So let's begin!
America– Early Morning, University Girls Hostel(Room - 206)
The first rays of America's pale sun slipped through the half-drawn curtains, falling over a cluttered desk — sketch pads, tangled wires, coffee mugs, and post-it notes stuck everywhere with chaotic handwriting like battle plans.
On the bed sat Aarohi Rathore, hair tied messily into a bun, oversized hoodie hanging off one shoulder, eyes fixed on her laptop screen that glowed with 3D renders and timelines.
Her headphones hung loosely around her neck, faint music from a background score she’d been editing all night still playing.
The room looked like a storm had passed — yet to her, it was organized chaos.
Every mess had a purpose.
Every piece of clutter meant she was building something bigger.
She rubbed her eyes, squinting at the screen.
“Come on, come on, bas thoda aur render ho ja… 97% pe kyu atak gaya tu!”
The progress bar blinked stubbornly.
Aarohi groaned and fell back on her bed dramatically, talking to herself.
“Main bhi na… kis duniya mein phas gayi hoon. Puri raat gayi, aur ab subah ki class bhi miss hone wali hai.”
Her phone buzzed with an alarm she had already snoozed thrice.
8:30 AM.
The start of another Aarohi Rathore day — chaotic but planned, tired but relentless.
She sat up again, determination flickering back in her eyes.
“Okay, Aaru… deadline today, presentation by 10. Coffee first, breakdown later.”
She jumped off the bed, tying her shoelaces in one hand while balancing her coffee mug in the other.
Music switched to a fast beat — her unofficial morning anthem.
As she rushed to the mirror, she spoke to her reflection — a ritual of sorts.
“You’ve got this. You’re fire. You’re chaos. You’re—”
Her hair clip snapped mid-sentence.
She froze, stared at the broken clip, and muttered under her breath,
“—you’re cursed. Great start.”
Grabbing a new one, she tied her hair again and threw on her denim jacket.
Her roommate, half-asleep under the blanket, mumbled,
“Aaru… do you even sleep?”
Aarohi laughed while stuffing her sketchbook into her bag.
“Sleep? That’s for people who don’t have VFX deadlines, darling.”
She picked up her tablet and stylus, kissed her coffee mug dramatically.
“Survive today, and I’ll treat you to chocolate pastry tonight,” she promised herself, taking a sip.
She slipped on her headphones and left the room — confident stride, caffeine-fueled grin, and that unmistakable spark of ambition in her eyes.
---
University Campus – 9:00 AM
The campus buzzed with life — students carrying cameras, tripods, animation rigs.
Aarohi walked through the crowd like she owned it.
Her professors admired her talent but feared her spontaneity.
Her classmates loved her creativity but couldn’t keep up with her intensity.
She was the kind of girl who would fight with her software, argue with professors, and still produce something brilliant.
As she entered the film studio, one of her classmates called out,
“Aaru! Did you sleep at all last night?”
She grinned, setting her coffee cup down beside her workstation.
“Sleep’s overrated. Passion isn’t.”
Another friend joked, “Your scene renders slower than your sarcasm.”
Aarohi winked. “At least both are sharp.”
---
She opened her project file, eyes narrowing in focus as her digital world unfolded on screen — colors, light, motion, life.
Her hands moved swiftly across the keyboard, her mind lost in the world she was creating.
In that moment, Aarohi wasn’t just a student.
She was an artist. A dreamer. A fighter.
Someone who broke rules not out of rebellion — but out of belief that creativity deserved no cage.
Aarohi lived for creation — colours, chaos, and caffeine.
Her day didn’t follow clocks; it followed sparks of inspiration.
If she felt an idea, she’d chase it through the night.
If not, she’d drown herself in playlists and editing until one found her.
And while her world revolved around ambition and art, just a few blocks away, Mihir Verma — another filmmaker, another dreamer — was beginning his own morning, with a rhythm entirely different from hers.
ANOTHER ROOM(403) - BOYS HOSTEL
The morning sun spilled through half-open blinds, bathing the neatly arranged room in a soft golden hue.
Every corner reflected quiet order — camera lenses lined up in precision, tripods folded and placed in the corner, his desk spotless except for a sketchpad filled with story ideas and a mug of coffee still steaming.
