The rest of the day moved in a blur of tasks, emails, meetings, and calendar adjustments.

Meher Sharma sat outside the glass cabin, fingers flying across the keyboard, eyes flicking between schedules and spreadsheets, mind focused — at least on the surface.

But her thoughts kept circling back to the man in the room behind her.

Arav Malhotra.

His cold voice.
His sharp tone.
The complete lack of acknowledgment beyond commands.

He doesn't look at me. Doesn't speak more than a line. And when he does... it's like I'm invisible. Replaceable.

She sighed softly, closing a file and rubbing her forehead.

But instead of feeling small, her spine straightened.

So what?

He doesn't need to see me. He doesn't need to care. That's not why I'm here.

Her thoughts turned to the broken version of herself — the girl who had walked barefoot through traffic, tears streaking her face, heart full of shame and hurt.

That girl was gone.

Now?

She had a chair.
She had a job.
She had a purpose.

Even if I'm just an assistant to him, I'm earning. I'm standing. I'm learning how to live for myself.

She looked around the office floor — full of ambition, power, and people who carried stories she'd never know.

But hers was different.

Hers was still being written — silently, one email, one coffee, one calendar update at a time.

Just then, a message pinged on her screen.

From: Mr. Arav Malhotra

"Meeting at 5 with logistics head. Print and prep summary notes before that."

She read it.
Paused.
Then typed back:

"On it, sir."

No emoji. No expression. Just professionalism.

And somewhere inside her, a quiet voice whispered —

You don't need warmth from others to glow, Meher. You are your own fire now....

....

It was nearly 4:45 PM.

Meher was at her desk, neatly organizing documents for Arav's upcoming 5 PM meeting with the Logistics Head. Her posture was calm, but her eyes were sharp — reading every line, highlighting what mattered, mentally calculating gaps.

She had started doing something Arav hadn't told her to:

Learning. Reading between the lines. Anticipating.

Inside the cabin, Arav was scanning through a different report — irritation growing on his face. The numbers on his screen weren't aligning with what he was verbally promised.

At exactly 4:53 PM, Meher stepped in with the file.

"Your summary notes for the meeting, sir."

He didn't look up. Just extended a hand and took the folder.

Meher turned to leave... but paused for a second.

"Sir?" she said quietly.

He finally glanced up.

"Yes?"

She hesitated — she wasn't sure if she should say it, but her instincts told her this mattered.

"On page 3 of the logistics report... the Q2 supply numbers and the vendor names don't match. There's a pattern of overbilling from one of the secondary vendors. You might want to cross-check it before finalizing new contracts."

Arav stilled.

Slowly, he flipped open the page.

He read it. Once. Then again.

The silence in the room was loud.

She stood still, ready to be dismissed.

Instead...

He looked up — directly into her eyes.

For the first time... really looked.

"You found this... when?"

She replied calmly, "While summarizing. It didn't match with last week's finance sheets you asked me to scan. So I cross-checked with older reports."

Another pause.

Then...

"Well done," he said, voice low but clear.

That was it.

No smile. No nod. No warmth.

But in Arav Malhotra's world — those two words were rare gold.

She gave a polite nod and left the room.

Back at her desk, her heart beat a little faster.
Not because he praised her.

But because she knew — she had earned that moment.

No favoritism.

No luck.

Just effort.

Inside the cabin, Arav was still staring at the report. His jaw tight, his fingers drumming slowly on the desk.

How did she catch that? I didn't. Not even the department head noticed.

He leaned back.

His walls were still up. His guard, unshaken.

But for the first time... he didn't think of Meher Sharma as just "an assistant."

He thought of her as a presence. A mind. A risk

...

STAY TUNED.. AND CONNECTED...