वक्रतुण्ड महाकाय सूर्यकोटि समप्रभः
निर्विघ्नं कुरुमेदेवः सर्वकार्येषु सर्वदा

🎶Dekha tenu pehli- pehli baar ve
Hone laga dil beqaraar ve
Rabba mainu ki hogaya
Dil janiye
Haye mainu ki hogaya 🎶

'Kya maal hai bhai, moti rakam milegi iski toh'

'W-who are you?'

'Where am I?'

'Kon ho tum log?'

'Aree, jaaneman, darti kyun ho, we'll enjoy a lot.'

'Please, please leave me, maine aapka kya bigaada hai?'

'But you said you'll help me.'

'....... I won't........'

'AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!'

"NO!"

I woke up with a jolt, like something had yanked me out of sleep. My body was covered in sweat, my heart thudding hard—but everything else felt... dull. Like I was here, but not really.

My hand reached for my phone without thinking. The screen lit up.
2:00 AM.

Again. Always the same.

I stared at the numbers for a few seconds before putting it back. My fingers felt cold. My chest felt tight. The nightmare still clung to me, pieces of it flickering at the edge of my mind. I didn’t want to remember, but I didn’t need to. I already knew how it ended.

I looked around the room. Nothing had changed. Same walls. Same shelves. Same shadows. But something still felt wrong, like the air itself was off. Too still. Too heavy. Like it was holding its breath, waiting.

“You’re fine,” I said, barely a whisper. “You’re okay.”

But I wasn’t sure if I believed it anymore.

I pulled my blanket up, curled in on myself. It was almost automatic now—like my body knew the drill. This was how the night went. The panic. The cold. The silence that wasn’t really silent.

I tried to breathe slow. In. Out. In. Out. But the fear didn’t move. It just sat there, heavy in my chest, like a weight I couldn’t shake. My throat was dry. My skin prickled like something unseen had brushed past me. I hated this. I hated how real it always felt.

The dream kept replaying in my head, even though I didn’t want it to. The voices, the laughter, the feeling of being completely helpless. Like I was drowning and no one even noticed.

I glanced at the corner of my room—the one that always looked darker than the rest. I knew it was just shadows. I knew. But it didn’t matter. The fear didn’t care what I knew. It only cared that I felt it.

“It’s just a dream,” I whispered again, like it was some kind of spell. “It’s not real.”

But it always felt real. Too real. And every night, it left me more worn down than the last. Like it was taking pieces of me.

I don’t even know what I’m scared of anymore. Just... everything, maybe. Or nothing at all. I can’t tell the difference.

And the worst part? I’m starting to think this isn’t something I can wake up from.

I reached for the lamp on my nightstand and switched it on. Warm light filled the room, pushing the shadows away, but the unease didn’t go anywhere. It just sat there quietly, like it always did.

Sleep wasn’t happening. I knew that. I lay back down anyway, the clock ticking loud in the silence. A few minutes turned into hours—me, staring at the ceiling, turning over, changing sides, shifting the pillow, then flipping it—again and again, until even trying felt pointless.

Around five, the sun started peeking through the curtains. A faint orange light cut across the room. That was it. I gave up.

I pushed the blanket off, slipped into my slippers, and walked to the closet. Grabbed a fresh towel and my usual gym outfit—a black, full-sleeved set—and headed straight to the bathroom. Half an hour later, I was out, ready, and it was six.

I opened my room door slowly, careful not to make any noise. The rest of the house was still asleep. I made my way through the hallways, down to the indoor gym.

Inside, the place was calm. Morning light filtered through the windows, making the steel equipment glow slightly golden. The machines were silent, waiting. I took a deep breath and got to work.

For the next forty-five minutes, I stuck to the routine. Weights. Core. Treadmill. Nothing fancy—just enough to keep my head clear. The burn in my muscles helped take the edge off the night before.

Once I was done, I wiped my face, took another breath, and headed back to my room. There wasn’t time to slow down—not today. I had a meeting lined up with the CEO of Oberoi Vigilance Vanguard. Big name, big stakes.

And yeah, apparently the Abhimanyu Oberoi would be there too. I’d heard more than enough about him—brilliant, polished, probably too smooth for his own good. The kind of guy who sounds like he was written by someone with a very high opinion of men.

"Stop it, Prati. There’s no such thing as perfect. All XY chromosomes come from the same factory. Have you forgotten what happened the last time?"