Where Aarohi’s world was fire and rush, Mihir’s was balance and rhythm.
He sat by the window, earbuds in, editing a scene on his laptop with focused ease.
No alarm, no rush — just calm control.
He had already been up since 7:30 AM. For him, silence was fuel, not boredom.
A soft knock at the door broke his concentration.
His roommate peeked in, half-asleep, hair sticking up in every direction.
“Bhai… tu soya bhi tha kya?”
Mihir smiled slightly without looking up. “Soya tha. Bas zyada zarurat nahi hoti jab ideas ache ho.”
“Genius logon ka problem hi yeh hai,” his roommate groaned, grabbing a slice of toast from Mihir’s breakfast tray.
Mihir chuckled. “And freeloaders ka problem yeh hai — unhe har jagah free khana milta hai.”
The roommate smirked and walked off, muttering, “Class 9 baje ki hai na?”
Mihir glanced at his watch — 8:35 AM.
Plenty of time.
He closed his laptop, packed his camera neatly, and poured the last sip of his coffee.
His phone buzzed — a message from Atharv Bhai:
> “Don’t forget the client presentation draft. Focus on deadlines, Mihir.”
He smiled faintly. “Haan bhai, mujhe yaad hai.”
He typed back quickly, his tone respectful yet teasing:
> “I’m a filmmaker, not a latecomer.”
He slipped on his watch, straightened his jacket, and took one last look around the tidy apartment — the kind that reflected who he was. Calm. Composed. Ready.
But behind that calm was a sharp mind that loved to challenge boundaries.
University Film Department – 9:10 AM
The university studio was buzzing with energy — cameras rolling, students shouting directions, the hum of creativity filling the air.
Aarohi was already there.
Focused, intense, with a no-nonsense expression. Her workspace, however, was a storm — coffee cup, sketches, open files, and a laptop blinking with multiple tabs.
Every movement of hers screamed precision under pressure.
Mihir walked in — steady, composed, laptop bag over his shoulder.
A calm contrast to her fire.
He greeted a few classmates on his way, his charming smile never missing.
“Morning, everyone.”
Aarohi didn’t look up. She simply muttered, “Finally, someone who’s late but confident about it.”
The professor entered right then. “Good, everyone’s here. Let’s start.”
He adjusted his glasses and continued, “We'll be pairing you for the upcoming short film project. You’ll have to handle everything — direction, editing, post-production — as a team.”
Aarohi’s pen paused mid-note. Team? She hated sharing creative control.
The professor started reading the list.
“Team three — Aarohi Rathore and… Mihir Verma.”
Both of them froze.
Aarohi slowly looked up — disbelief in her eyes. Mihir blinked, equally surprised.
“What?!” they both exclaimed together.
The professor sighed. “Yes. Two of the best minds in the class. Let’s see if you can cooperate.”
Mihir, ever the calm one, smiled lightly and walked over.
“Looks like destiny paired the disciplined with the dramatic.”
Aarohi raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? Coming from the guy who was almost late.”
He smirked. “Keyword — almost. Timing is my art.”
She crossed her arms. “Well, perfection is mine.”
He chuckled softly, leaning a bit closer. “Interesting. Let’s see which one wins.”
Before she could retort, the professor cut in, “Start storyboarding today. Concept submission by tomorrow.”
Aarohi nodded curtly, already opening her sketchpad. Mihir watched her for a moment — fiery focus radiating off her like heat.
He murmured under his breath, “She’s a storm.”
She shot back without looking up, “And you’re about to get blown away if you waste my time.”
The class snickered.
The professor smiled faintly — the kind of smile teachers have when they know a storm and spark are about to create something brilliant.
---
Two minds. One project.
Her fire. His calm.
They didn’t know it yet — but this was how their story began.
Not with love, not even with friendship… but with friction strong enough to start both.
------
AIIMS Hostel, Early Morning
The faint orange light of dawn filtered through the half-drawn curtains of Vidhi Singhania’s hostel room.
The world outside was barely awake, but inside, everything already had its rhythm — neat, quiet, and purposeful.
Her study table was spotless — books arranged by subject, a white coat hanging on the chair’s backrest, a small plant by the window adding a touch of softness to the otherwise sterile room.
As she poured herself a mug of coffee.
The digital clock on her desk blinked 7:30 a.m.
