Meraki Office, Delhi,

Authors Pov:

Ahaan Malhotra pinched the bridge of his nose, the fluorescent lights of his office cabin reflecting harshly off the pristine white walls. The presentation in his hand was a masterpiece, a stark contrast to the usual half-baked attempts he received. He'd been a grumpy boss lately, the weight of expectations and deadlines pressing down on him. But this, this was different.

Gone was the carefree, charming Ahaan Malhotra who'd effortlessly charmed his way through college. Now, he was a driven, ambitious Manager, known more for his demanding nature than his easy laughter. The old spark of humor still flickered occasionally, but it was often buried beneath layers of spreadsheets and strategic planning.

Ahaan's Pov

I read particularly insightful section on analysis, a ghost of a smile playing on my lips. "Impressive," i murmured, the word feeling foreign after days of reprimanding and correcting. I buzzed my secretary, Priya.

"Payal, get me the details on this report. Specifically, the employee who drafted it."

Payal's efficient voice crackled through the intercom. "Certainly, Mr. Malhotra. Just a moment."

I leaned back in his leather chair, the silence punctuated only by the hum of the air conditioner.   I felt a strange pull, an inexplicable curiosity about the person behind the intelligent prose. Was it a seasoned analyst pulling strings from afar? Or a person with a brilliant mind?

Payal's voice interrupted my thoughts. "Mr. Malhotra, the report was prepared by a Ms. Sharma. She's an employee at our Bangalore branch."

"Sharma? Just Sharma? No first name?" My frustration was evident.

"I'm afraid not, sir. The system only lists her as Ms. Sharma. However, she will be joining us in person for the project meeting in two days. She's been invited to represent the Bangalore team's contribution."

"Very well, Payal. Thank you." He dismissed her with a curt nod, the image of "Ms. Sharma" already forming in his mind. He imagined a serious, bespectacled woman, buried under stacks of data, a brilliant but introverted mind. Or perhaps, a sharp, confident young professional ready to take on the world. The possibilities swirled in his head, fueled by nothing more than a well-written report.

Authors Pov:

Two days. He'd have to wait two days. Ahaan sighed inwardly. He was a practical man, a man of logic and reasoned decisions. This sudden eagerness to meet a subordinate, a mere intern, was illogical in the extreme. He couldn't explain it, and frankly, he didn't want to analyze it too deeply. He was simply...intrigued.

Ahaan found himself unusually distracted, his mind wandering back to the enigmatic Ms. Sharma. He caught himself rereading the report, not for errors, but for clues, some indication of the personality that lay behind the words. He even found himself polishing his presentation, adding a touch of his old humor, a silent offering, perhaps, to the unknown author of the report.

Bangalore,

Aashvi Sharma tapped furiously on her keyboard, the rhythmic clicking a counterpoint to the hum of the Meraki. Sunlight streamed through the panoramic windows, illuminating her sleek workspace and the carefully curated succulents she'd placed on her desk. In college, such meticulously arranged aesthetics would have been foreign to her. Back then, it was all about paint-splattered overalls, impromptu poetry slams, and a general disregard for anything resembling order. Now, a decade later, she was a successful UX designer, a far cry from the idealistic art student she once was.

She glanced at the digital clock on her monitor: 5:47 PM. Almost there. Just a few more tweaks to the user interface, and she could finally head home, maybe even catch a late yoga class.

Suddenly, her boss, Mr. Kapoor, materialized at her desk, a thundercloud brewing on his perpetually grumpy face. He was a man who seemed to thrive on deadlines and espressos, and Aashvi suspected he hadn't cracked a genuine smile since the invention of the internet.

"Aashvi," he barked, his voice sharp enough to cut through the ambient office noise. "I need you in my office. Now."

Aashvi sighed inwardly. This couldn't be good. She saved her work, straightened her dress – a sophisticated teal number that screamed "competent professional," a far cry from the bohemian dresses of her past – and followed him to his lair.

Mr. Kapoor's office was a shrine to corporate efficiency: minimalist furniture, a wall-sized whiteboard covered in incomprehensible flowcharts, and a distinct absence of anything that might suggest a human being actually worked there.

He gestured for her to sit, then launched straight into the bad news. "The Delhi project. It's critical. We need to deploy a team on-site, immediately."

Aashvi's Pov 

I blinked. "Immediately? But the project was scheduled to start next month..."

Mr Kapoor, "Plans change, Aashvi. That's the nature of this business. I need you and your team in Delhi within two days."  

