Sanvee sat on the balcony, sketchbook in her lap, the locket sketch still on the page. It made her chest feel tight, like she was looking at something important but couldn’t quite remember why.
A soft knock on the glass door made her look up.
Aanya stepped in with a cup of chai. “You’ve been so quiet. Deep in thought again?”
Sanvee gave a small smile. “Just… sketching feelings, I guess.”
“Well, this should help.” Aanya handed her the cup and sat beside her. “By the way, Aarav left for the office early. He had an investor call lined up.”
“Does he go in every day?”
“Almost. That company is his first child,” Aanya said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Mantrix Technologies doesn’t run without him.”
Sanvee blinked. “Mantrix? That’s the name?”
Aanya nodded. “Cool, right?”
“Sounds… sharp. Like a mix of mantra and matrix?”
“That’s exactly what it is!” Aanya grinned. “Aarav came up with it during college. ‘Mantra’ for strategy and Indian roots, and ‘Matrix’ for systems and tech. It’s all about creating smart frameworks for other businesses.”
Sanvee stared at her chai. “So basically… he builds brains for companies.”
“Pretty much. Data tools, predictive models, automated systems—you name it.”
“He doesn’t talk about it much.”
“He doesn’t need to,” Aanya said. “When you build something from scratch, it speaks for itself.”
Sanvee looked down at her sketchbook again.
So Aarav wasn’t just another rich heir.
He was building something all his own. Quietly. Relentlessly.
⸻
At Mantrix Technologies, Aarav stood in the sleek boardroom surrounded by glass walls and glowing screens. His co-founders, Kabir and Vihaan, were reviewing client data.
“South Korea deal’s final,” Kabir said. “We’ll onboard by next week.”
Vihaan added, “Three markets in two months. That’s a streak.”
Aarav nodded, reviewing the reports in silence. He liked numbers. They didn’t lie. They didn’t change depending on who you were.
Unlike people.
His mind flickered back—just for a moment—to a quiet girl on a balcony. Her hand full of charcoal dust. Her eyes too observant for comfort.
He closed the report and stood. “Let’s prep for the US rollout next.”
Kabir smirked. “You’re not gonna burn out, right?”
“I’m not made of glass,” Aarav replied, but the tiredness under his voice said otherwise.
⸻
Meanwhile, back at the mansion, the house felt too quiet. Most of the cousins were out. Priya had a charity event. Even the usually-buzzing hallways were silent.
Sanvee spent the afternoon in the art room. She had just finished a soft charcoal sketch of a man walking toward a door—but the door was missing.
She stared at it, puzzled.
Maybe it meant something.
Or maybe she was just projecting.
A sound at the door pulled her out of her thoughts.
Aarav stood there.
He had returned from work—shirt sleeves rolled, watch still on his wrist, a slight furrow on his brow.
“You’re back early,” she said, closing her sketchbook.
“Investors left quicker than expected.”
She nodded. “No damage done?”
“Only to their egos.”
Sanvee grinned. “Still ruthless, I see.”
He walked toward the windows and looked out at the garden.
There was a long silence. The kind that wasn’t awkward—just quiet.
Then Aarav spoke. “Do you always draw when you feel unsettled?”
“Only when I don’t know what I’m feeling,” she said honestly.
He turned slightly. “And today?”
She hesitated. “I drew a man standing in front of a door that isn’t there.”
He looked at her carefully. “Sounds like someone waiting for a path that doesn’t exist.”
“Or someone who doesn’t know where they’re allowed to go,” she said softly.
Their eyes met.
A flicker passed between them. Not romantic, not dramatic—just real. Understanding.
Then, almost as if catching himself, Aarav stepped back.
“You should get some rest.”
And just like that, he was gone again.
⸻
Later that night, Sanvee sat on her bed, flipping through her sketchbook.
The drawings from the past few days stared back—eyes she didn’t recognize, a house wrapped in fog, and now a doorless hallway.
And then there was the locket.
She ran her finger lightly across the pencil lines.
What was her mind trying to tell her?
Why did these images feel less like imagination and more like memory?
She didn’t know.
But she’d find out.
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