Vidhi, still in her pale blue nightshirt, stretched lightly and murmured to herself,
“New day, new challenge.”
She opened her notebook — pages filled with tiny, precise handwriting, color-coded highlights, and sticky notes marking anatomy, pathology, and case studies.
Just then, her roommate, Rhea, groaned from the other bed, pulling her blanket over her head.
“Vidhi… tujhe neend nahi aati kya? Late soke bhi...Itni subah uth jaati hai roz!”
Vidhi smiled, calm as ever.
“Habit ban gayi hai, Rhea. Subah ka time sabse peaceful hota hai. Mind fresh, heart calm.”
Rhea peeked out with one eye. “Mind fresh, heart calm, aur hum jaise log… zombie.”
Vidhi chuckled softly and placed a cup of coffee beside Rhea’s bed.
“Thoda caffeine, thoda motivation.”
“Tu toh Devi hai yaar,” Rhea muttered, half-asleep but smiling.
Vidhi just shook her head with a grin and tied her hair into a low ponytail.
She slipped on her watch, picked up her stethoscope, and checked her notes one last time.
Before leaving, she glanced at the small framed photo on her bedside — of her parents and Aarohi, Kavya, and herself laughing together on a video call.
Her expression softened.
“Bas thoda aur time, then sab ek saath.”
---
AIIMS Hospital – Morning Rounds
The hospital corridor smelled faintly of antiseptic and coffee. Students hurried past, some bleary-eyed, some anxious, while Vidhi walked with calm assurance, white coat neatly pressed, ID tag perfectly pinned.
Her mentor, Dr. Malhotra, stopped her in the hallway.
“Singhania, you’re early again. You sure you’re not living here?”
Vidhi smiled politely. “Sir, almost feels like it.”
He smirked. “Good. That’s how doctors are made.”
They entered the general ward where chaos hummed — nurses calling out readings, interns fumbling with charts.
Vidhi, however, moved with quiet confidence, her tone gentle but firm.
“Mr. Iyer, please don’t worry. Your sugar levels are improving. We’ll check again in two hours, okay?”
Her voice was soothing — the kind that made patients believe healing was already happening.
Dr. Malhotra observed quietly, then nodded approvingly.
“You’ve got the temperament, Singhania. Medicine needs more calm minds like yours.”
Vidhi smiled faintly. “Calmness is half the cure, Sir.”
As she turned to note down a reading, her phone buzzed with a message.
It was from Aarohi:
> “I swear, I’m surrounded by idiots in my project team 😭 Send strength, Doctor!”
Vidhi smiled, typing back quickly:
> “Strength sent. Patience too. Don’t kill anyone.”
Vidhi shook her head, laughing quietly to herself.
Even in her busiest moments, those two kept her grounded — a reminder that life wasn’t just about saving lives, but living them too.
She looked up at the sunlight filtering through the hospital window, her calm eyes reflecting quiet determination.
“Another day,” she whispered, “another chance to do better.”
And with that, she walked toward the next ward — poised, peaceful, and unstoppable.
AIIMS Boys’ Hostel, Same Morning
The hostel corridor echoed with the sound of someone sprinting.
A shoe hit the floor, followed by a muffled curse.
Inside Room 109, chaos had a face — Vihaan Verma.
His bed was a battlefield of clothes, medical notes, protein bars, and tangled earphones.
A stethoscope hung carelessly from the doorknob, and the smell of coffee filled the air.
Vihaan, hair tousled and scrubs half-buttoned, stood in front of the mirror brushing his teeth with one hand and scrolling through his phone with the other.
“Shit! 8:45 already?” he mumbled, checking the time. “Rounds start at 9… perfect, five minutes for chaos.”
He looked at his reflection and smirked.
“Doctor saab late ho jaaye toh kya? At least hero lagta hai.”
He grabbed his white coat — wrinkled, of course — slung it on, and ran out the door, nearly colliding with his roommate, Arjun.
“Bhai, tu phir late?” Arjun groaned, rubbing his forehead.
Vihaan winked. “Late nahi, fashionably delayed. There’s a difference.”
“Difference sirf tere sapno mein hai, Dr. Verma!”
Vihaan laughed, jogging down the corridor with his backpack half open. “Relax! Patients mujhe dekh kar theek ho jaate hain!”