My stomach plummeted. Delhi. Two days. I have a life in Bangalore. A carefully constructed routine of work, friends, and the tentative beginnings of a... well, something with the cute barista at her local coffee shop.

"Two days?" I repeated, trying to keep my voice even. "That's... quite short notice."

Mr. Kapoor just stared at me, his eyes radiating a potent mixture of impatience and disdain. "I'm aware. Which is why I'm telling you now. You're the best UX designer we have. I need you to spearhead this."

Flattery from Mr. Kapoor? Now that was truly alarming.

He continued, outlining the project – a complete overhaul of a major e-commerce platform – and the logistical nightmare of getting a team, equipment, and themselves to Delhi on such short notice. Aashvi listened, her mind racing, trying to juggle the professional responsibility with the personal disruption.

"I understand," I said finally, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "I'll get everything sorted."

"Good. I expect a report on my desk by tomorrow morning outlining the plan. Don't disappoint me, Aashvi." He dismissed me with a curt nod, turning back to his computer screen before I even reached the door.

Back at my desk, the sunlight suddenly felt oppressive. Two days. Delhi. I had a mountain of work to do, not to mention the chaos of packing, canceling appointments, and explaining to my friends why I was suddenly abandoning them.

I spent the rest of the evening in a whirlwind of activity. I gathered my team – a motley crew of talented designers and developers, I genuinely enjoyed working with – and broke the news. There were groans, complaints, and the inevitable barrage of logistical questions. I fielded them all with a forced calmness, outlining the plan I was already formulating in my head.

I worked late into the night, fueled by lukewarm coffee and sheer adrenaline. The report for Mr. Kapoor was completed just before dawn, a testament to my dedication and organizational skills – qualities I'd honed over the years, transforming from the impulsive artist to the efficient professional.

Finally, with the first rays of sunlight peeking through the horizon, I slumped back in my chair, exhausted but strangely exhilarated. I had done it. I had managed to pull off the impossible.

Before heading home for a few precious hours of sleep, I walked to the office terrace, and called her best friend, Priya, who was always her anchor.

"Hey Priya, it's me", I said, with a sigh.

"Hey Aashvi! What's up? You sound tired."

"Tired is an understatement. Mr. Kapoor just dropped a bomb on me. I have to go to Delhi with the team, like, tomorrow."

"Delhi?! What? Why?" Priya exclaimed.

I explained the whole situation, the project, the deadline, Mr. Kapoor's impossible demands.

Priya listened patiently, then said, "Wow, that's intense. But Aashvi, you got this. You always do. And hey, maybe Delhi will be good for you. A change of scenery, new experiences..."

"Maybe," Aashvi said, unconvinced. "But I'm going to miss you guys."

"We'll miss you too. But we'll visit! And think of all the amazing food you'll get to eat in Delhi!"

I laughed, a genuine laugh that eased some of the tension in her shoulders. "Okay, you've convinced me. Food always does the trick."

After talking to my friend, I felt a little relaxed, and decided to call Rohan, the Barista I had a crush on.

"Hey Rohan, it's Aashvi."

"Hey Aashvi! What a pleasant surprise. What's up?" He replied in a cheerful voice.

My heart fluttered a little. "So, um, I have some news. I'm leaving for Delhi tomorrow."

There was a pause. "Delhi? For how long?"

"I'm not sure. A few weeks, maybe longer. It's for work."

I could sense the disappointment in his voice. "Oh. Well, that's... that's too bad."

Aashvi's heart sank. She didn't want things to end before they'd even begun. "Yeah, it is," I said softly. "I was... I was really enjoying getting coffee at your place."

He chuckled. "Me too. Maybe when you get back..."

"Maybe," Aashvi echoed, but the word felt hollow. The future suddenly seemed uncertain, a blurry landscape of missed opportunities and potential regrets.

Authors Pov:

After the call, Aashvi stood on the terrace for a long time, watching the sunrise paint the Bangalore skyline in hues of gold and pink. She thought about her life, the choices she'd made, the person she had become. She was successful, independent, and respected in her field. But was she truly happy?

The free-spirited artist of her college days seemed like a distant memory, a ghost in the machine of her meticulously planned existence. Would she ever find her way back to that part of herself?

As she turned to leave, a sudden gust of wind ruffled her hair, a fleeting reminder of the wildness she still carried within. Maybe Delhi wouldn't be so bad after all. Maybe it would be a chance to rediscover herself, to find a new balance between the polished professional and the impulsive artist. Maybe, just maybe, it would be the beginning of a new adventure.

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