My mind wasn’t being gentle right now—it never was when it came to this. The voice in my head snapped me out of the Abhimanyu thought spiral as I walked back to my room. There were more important things to focus on, anyway. The meeting wasn’t just another calendar event—it was a huge deal for SecureEye, my company. Sitting across the table from some of the top names in the security business was exciting... and stressful at the same time.

Back in my room, I headed straight to the washroom. My gym clothes clung uncomfortably to my skin, damp with sweat. I peeled them off slowly, grateful to finally be free of them. The moment the warm water hit my body, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. It was calming—steady streams washing off the weight of the night and the tension building for the day ahead.

I stayed under the shower longer than usual, letting the heat soak into my muscles, washing my hair, going through the usual routine. Twenty minutes later, I stepped out, wrapped in my thick robe, hair damp, body feeling a little lighter.

In the closet, I picked out black high-waist pants and a white full-sleeved blouse—clean, simple, professional. I stepped into the outfit and reached behind to fasten the buttons.

As my fingers brushed against the skin on my back, they skimmed over the faint, raised lines etched there. Old marks. Faded, but never gone.

For a second, everything stilled.

The warmth of the shower. The rhythm of the morning. Gone. Replaced by the cold sting of memory. Faces. Voices. The helplessness. It all came rushing back, like a wave I never asked for.

My fingers paused. My chest tightened.

Then, just as quickly, I swallowed it down.

It happened. It’s done. It’s part of my story. That’s it.

I fastened the last button, smoothed out the fabric, and grabbed a pair of black heels. A pair of small black studs finished the look.

I walked over to the dressing table, sat down, and reached for my hairbrush. Just as I started running it through my hair, my phone buzzed.

Ananya Goenka.

Best friend slash secretary. Possibly the only person who could call me this early and get away with it.

On the call

Ananya: Good morning, Miss Birla.

Pratishtha: Ananya, how many times do I have to tell you—Miss Birla is only for when we’re around employees.

Ananya: Fine, fine. Anyway, I’ll see you at the venue in fifteen minutes. Hope you’re ready by then… because honestly, the time you take to get dressed, someone could travel from Kashmir to Kanyakumari.

Pratishtha: Whatever. I’ll be ready. Don’t worry. Bye.

Call ended.

Huff. So much chaos for one meeting.

I slipped my phone into my bag, gave myself one last look in the mirror, adjusted my blouse slightly, and grabbed my blazer from the chair. No time for breakfast—nothing new.

A few minutes later, I was in the car, sunglasses on, jaw set, the city blurring past the windows as the driver took the usual route. My mind was already in meeting mode.

Fifteen minutes later, I spotted Ananya waiting near the building entrance of Oberoi Vigilance Vanguard, phone in one hand, coffee in the other.

Time Skip

Ananya and I were the first to step into the conference room, our team following close behind. The Oberoi team hadn’t arrived yet, but the room was already buzzing — assistants adjusting the projector, arranging files, ensuring everything was in place. Our arrival sent a small ripple through the room as staff straightened up a little more.

“Ms. Birla, Ms. Goenka — please, everything’s under control. You can take your seats,” someone from the organizing team said quickly.

I gave a small nod and headed toward the front table. Ananya shot me a look, silently reminding me that being early was her way of being efficient. I gave her a sharp sideways glare in return.

“This is what all the driving was for?” I muttered under my breath. “You almost killed us getting here, and now we’re just... waiting.”

She offered a sheepish smile. “You’re welcome for the punctuality.”

“More like almost giving me a heart attack.” I whispered under my breath, but she heard it.

Before she could retort, the doors opened.

In walked Mr. Abhimanyu Oberoi, followed by a few key members of his team. Behind them was Mr. Kabir Oberoi — the founder and chairman of the Oberoi Empire. All eyes shifted as they entered, the air instantly more focused, more authoritative.

I hadn’t planned to look that easily. Honestly. But the moment he stepped inside, it seemed almost as if the atmosphere rearranged itself — like even the room knew who had arrived.

He was tall. Maybe around six feet' two inches. Broad shoulders, a lean, clean frame that moved with effortless command. Fair skin, brown hair smoothed back with precision but no vanity. And those eyes — a still, honey-rich gaze that didn’t need to ask for attention but got it anyway.

For a second, I understood the rumours. The ones whispered during high-profile meetings and behind closed doors — about the Oberoi heir with a head for war and a tongue that didn’t waste words.

And for once, the rumours weren’t wrong. They were, instead, absolutely on-point.

My spine straightened without permission. Not out of nerves. Just... instinct. The way your body knows when it’s standing in front of something—or someone—that shifts the balance of the room like they're a storm even the winds are afraid of.