As he reached the gate, his phone buzzed — Message from Atharv Bhai.
> Atharv: “Vihaan, meeting’s at 11:00 a.m. Don’t forget to review the case file I sent. And for God’s sake, be on time for once.”
Vihaan smirked, typing back as he walked casually.
> Vihaan: “Relax bhai. Hospital jaa raha hoon. Patients first, business later. You handle profits, I’ll handle people 😉”
Within seconds, a reply blinked.
> Atharv: “Both require discipline. Remember that.”
Vihaan read it, smiled faintly, then pocketed the phone.
“Bhai aur uska discipline lecture… subah ki chai se bhi zyada regular.”
He shook his head, amused. “Love you too, boss-man,” he muttered before entering, hair still messy, eyes gleaming with mischief.
---
AIIMS Hospital –
The hospital was already buzzing. Nurses were shouting instructions, doctors scribbling notes, and interns running around like bees.
Vidhi stood by the nurse’s station, calm and composed, reviewing patient charts before rounds began.
Her white coat was spotless, her clipboard organized, her posture confident.
Then entered Vihaan — like a gust of wind in a perfectly arranged room.
He slid in through the corridor, hair slightly messy, holding his chart upside down, and flashing a grin at the startled nurse.
“Good morning, Nurse Meena ji! Lagta hai aaj hum dono jaldi aa gaye.”
She frowned. “Sir, rounds started five minutes ago.”
“Exactly,” he said, straight-faced. “Main bas atmosphere build kar raha tha.”
Vidhi, standing a few feet away, looked up — unimpressed.
Their eyes met for the first time.
Calm collided with chaos.
Vidhi arched an eyebrow. “Dr. Verma, punctuality is also part of professionalism.”
Vihaan grinned, undeterred. “Dr. Singhania, smile karna bhi part of humanity hai.”
The nurse stifled a laugh. Vidhi didn’t.
“Patients first, jokes later,” she said curtly, flipping through the charts. “You’re handling Bed 12. Mr. Iyer.”
“Perfect,” Vihaan said, leaning on the counter casually. “Waise aapki handwriting dekh ke lagta hai patient ko aur stress mil jaayega.”
Vidhi didn’t even look up. “At least my charts exist. Aapke notes toh doodh wale bill jaise lagte hain.”
For a moment, silence. Then — Vihaan laughed, a deep, infectious sound that made the nearby interns grin.
“Sharp tongue, Dr. Singhania,” he said, hands in pockets. “I like that.”
Vidhi shot back calmly, “Good. You’ll need it — to bite when you’re wrong.”
He blinked, amused.
She turned and walked away, her steps firm, confident — leaving him half intrigued, half irritated.
As Vihaan watched her move through the ward — calm, efficient, disciplined — a smirk tugged at his lips.
“Miss Perfectionist,” he muttered under his breath. “Challenge accepted.”
---
Outside the Ward
A nurse passing by murmured to another,
“Yeh dono na… ek din ya toh best team banenge, ya hospital tod denge.”
And she wasn’t wrong.
Because somewhere in that silent tension, between her discipline and his defiance — something had already begun.
Not love. Not yet.
But a spark that neither of them could ignore.
---
Mumbai – Early Morning, Kavya’s PG Flat
The alarm rang at exactly 6:30 a.m.
Not a second late.
Not a second ignored.
Kavya Sharma’s eyes opened the moment the clock struck. She didn’t hit snooze —
For her, time wasn’t just a measurement; it was a principle.
She slipped out of bed, folded her blanket neatly, and drew the curtains open. The city outside was just waking up — the faint honk of cabs, a milkman’s cycle bell, the smell of rain-soaked air drifting through her small window.
Kavya took a deep breath and murmured to herself,
“New day. New beginning. No mistakes today.”
---
She tied her hair into a neat ponytail and walked straight to the tiny kitchenette.
A small frying pan sizzled as she made herself breakfast and lunch— sandwich and chai, Her perfect start to the day.
As the kettle hissed, she muttered softly, ticking off items in her head,
“Bread… doodh… detergent… oh, and fruits.”
Then, switching seamlessly, she began reciting sections from her tax law syllabus under her breath — multitasking like it was second nature.
