# Chapter 7
The early morning sun filtered through the half-drawn curtains of Aarohi's bedroom. A soft breeze danced into the room, brushing against her cheek as she groaned and pulled the blanket over her head. The previous night's company dinner had gone on longer than expected—filled with games, laughter, and cultural exchanges—but now the weight of exhaustion clung to her.
Her phone buzzed furiously on the bedside table.
"Aarohi! Wake up! We're late!" Rhea's panicked voice echoed from the kitchen.
Aarohi shot up in bed. "What?! What time is it?"
"8:45! We have to be there by 9!"
Panic surged through her chest. The office was a 25-minute ride away. With lightning speed, Aarohi rushed into the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, brushed her teeth, and pulled her hair into a hurried ponytail. Rhea was already dressed, stuffing toast into her mouth while grabbing her bag.
By 9:15, both girls were in the elevator, breathless and anxious. Aarohi dabbed on a bit of lipstick and powder, hoping it would mask her tired features. She tugged on the cuffs of her blazer, hoping she looked professional enough to avoid any unwanted attention.
The moment the elevator doors opened at the company's floor, the atmosphere felt different—tense and eerily silent.
The receptionist at the front desk didn't smile this time.
"They're in the conference room," she said flatly, eyes flickering to the left hallway.
Rhea and Aarohi exchanged puzzled looks.
"Meeting?" Aarohi whispered.
Before they could ask further, the sharp voice of Pim, their manager, echoed from down the corridor. "Girls! Hurry up!"
They rushed toward the room, heels tapping loudly against the polished marble floor.
As soon as they stepped inside the conference room, every head turned toward them—silent, judging, tense.
And at the head of the table stood Rithvik Veerayut.
He wasn't seated. He stood tall, arms crossed over his chest, charcoal grey suit perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders. His eyes were sharp, dark, and unreadable as they settled on both interns.
The room fell into a deeper silence.
"Fifteen minutes," he said, his voice even but cutting. No greeting, no pleasantries. Just the fact hanging in the air like a verdict.
Rhea shifted uncomfortably beside Aarohi. Aarohi felt her throat go dry.
"We... there was traffic, sir. We apologize—" Rhea started.
"Traffic." He repeated the word like he was tasting something bitter. His gaze moved from Rhea to Aarohi, lingering there for a moment that felt eternal. "Do you know what time the Bangkok rush hour starts, Miss Sharma?"
Rhea blinked. "I... no, sir."
"7:30 AM. Every day. Same time, same routes." He walked slowly around the table, his footsteps the only sound in the room. "Which means if you need to be here by 9, you leave by 8:15. Not 8:45."
Aarohi wanted to disappear into the floor. The way he said it—so matter-of-fact, so logical—made their excuse sound pathetic.
"Sit," he said, gesturing to the empty chairs. It wasn't a request.
They sat quickly. Aarohi's hands trembled slightly as she opened her notepad, focusing on the blank page to avoid his gaze.
"This is a business, not a college canteen," he continued, finally taking his seat. "Our clients don't care about your traffic stories. They care about results. On time, every time."
*God, he's right,* Aarohi thought, shame burning in her chest. *We do sound like college students making excuses.*
"However," he said, and the word hung in the air, "I'm told last night went well."
Aarohi looked up, surprised by the shift in his tone.
"The dinner. You represented the company appropriately." His eyes met hers briefly. "That matters too."
The compliment felt strange coming from him—like a drop of warmth in an ice-cold room.
"But," he continued, and she braced herself, "good impressions don't excuse poor planning. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," both girls replied in unison.
Rithvik opened his laptop. "Good. Now, today we're reviewing the quarterly projections. I want your thoughts on the Southeast Asian market trends."
The meeting continued, but Aarohi struggled to focus. Every time he spoke, she found herself analyzing his tone, looking for clues about what he really thought of her. When he asked direct questions, she answered carefully, professionally, but her heart raced each time his attention turned to her.
After the meeting, as the team dispersed, Aarohi and Rhea walked back to their desks in silence.
"He's intense," Rhea whispered once they were out of earshot.
"We deserved it," Aarohi replied, though her voice lacked conviction.
"Maybe, but did you see how he looked at you when he mentioned the dinner?"
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know... different. Like he was trying to figure something out."
Aarohi shook her head. "You're imagining things."
But as she settled at her desk, she couldn't shake the feeling that Rhea might be right.
---
**[Scene – Later that Afternoon, Rithvik's Office]**
At 4:15 PM, Aarohi's phone buzzed with a message from Pim: *"CEO wants to see you. His office. Now."*
Her stomach dropped. *Now what?*
She stood outside his office door, trying to steady her breathing. The nameplate read "Rithvik Veerayut - Chief Executive Officer" in bold letters. She knocked softly.
"Come in."
She entered to find him behind his desk, focused on his laptop screen. He didn't look up immediately, and she stood there awkwardly, not sure whether to sit or remain standing.
"Sit," he said without lifting his eyes from the screen.
She sat in the chair across from his desk, placing her hands carefully in her lap to stop them from fidgeting.
Finally, he looked up. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
"You did well last night," he said simply.
Aarohi blinked. "Sir?"
"The dinner. You handled it well." He leaned back in his chair, studying her face. "The team was impressed."
