Aarav
The city was still yawning awake when Aarav reached the office.
Mumbai’s skyline shimmered under a grey-blue haze, the glass towers catching the early sun like broken mirrors. The buzz from last night’s event at The Blue Fern still lingered in the corners of his mind — the lights, the polished conversations, and a pair of unreadable eyes that had caught his attention for reasons he hadn’t figured out yet.
He dismissed the thought and stepped into his office — sharp, cold, and clean. Just the way he liked it. Or, at least, just the way it needed to be.
Before he could take his seat, Rhea walked in.
“Morning,” she said, setting her tablet on his desk. “There’s something you need to see.”
He raised a brow, already unbuttoning his blazer. “Can it wait till after coffee?”
She hesitated. “It’s the Kapoor deal.”
His hands paused mid-motion.
“The Kapoors?” he echoed. “As in... the family Kapoor?”
Rhea nodded. “Yes. They want to bring us in as lead creatives for their new luxury vertical — a combination of high-end fashion and curated jewelry.”
Aarav leaned back in his chair, slow and skeptical. “And this suddenly fell from the sky?”
“No,” she replied, “they’ve been watching your campaigns for months. And they’ve seen what you did with the Paris line. They’re offering a very generous cut — brand authority, media control, full creative freedom.”
He looked at her, waiting.
“There’s one more thing,” she added, her voice quieter. “Their daughter... Tanya. The same one your mother once—”
“Suggested I marry,” Aarav finished, a bitter smile playing at his lips. “Right.”
“You don’t have to talk to her. It’s a business deal.”
He nodded, voice dropping low. “Nothing is just business in families like theirs, Rhea. You know that.”
“But this deal... it could triple our outreach,” she pressed. “And they specifically asked for you. Not the team. You.”
Aarav stared at the city through the window for a moment — as if hoping the skyline would offer him an escape.
“Book the flight,” he said finally. “Delhi.”
---
Kapoor Towers, New Delhi
If Mumbai was a calculated storm, Delhi was a performance. Everything at Kapoor Towers screamed wealth — not in the new money, flashy way, but in the we’ve-been-rich-for-generations kind of arrogance.
The boardroom was massive, dressed in marble and mirrored panels. The air smelled faintly of saffron and diplomacy.
Aarav walked in with quiet authority. He didn’t speak unless needed — his presence did most of the talking. The Kapoors were already seated.
Rajiv Kapoor rose with a rehearsed smile. “Mr. Sengupta. What a pleasure.”
Aarav shook his hand, firm and fast. “Let’s get started.”
The discussions began — slides, figures, charts, the usual game. Aarav's team presented sharp numbers; the Kapoors countered with sweeter promises. It was all business. Clean. Professional.
Until she walked in.
Late. Of course.
Tanya Kapoor entered like she was stepping onto a runway. An ivory blazer-dress clung to her like a second skin, hair in effortless waves, a ruby ring flashing on her finger. Her eyes landed on Aarav instantly — assessing, challenging.
“Apologies,” she said with a breezy smile, walking to her father's side. “Got caught up in traffic... and a mani-pedi.”
Aarav didn’t flinch. “We were just finalizing the deal. Good timing.”
“Oh, I have perfect timing,” she said, sliding into the chair directly across him. “Besides, I didn’t want to miss meeting you, Aarav.”
His name sounded different in her voice — too familiar, too suggestive.
Mr. Kapoor chuckled. “Tanya’s been curious about this collaboration. She believes branding is all about connection.”
Aarav looked straight at her. “I believe branding is about authenticity.”
She tilted her head, smiling. “Oh, I’m very authentic.”
He gave a sharp smile in return. “We’ll keep this about business, Ms. Kapoor. It’s safer that way.”
---
The papers were signed before sunset. The deal was official. Profitable. Precise.
But Aarav felt the tightness in his shoulders refuse to ease. Something was off. Too smooth. Too staged.
He stood to leave, gathering his notes, when Meher rose and followed him out into the hallway.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” she asked.
He stopped. “We met once. At a Diwali party. You spilled champagne on my shirt and blamed the waiter.”
She laughed, genuinely surprised. “You do remember.”
“I remember things that leave stains.”
She stepped closer, her perfume sharp and invasive. “So why not explore this match everyone’s been talking about? You and I — we’d be a power couple.”
He looked her dead in the eyes.
“I’m not interested in being part of anyone’s fantasy.”
“And what if I want more than a fantasy?”
Aarav’s smile twisted, cold and clear. “Then start by taking responsibility for something real. You’re not my type, Tanya. I don’t chase people who can't even own their mess.”
Her brows lifted – not hurt, but surprised. No one spoke to her like that.
He turned to leave.
She called out softly behind him. “You know, Aarav... most men would kill for this deal — both business and marriage.”
He stopped, only for a second.
“I’m not most men.”
---
Back in the hotel, Aarav stood by the window, phone in hand, but no one to call.
He should’ve felt victorious. The deal was cracked. Profits secured. Reputation stronger.
But all he could think of... was a pair of eyes from the night before. The ones that didn’t flirt or force. Just looked. Calm. Conflicted. Real.
Aarav didn’t believe in distractions. But something told him — the real story hadn’t even begun.
---
Write a comment ...