Since when did I begin to sound so poetic?

Abhimanyu walked with quiet confidence — composed, professional, no unnecessary flair. He greeted the room with a courteous nod, then turned his attention toward me.

“Ms. Birla,” he said, offering out his hand professionally.

“Mr. Oberoi,” I replied, rising from my seat to shake it. His grip was firm but not overpowering, his expression polite, unreadable.

The moment passed in seconds, but it left me slightly off balance. There was something about his presence — maybe the calm precision in the way he carried himself, or the fact that he hadn’t thrown around charm like it was currency. He didn’t try to impress. He didn’t need to. He didn't need to charm anyone. He was, actually, the real charm.

You're sounding like a fangirl now.

Shut up, Mr Conscience!

I resumed my seat, back straight, expression composed — the kind of practiced calm that came from years of learning how to be unreadable. Not cold. Just... careful.

The meeting began.

We opened with a presentation from our side — outlining the structural security framework we’d designed for high-risk asset management. I led the pitch, easing into the familiar rhythm of stats, slides, and strategy. Layered surveillance, AI-integrated alert systems, confidential threat analysis modules — each word crisp, controlled.

I could feel his gaze — not invasive, but attentive. Like someone who actually listened.

The Oberoi team followed with their data. Past collaborations. Logistics support. Internal risk response models that were efficient, maybe even elegant, in a way most corporate frameworks weren’t.

Abhimanyu spoke with quiet authority — clear, concise, every word placed like a chess move. No theatrics. No boardroom bravado. Just clarity. And strangely, respect.

He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t diminish. Didn't do that thing most men in power did— you know, tilt the room until your voice slid out of relevance.

No corporate ego. No need to flex.

And I hated myself for the way I was noticing each and every detail.

Discussion turned to contract scopes, non-disclosure clauses, long-term integration strategy. Legal teams took notes. Timelines were loosely mapped. It was a clean negotiation — sharp-edged, sure, but fair.

A solid beginning.

When the meeting finally wrapped, chairs scraped back, briefcases clicked shut, and people began the soft shuffle of formal goodbyes.

Abhimanyu turned to me again, his voice steady. “We look forward to working with you, Ms. Birla.”

Just a slight smile. Polite. Controlled. Barely there, but it lingered longer than it should’ve.

I returned it with a nod. “Likewise, Mr. Oberoi.”

But even as I turned away, something in my chest pulsed — a strange thrum I didn’t have time and knowledge to name.

Nervousness, maybe?

We had just begun collecting our belongings, the rustle of papers and low murmurs filling the room, when a voice called out behind me.

“Ms. Birla.”

I turned to find Mr. Kabir Oberoi — Abhimanyu’s father, and the patriarch of the Oberoi empire — standing with his son at his side. The rest of the room had mostly cleared, leaving just the four of us—Kabir Sir, Abhimanyu, Ananya, and me.

I turned slightly to Ananya. “Wait for me in the car,” I said softly.

She nodded and left without a word, sensing that this wasn’t something she needed to be a part of.

As I stepped closer, Kabir Sir gave me a warm, courteous smile.

“I just wanted to say, the presentation your team delivered was quite impressive—especially the part presented by your associate. Clear, well-thought-out. It gives me confidence about this partnership,” he said, his voice carrying the calm authority of someone who’d seen decades of boardrooms.

I gave a polite smile. “Thank you, Sir. We’re equally honoured to be working alongside the Oberois.”

He nodded once, then continued, “In the spirit of this new collaboration, we’re hosting a small formal dinner at our home tomorrow evening. It’s just a family event with a few key people from both sides. We’d like to have you there—with your family, of course.”

I paused for a moment—not long, just enough to acknowledge the weight of the invitation.

“That’s very kind of you,” I replied, maintaining my composed tone. “We’ll be there.”

Kabir Sir extended his hand and I shook it—firm, steady, respectful. We exchanged a few more polite words before I turned around to leave.

But as I walked away, I could feel a certain intensity that hadn’t left the room. I didn’t need to turn around to know whose eyes were following me.

Abhimanyu didn’t say anything, but his silence spoke volumes. His gaze lingered on me—sharp, unwavering. It wasn’t obvious or overdone, but it stayed.

Even as I walked out of the room and away from them, the weight of it stayed with me—settling somewhere between my mind and my chest, refusing to let go.

So, the final, edited version is here.

This might be what you call, the new beginning to the same story. Anyways, see you in the next update.

Till then, take care and Ta-ta 👋👋

By Azmira

Xoxo ✨❤️