“Section 139(1) — return of income. Filing before due date…”
She smiled slightly to herself. “Revision done. Breakfast done. Lunch ready Discipline — check.”
---
By 8:00 a.m., her small room looked like a reflection of her mind — precise, organized, efficient.
Her notepad and pens were arranged in straight lines.
Laptop charged. Bluetooth headset connected.
Her resume and CA internship file neatly stacked in a folder.
A backup pen drive labeled.
Every item had its place — and nothing dared to be out of order.
She checked her reflection in the mirror — simple formal shirt, neatly pressed trousers, hair tied cleanly, a light touch of kajal.
Professional, poised, perfect.
Her phone buzzed — a message from Aarohi in their trio group chat.
> Aarohi: “Big day, Kavya! Ready to conquer the financial kingdom?”
Vidhi: “Best of luck, Kavya. First impressions matter. Don’t stress.”
Kavya: “Thank you guys, just pray for the best. Love you❤️”
Aarohi sent a laughing emoji, and Vidhi replied with a heart.
Kavya smiled faintly before locking her phone. Their bond — even across miles — felt like home.
---
She placed her breakfast plate in the sink, cleaned it immediately, wiped the counter twice, and checked her bag again.
Laptop — ✔️
Files — ✔️
ID proofs — ✔️
Water bottle — ✔️
She glanced at the clock — 7:25 a.m.
“Perfect,” she whispered. “One hour before the reporting time.”
As she wore her watch, her landlady peeked in from the door.
“Kavya beta, itna subah nikal rahi h?”
Kavya smiled politely.
“Aaj first day hai, Aunty. Bas aashirvaad dijiye.”
“Achha! Bade logon ke saath kaam karegi ab tu!”
Kavya just nodded, her tone humble but confident.
“Kaam chhota ya bada nahi hota, Aunty. Bas perfect hona chahiye.”
She picked up her neatly packed bag, turned off the lights, and locked the door. Leaving for a new journey ahead.
---
Verma Mansion – South Mumbai, Morning
The clock struck 7:30 a.m. sharp, and the curtains in Atharv Verma’s expansive, sea-facing room glided open automatically with a soft mechanical hum.
Sunlight streamed in, spilling gold across polished wooden floors and reflecting off the silver frames that lined the wall — degrees, awards, certificates.
The kind of perfection that looked almost intimidating.
Atharv stood before the mirror, fastening his cufflinks with deliberate precision.
A crisp white shirt. A navy suit tailored to perfection. A matching watch gleaming against his wrist.
Every fold, every button, every detail — intentional.
The reflection staring back at him wasn’t just well-dressed — it was controlled.
Focused eyes. Composed features. Not a second wasted.
He adjusted his tie, smoothed his hair, and glanced at the clock.
8:00 a.m.
Right on schedule.
---
Descending the grand staircase, his footsteps echoed through the serene mansion.
The Verma Mansion wasn’t just large — it was disciplined.
Minimalist art. Fresh lilies on the console. Not a thing out of place.
At the dining table sat Mrs. Nandini Verma, his mother — elegant, kind-eyed, and dignified, wearing her morning smile like a soft halo.
“Good morning, Mom,” Atharv greeted, taking his seat.
“Good morning, beta,” she replied warmly. “Coffee jaise tumhe pasand hai — extra strong, no sugar.”
He nodded approvingly.
“Perfect, as always.”
She chuckled lightly. “You and your ‘perfect.’ Kabhi kabhi thoda imperfect bhi jee liya karo.”
Atharv smirked faintly, sipping his coffee. “Perfection is peace, Mom. Disorder gives me anxiety.”
“Hmm,” she said, serving him a plate of oats, fruits, and toast. “Aur tumhare anxiety ka solution hai… control, right?”
“Exactly.” His tone was easy, but his precision never wavered — each bite, each gesture, timed and measured.
---
As they ate, conversation drifted seamlessly to work — as it often did.
Nandini: “Aaj board meeting hai na?”
Atharv: “Yes. And a new trainee for audit supervision joins today. I’ll review her file before the meeting.”
Nandini (teasing): “Female trainee?”
Atharv (calmly): “Professional trainee.”
She laughed softly. “You sound more like your papa every day.”
Atharv smiled faintly. “He believed in efficiency. So do I.”
