surprise, Rahul was not at his desk. His door was locked. The curtains were down.
“Hey,” Tanu whispered from the next cubicle. “Boss came in early and left in a hurry. Said he’s working from home.”
“Oh,” Riya mumbled, “Wow!”
By noon, an email popped up in her inbox.
Subject: “Let’s talk”
Sender: Rahul Sharma
“Hi Riya,
Let’s meet on a small Zoom call today at 4 p.m. I want to discuss some promotional points.
Rahul.”
She read the line again, about your dismissal, about some promotional points.
At exactly 4 p.m., she clicked on the Zoom link.
Rahul appeared on the screen, in a white T-shirt, his hair slightly disheveled, and a slight smile on his lips.
“Hi Riya,” he said calmly.
“Hi sir. I—I wanted to say—about the message…”
He raised his hand.
“Relax. I found your panic note. I know it wasn’t for me.”
“I’m really sorry. I was venting. I had a really bad day and—”
“Rhea,” he interrupted, voice calm, “I get it. Really.”
She blinked.
“You… get it?”
“Yeah. I’ve been someone’s migraine sufferer before. Maybe I’m someone’s migraine sufferer now.”
Her mouth fell open. Was he joking?
“I wanted to talk because I think we’ve had a bit of a falling out,” he added. “I… am not an easy manager. But I didn’t know you had such deep feelings.”
She didn’t know what to say.
He leaned forward.
“To be honest. I micromanage too much, don’t I?”
She blinked. Nodded slowly.
"And I breathe hard," she said, laughing.
This changed the course of the conversation. They both laughed.
Surprisingly, things improved after this mistake.
Rahul started giving her more autonomy over projects. He sent fewer passive-aggressive emails. She also noticed that he had started chewing gum—probably to control his infamous breathing.
A month later, Riya was promoted to junior campaign lead.
"Rahul recommends you," HR said.
Wait. What?
That night, Rahul sent a casual message:
"Congratulations. You're brilliant. Migraine or not ;)"
She didn't know whether to laugh or run away.
Months passed. Riya settled into her new role. Her group chats had become a little less rowdy. She thought her messaging mistake was far behind her.
Until it happened again.
This time, she was out for drinks with Sanaya and the team. They were gossiping about Rahul’s possible dating life. Someone reported that he was spotted at a jazz bar—alone.
Sanaya joked, “Maybe he’s waiting for you.”
Riya rolled her eyes and jokingly typed:
“If Rahul Sharma ever asks me out on a date, I will say yes. But only if he promises to breathe normally on our date 😏”
She hit send.
Sanaya laughed out loud.
Then looked confused.
“Wait… why did I get a blank message?”
Riya checked her phone.
No. Of course.
The message was… to Rahul Sharma.
Again.
The next morning, Riya was at her desk battling the world’s worst anxiety attack.
At 10:05 a.m., a meeting invitation popped up on her screen.
Lunch @ The Patio Cafe. Today. 1:30 PM.
From: Rahul Sharma.
No subject. Just the invitation.
She stared.
Was this a joke?
At 1:28 PM, she reached the cafe near his office, her heart pounding.
He was already seated at a corner table and looked extremely calm.
"Nice of you," he said.
“Glad you came,” he said.
She sat down, her face flaming.
“So…” she began.
He smirked.
“Don’t worry. I got your message. Thought I’d test your promise.”
She groaned, hiding her face.
“Please delete my number.”
“Too late,” he said. “I already marked it ‘special.’”
One date turned into three.
Three into ten.
By the end of the quarter, Rahul and Riya were an open secret. Their HR department made them fill out a “consensual workplace relationship” form. (Riya signed hers with a note: “Still not a fan of the breathing.”)
But Rahul changed.
He became more relaxed, more human.
Riya, on the other hand, became more confident. Her presentations were sharp. Clients loved her. Colleagues started calling her “the boss whisperer.”
On their anniversary, Rahul gifted her a small gold key pendant.
“It’s to the drawer in my desk,” he said. “The one I used to lock whenever I felt threatened. Now, I don’t need it.”
A year later, Riya gave a TEDx-style talk at an industry conference.
Her topic? “The Accidental Message: When Mistakes Make You.”
She told the story—lightly edited—of sending the wrong message and how it led to a turning point in her life and career.
She ended with:
“Sometimes, life hits send before you’re ready. And if you’re lucky, the wrong message might reach the right person.”
The crowd erupted in applause.
Rahul was in the front row, beaming.
Later that night, he sent her a text.
“Still breathing loud. Still yours.”
She replied:
“Still tempted to smack you with a keyboard. But in love.”