"Thank you, sir. But..." she paused, confused. "How do you know? You weren't there."
Something flickered in his expression—so quick she almost missed it. "I have my ways of knowing what happens in my company."
"Oh." She wasn't sure what else to say.
"You talked about India," he said, and it wasn't quite a question.
"Yes, sir. They asked about the culture, the festivals... I thought it was appropriate to share."
"Hmm." He turned his attention to a document on his desk, flipping through it absently. "What did you tell them about Holi?"
The question caught her off guard. "Holi? I... well, I mentioned the colors, the celebration of spring, how people come together..."
"And?"
"And... that it's about new beginnings. Letting go of grudges." She hesitated. "Why do you ask, sir?"
He looked at her again, and for a moment, his expression softened almost imperceptibly. "Just curious. I've never experienced it."
"Never? But you must have seen—"
"Seen, yes. Experienced, no." He set down the document. "There's a difference."
Aarohi felt a strange pull in her chest. He seemed almost... lonely when he said it. But before she could respond, his professional mask slipped back into place.
"The point is," he continued, "you represented us well. But that doesn't change this morning's issue."
"I understand, sir. It won't happen again."
"See that it doesn't." He paused, then added quietly, "Punctuality isn't just about respect for time. It's about respect for the people waiting for you."
Something in his tone made her look at him more carefully. There was something personal in that statement, like he was speaking from experience.
"Yes, sir. I understand."
He nodded, then returned to his laptop. "That's all."
She stood to leave, but as she reached the door, his voice stopped her.
"Miss Aarohi."
She turned back. "Yes, sir?"
"Next time you tell someone about Indian culture..." He looked up from his screen, meeting her eyes. "Include the story of Jhansi ki Rani. That's one worth telling."
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "You know about Rani Lakshmibai?"
"I know many things." His expression remained neutral, but she caught something in his eyes—a hint of curiosity, maybe even warmth. "She was a warrior queen, wasn't she? Fought the British."
"Yes, sir. She was... she was extraordinary."
"Extraordinary," he repeated softly, as if testing the word. "Yes, I imagine she was."
Aarohi felt her cheeks warm slightly. "I'll... I'll remember that, sir."
"Good."
She left his office with her heart beating faster than it should have been, and the strange feeling that their conversation had been about more than just Indian history.
**[FLASHBACK BEGINS]**
The previous evening, at the garden restaurant, laughter filled the air. Aarav sat at the end of the table, watching his colleagues enjoy themselves. Pim was busy taking selfies with the interns, Rhea was teaching everyone how to eat panipuri without making a mess, and Aarohi was in the middle of an animated explanation about Indian festivals.
"You have to understand," Aarohi said, her eyes bright with enthusiasm, "Diwali isn't just about lights. It's about... hope. When everything feels dark, you light a lamp. Just one small flame, and suddenly the darkness doesn't seem so overwhelming."
She laughed softly, a sound that made everyone at the table smile. "My grandmother used to say that every diya we light is a prayer. Not asking for anything, just... grateful to be alive."
Aarav found himself reaching for his phone. He stepped away from the table and dialed a familiar number.
"Aarav? You're calling from the dinner?" Rithvik's voice was slightly surprised.
"Yeah, listen, I thought you should know how it's going."
"Problems?"
"No, actually. The opposite. Your new interns—especially Aarohi—she's quite something."
There was a pause. "How so?"
Aarav glanced back at the table where Aarohi was now explaining the significance of rangoli patterns, her hands moving gracefully as she spoke. "She's got this way of talking about her culture... it's like she's painting pictures with words. Very engaging."
"I see."
"Hold on." Aarav turned his phone slightly so Rithvik could hear the ambient conversation.
Aarohi's voice drifted through the speaker: "The thing about India is, we're comfortable with contradictions. We can be deeply spiritual and completely practical at the same time. We'll argue about everything, but when crisis hits, we become one family."
Rithvik, alone in his office, found himself pausing his work. Her voice had a quality to it—warm, passionate, authentic. Not the rehearsed corporate speak he was used to hearing.
"You know what I miss most?" she continued, her voice softer now. "The sound of temple bells in the morning. Not because I'm particularly religious, but because it means the world is waking up. It means another day to try again."
Rithvik leaned back in his chair, something shifting in his chest.
"She's homesick," Aarav said quietly into the phone.
"Yeah," Rithvik replied, his voice unusually soft. "I can hear that."
"Should I—"
"No, it's fine. Let her talk. It's... refreshing."
Aarav smiled. "I thought you'd appreciate it. She's got depth, this one."
After the call ended, Rithvik sat in his empty office for several minutes, the echo of Aarohi's words lingering in his mind. *Temple bells. Another day to try again.* When was the last time he'd thought about trying again, instead of just succeeding?
**[FLASHBACK ENDS]**
Back in the present, as Aarohi sat at her desk, she found herself replaying every word of their conversation. There had been something different about him in those last few minutes—less CEO, more... human.
And the way he'd mentioned Rani Lakshmibai... how did he even know about her?
She tried to focus on her work, but her mind kept wandering back to his office, to the moment when his mask had slipped just enough for her to see something real underneath.
*Stop it,* she told herself. *He's your boss. This is just work.*
But her heart wasn't listening to her logic, and that scared her more than any scolding ever could.