---
Just then, his phone buzzed.
📱 Incoming Call: “Vihaan + Mihir – Family Call”
Nandini’s face instantly brightened. “Ah! Mere bacche!” she exclaimed, as Atharv accepted the call.
On screen appeared Vihaan, half-awake in his AIIMS canteen, still in his white coat, and Mihir, seated in his campus café, happily devouring a burger.
Nandini: “Mihir! Phir se junk food?”
Mihir (grinning): “Mumma, creative people need chaos. It’s artistic.”
Atharv (dryly): “It’s unhealthy.”
Vihaan (stretching): “Good morning to both Mr. Clean and Mr. Chaos.”
Laughter erupted through the screen.
Even Atharv’s lips curved slightly.
Nandini: “Vihaan, tum phir late ho na? Aur bina nahaye chale gaye?”
Vihaan (half laughing): “Mom, itni subah subah kaun nahata hai?”
Nandini (pointing at Atharv): “Tumhara bhai.”
Atharv (smirking): “Unlike you two, I value discipline.”
Mihir: “Bhai, discipline ke saath thoda fun bhi try kar le kabhi.”
Atharv: “Fun is overrated.”
Nandini: “Aur yahi reason hai ki tumhe girlfriend nahi milti!”
Atharv coughed lightly, ignoring the jab, while Mihir and Vihaan burst out laughing.
Mihir: “Exactly, Mumma! He needs someone who can mess up his perfect little world.”
Vihaan: “Best of luck to whoever that brave soul is.”
Atharv adjusted his watch coolly.
“Let’s see who survives first — her or my schedule.”
---
After the call ended, Nandini’s teasing smile softened.
“Beta,” she said gently, “I know your father’s company means everything to you… but don’t forget to live a little too.”
Atharv finished his coffee, setting the cup down neatly.
“I will, Mom. But right now — there’s work to be lived.”
He rose, bent to touch her feet.
“Khush raho, beta. Aur thoda muskurao bhi,” she blessed him, her eyes tender.
He gave her a rare, genuine smile — small but real.
“Driver ko bol dijiye gaadi nikaale,” he said, picking up his sleek black bag. “I’ll be at the office by nine.”
As he walked toward the main door, the sun filtered through the marble foyer, catching on his watch.
8:30 a.m. sharp.
Right on time.
---
The mansion fell silent again.
Everything restored to order.
But across the same city, in a modest flat, Kavya Sharma zipped her bag, double-checked her schedule, and headed out toward Verma Industries — her punctuality mirroring his.
Two perfectionists.
Two minds carved from the same discipline.
Unaware that before the day ended, perfection itself was about to be challenged.
---
Verma Industries – Morning
The glass facade of Verma Industries gleamed under the morning sun — every inch of it mirroring the precision of the man who ran it.
Employees moved briskly through the lobby, their badges flashing, shoes tapping in rhythm with the hum of order that defined the place.
At exactly 9:00 a.m., a sleek black car stopped at the entrance.
Atharv Verma stepped out — polished, composed, and silent. His assistant, Raghav, immediately joined him, holding a folder.
“Sir, the meeting with the finance board is set for 9:30,” Raghav reported.
“And the new article trainee?” Atharv asked, eyes scanning the lobby.
“She’s expected by nine, sir.”
Atharv nodded once. “Good. I value punctuality.”
---
At the same time, a rickshaw pulled up near the gate.
Kavya Sharma stepped out, dressed in a crisp white shirt and neatly pleated black trousers. Her hair tied, bag slung perfectly, and a folder held close to her chest.
She took a deep breath, glancing once at her watch.
8:58 a.m.
Right on time.
“Perfect,” she murmured to herself, adjusting her glasses.
Inside, she paused for a second — taking in the sheer scale of Verma Industries. The glass, the order, the quiet sense of control.
It felt familiar.
It felt… like her.
---
As Kavya waited near the reception, the assistant approached her.
“Ma’am, you must be Ms. Sharma? Mr. Verma will see you shortly.”
She nodded politely. “Thank you.”
When the door to the Executive Office opened, she straightened, stepping in with composed confidence.
The room was vast, minimal, and silent — files aligned perfectly, the clock ticking softly, the city skyline visible through tall glass windows.
