The sterile air of Ahaan's cabin hung thick with unspoken tension. Papers littered the mahogany desk, miniature battlefields where marketing strategies clashed and quarterly targets lay wounded. Ahaan, his tie loosened just enough to hint at controlled frustration, paced like a caged tiger. The Mumbai skyline, usually a calming presence through the panoramic window, was today just another blurry distraction.

Ahaan's Pov

"Payal, I swear," I bit out, his voice a low rumble that made the poor secretary shrink further into her chair. "This is unacceptable. I had specifically asked you to inform me the moment Ms. Sharma arrived. Do you realize how important this meeting was?"

Payal, usually efficient and unflappable, stammered, "Sir, I... I completely forgot. It was a chaotic morning, and..."

I cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Excuses, Payal, just excuses. Ms. Sharma flew in from Bangalore for this presentation, and you just 'forgot'? This reflects badly on the entire team, on me!"

I knew I was being harsh, perhaps unfairly so. Payal was generally reliable, and I wasn't typically prone to such outbursts. But today, everything felt frayed, stretched thin. The pressure of new deal was bearing down on me, and the missed opportunity to meet Ms. Sharma had only poured fuel on the fire.

"Sir, Ms. Sharma left the presentation points for you," Payal offered, her voice barely a whisper. She placed a neatly stacked pile of papers on the edge of his desk, as if afraid to get too close. "She said she had another engagement."

I stopped pacing. I could practically smell her presence on the crisp white sheets. I took a deep breath, trying to tamp down the surge of anticipation that threatened to overwhelm his carefully constructed wall of composure.

"Alright, Payal, you're dismissed," I said, his voice calmer now, though still edged with steel. "And please, ensure this doesn't happen again."

As Payal scurried out, I reached for the presentation points. My fingers trembled almost imperceptibly as he smoothed the papers, his eyes scanning the neatly handwritten notes. Her handwriting was just as I remembered – elegant, flowing script with a distinctive slant.

Aash... I stopped in half. The name echoed in the hollows of his chest, a phantom limb twitching with forgotten memories. I hadn't seen her in... I didn't want to think about how long it had been. A lifetime, perhaps.

  I forced himself to focus on the content, digesting the key strategies and marketing angles Ms. Sharma had proposed. Her insights were sharp, innovative, a reminder of the brilliance he had always admired. I found himself nodding in agreement, mentally rearranging my own ideas to align with hers.

Then, I reached the last page. Beneath the final bullet point, a small, almost whimsical star was drawn. A simple five-pointed star, but it struck me with the force of a physical blow.

I hadn't seen that star in years. Not since college, when she would doodle them in the margins of her notebooks, next to my name. They were their secret symbol, a silent language of shared dreams and unspoken promises.

Authors Pov:

His mind raced, his meticulously organized thoughts dissolving into a chaotic jumble of memories. Late-night study sessions fueled by endless cups of coffee, love under the star-drenched sky of their university campus, whispered hopes for a future they had envisioned together.

The Ahaan he was now, the ambitious executive, the man who meticulously planned every aspect of his life, felt like a stranger. He saw a ghost of the carefree, charming college student he once was, a boy who had believed in happily ever after, a boy who had loved her with every fiber of his being.

He had pushed that boy down, buried him beneath layers of ambition, success, and a carefully cultivated detachment. He had convinced himself that it was necessary, that love was a weakness, a distraction from his goals.

But the star. The simple, innocent star had breached his defenses, cracking the facade he had so painstakingly constructed.

He sank into his chair, the presentation points forgotten in his lap. He closed his eyes, trying to recapture the feeling of her hand in his, the sound of her laughter echoing in his ears. He remembered the day he had let her go, the day he had chosen his career over their love. It had been a calculated decision, made with cold, logical precision. But now, years later, the weight of that decision pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating.

He opened his eyes. He had to see her. He had to know if the spark, the connection that had once burned so brightly, was still there. He had to understand why, after all this time, she had drawn that star.

He grabbed his phone and dialed Payal's extension. "Payal, I need Ms. Sharma's contact information. Immediately."

He heard Payal's hesitant voice on the other end. "Sir, I... I don't have it. She didn't leave a card."

Ahaan clenched his jaw. Of course, she hadn't. She had always been infuriatingly independent, fiercely protective of her privacy. He felt a surge of frustration, followed by a strange sense of... excitement? The chase had always been part of the allure.

"Find it," he said, his voice firm but strangely lighter. "Track her down. I need to speak with her."

He hung up the phone, a flicker of the old Ahaan, the charming, determined college student, rising to the surface. He didn't know what he would say to her, what he would do if he saw her again. But he knew he couldn't let this opportunity pass. He had to confront the past, to understand if there was still a future worth fighting for.

He stood up, the weight on his chest slightly lighter. He straightened his tie, not with the rigid precision of the executive, but with a newfound sense of purpose. The sterile air of his cabin still hung thick, but now, it carried a faint scent of possibility, a whisper of hope carried on the wings of a five-pointed star. The meeting he was supposed to be at suddenly seemed unimportant. The only meeting that mattered was the one he was about to orchestrate, a meeting with the ghost of his past, and perhaps, a chance at reclaiming a piece of his future.

_____________________________________________________________

Aashvi Sharma stared at the glowing screen of her laptop, the sterile white light of the Delhi hotel room reflecting in her tired eyes. A knot of frustration tightened in her chest, a familiar companion these past few hours. "Boss, You absolute menace," she muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible above the hum of the air conditioner.

Delhi. She hated Delhi. Or rather, she hated being in Delhi for work. It wasn't the city itself; she remembered snippets of carefree college days spent exploring hidden cafes and bustling markets with a fondness that warmed her even now. But this Delhi, this business-trip-Delhi, felt suffocating.

Today had been a whirlwind. After landing, she'd rushed straight to the office, determined to finalize her report. The presentation loomed, a monstrous deadline threatening to swallow her whole. But her boss, the elusive boss, had been conveniently absent, swallowed up by some mysterious meeting that apparently took precedence over her urgent need for feedback.

She'd pictured their meeting a hundred times on the flight. A quick run-through of the data, a productive brainstorming session, a few insightful suggestions from him, and then, freedom. Back to Bangalore, back to her cozy apartment, back to the little cactus she'd named Fernando.

Instead, she was here, hunched over her laptop in a soulless hotel room, fueled by lukewarm coffee and simmering resentment. The report lay open, a sprawling document filled with user flows, wireframes, and data visualizations. It was good, she knew it was. But it needed his sign-off. It needed his particular brand of strategic brilliance to elevate it from good to exceptional.

Aashvi, in college, would have handled this differently. College Aashvi, the girl with paint-stained fingers and a head full of dreams, would have shrugged it off, found an art gallery to wander through, and maybe even met an interesting stranger. College Aashvi was resilient, adaptable, fueled by a boundless optimism that seemed to have evaporated somewhere along the road to adulthood.

Now, she was Aashvi Sharma, Architect extraordinaire. Polished, confident, and fiercely independent. She commanded boardrooms, navigated complex project timelines, and could defend her design choices with the unwavering conviction of a seasoned lawyer. But beneath the polished veneer, a flicker of that old vulnerability still remained, a subtle reminder of the idealistic girl she once was. 

"Ugh, this city," she muttered, pacing the small, impersonal hotel room. Tomorrow was a big day. A key presentation to a major client, and she needed everything to be perfect.

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