And behind the desk sat Atharv Verma, eyes sharp, posture immaculate, every movement precise.
He looked up. “Ms. Sharma?”
“Yes, sir.” She extended her file. “Kavya Sharma. Article trainee appointed for Verma Industries’ audit division.”
He gestured to the chair. “Sit.”
She sat — spine straight, gaze steady. No fidgeting. No hesitation.
---
Atharv (opening her file): “CA Finalist. You were recommended by the institute.”
Kavya (calmly): “Yes, sir.”
Atharv (scanning the file): “Discipline. Punctuality. Consistency. All strong points.”
He looked up, eyes narrowing slightly. “I hope these aren’t just words on paper.”
Kavya (meeting his gaze): “They’re not. I prefer proving them through work.”
For a second, silence. A small, approving flicker crossed his eyes — but it disappeared as quickly as it came.
Atharv: “Good. Then I expect efficiency. Deadlines here aren’t negotiable.”
Kavya: “Neither are principles, sir.”
That caught him off guard — only slightly, but enough to make him look at her properly this time.
No arrogance. No defiance. Just quiet conviction.
---
Atharv (leaning back): “I appreciate honesty. But I also appreciate hierarchy. You’ll be reporting to me directly during this audit.”
Kavya: “Understood.”
Atharv: “Work starts at 9 a.m. sharp. Late entries are not tolerated.”
Kavya (checking her watch): “I reached at 8:58, sir.”
Atharv (raising a brow): “You’ll fit in well then.”
There was something about the way their eyes met — not romantic, not yet — but charged.
Like two forces recognizing their own reflection in each other.
Raghav entered with the audit files, breaking the silence.
Raghav: “Sir, these are the quarterly reports.”
Atharv: “Thank you. Ms. Sharma, go through them. I’ll need your analysis by evening.”
Kavya: “Evening today?”
Atharv (calmly): “Yes. Any problem?”
She straightened her shoulders. “No, sir. Just making a note of the challenge.”
For the first time, Atharv’s lips curved ever so slightly. “I like that attitude.”
---
When she left the cabin, the faintest trace of amusement lingered on his face.
For years, Atharv Verma had surrounded himself with silence, order, and predictable efficiency.
But this girl — this calm, collected perfectionist with a spine of steel — had stirred something unfamiliar.
In the hallway, Kavya exhaled slowly, adjusting her files.
She has never worked before and this was her first time— but this man?
He wasn’t just disciplined.
He was discipline.
And she couldn’t decide if that made her admire him… or want to prove him wrong.
---
Across the glass wall, their reflections briefly aligned —
Two silhouettes, both composed, both unbending,
each unaware that destiny had just seated them on opposite sides of the same fire.
The day had only begun.
Verma Industries – Evening
The afternoon light slanted through the tall glass walls of Verma Industries, throwing gold streaks across spotless marble floors.
The hum of printers, the clicking of keyboards, and the measured rhythm of footsteps filled the space — precise, efficient, and perfectly synchronized.
Just the way Atharv Verma liked it.
---
Inside the Audit Division, everything gleamed in order.
Neatly stacked files. Color-coded binders. Even the air felt structured.
At one corner desk sat Kavya Sharma, her back straight, eyes fixed on the screen, fingers flying across the keyboard.
Her hair was tied up neatly, a few strands falling around her face — the only trace of imperfection she allowed.
Beside her, a notebook lay open with meticulous handwriting — rows of numbers, cross-references, and margin notes.
She worked with quiet intensity, the world around her fading into silence.
Then her brows knit together.
“Wait…” she murmured to herself, adjusting her glasses.
“The March ledger doesn’t tally. Depreciation entries are off.”
Without hesitation, she opened a second spreadsheet, her mind already running calculations faster than her fingers.
---
The air shifted slightly — a faint cologne, the soft echo of polished shoes.
She didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
“Trial balance done, Ms. Sharma?”
She turned.
Atharv Verma stood behind her — tall, poised, and calm, his expression unreadable.
“Yes, sir,” she replied evenly. “I’ve almost finalized the March figures. There was a small mismatch in depreciation, but it’s been corrected.”
He stepped closer, eyes flicking to her screen.
His voice was smooth but exact. “Show me.”
Kavya shifted slightly, allowing him a view.
He scanned the sheet quickly — his focus sharp, movement minimal.
Then, his finger pointed at a cell.
“This number. ₹12,57,000? It should be ₹12,75,000.”
Kavya blinked once. “Sir, I rechecked the entries twice — the system record shows ₹12,57,000.”
He looked up at her, tone even. “And I verified it from the physical voucher file this morning.”
Silence.
Just the faint hum of the air conditioner and two people unwilling to yield.
Kavya (measured): “If there’s a mismatch, I’ll confirm it again. But my data is accurate.”
Atharv (coolly): “Accuracy is good. But assumptions aren’t data.”
Kavya (steady): “Neither are outdated manual entries, sir.”
A flicker — barely visible — crossed his eyes.
Not irritation, not anger. Recognition.
She turned back to her screen and pulled up the scanned vouchers.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Then she zoomed in on the entry and pointed to the highlighted figure.
“₹12,57,000 — as per scanned records uploaded last week.”
Atharv leaned in slightly, studied it, then straightened.
“Understood. I’ll have the physical file rechecked.”
Kavya simply nodded, professional and composed.
“Yes, sir.”
He turned to leave, but paused.
Without looking back, he said quietly, “Good catch on the depreciation mismatch.”
That one sentence carried the weight of a compliment — and the balance of control.
She looked up briefly.
“Thank you, sir.”
A small pause.
“I prefer my numbers correct.”
He gave the faintest hint of a smile — barely there, almost invisible.
“So do I.”
And then he walked away.
---
As the glass door clicked shut behind Atharv Verma, silence reclaimed the room.
Kavya’s fingers hovered above the keyboard, her breath caught midair — as if even exhaling too loudly would break the precision that moment had carried.
Her heart was racing.
Not from fear… but from awareness.
The awareness of having faced Atharv Verma — the perfectionist, the boss everyone whispered about — on her very first day.
For a few seconds, she just sat there. Still.
Her gaze lingered on the reflection of the office glass — tall cubicles, polished desks, people moving in quiet sync.
This was not her comfort zone of books and ledgers.
This was a battlefield of efficiency — where one mistake could echo louder than words.
She pressed her palms on the desk and inhaled deeply.
“Relax, Kavya,” she whispered under her breath. “You didn’t make a mistake. You did your job.”
The logical side of her mind spoke up — cool and crisp.
You verified data. You stood your ground. You were right.
But the emotional side — the one she rarely let speak — murmured softly, Still… he’s your senior. You could’ve just agreed.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for her pen, but she tightened her grip and straightened her back again.
“No,” she said firmly to herself this time. “You earned this position. Don’t let fear shrink your confidence.”
The words steadied her pulse, brought back her rhythm.
---
She turned back to her laptop, reviewing her entries once more — not because she doubted herself, but because that’s who she was. Thorough. Meticulous.
Every figure cross-checked, every file renamed properly before saving.
As she worked, her thoughts wandered for a fleeting moment —
He noticed the mismatch. He noticed everything.
There was something unsettling about that — not because she’d been corrected, but because his gaze carried that same precision she lived by.
It was almost… unnerving to meet someone who operated at the same wavelength of order.
---
She took a sip from her water bottle, adjusted her pen beside the notepad, and exhaled slowly.
Back to her calm self — quiet, methodical, composed.
In that stillness, she made a silent promise to herself.
This was just day one.
By the end of this internship, she wouldn’t just belong here — she’d make her mark.
She tied her hair tighter, tapped her fingers once on the table as if setting her own tempo again, and murmured softly —
“Discipline, Kavya. That’s your armor.”
Then, with a small determined smile, she turned back to her screen, her eyes sharper than before.
Outside, the faint reflection of Atharv Verma crossing the corridor flickered on the glass wall —
but Kavya didn’t look up this time.
She was ready.
Atharv glanced once toward her desk — his mind sharp, precise, and strangely unsettled.
For the first time in a long while, someone hadn’t just followed his method — they’d matched it.
---
That night, as Verma Industries quieted and the city lights flickered to life outside, both of them — miles apart in thought yet identical in temperament — found themselves replaying the same moment.
Two minds, equally controlled.
Two wills, equally unyielding.
Neither smiled.
But both knew — something significant had shifted.
---
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