The Beginning of an Unwritten Story

The winter sun of Delhi was gentle that morning, casting a golden glow over the city. The crisp air carried the faint aroma of street-side chai and freshly baked bread from the bakery down the lane. It was one of those mornings where the city seemed to move a little slower, as if giving people the chance to breathe before the chaos began.

Isha Malhotra walked briskly across Connaught Place, the heels of her brown ankle boots clicking against the pavement. Her maroon overcoat hugged her frame, and a thin silk scarf was wrapped neatly around her neck. She wasn’t the kind of woman who drew attention because of flashy clothes — it was the quiet confidence in her stride, the determined glint in her eyes, that made people turn for a second look.

Her phone buzzed in her hand. A message from her younger sister lit up the screen:

> “Didi, mat bhoolna — 5 baje ka meeting hai! Don’t be late this time.”

The air between them crackled with tension, and neither of them dared to move.

Isha smiled faintly. Trust her sister to keep her schedule in check. She had always been the responsible one in the family, but lately, the weight on her shoulders seemed heavier than usual.

Today, however, wasn’t just any day. Today, she was stepping into a world she had only seen from afar — the world of him.

Across the city, inside the sleek glass building of Malhotra Enterprises, the man himself was already at work. Arnav Malhotra, the 32-year-old CEO, stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, sipping his black coffee. His reflection in the glass was sharp — neatly combed hair, tailored charcoal suit, and eyes that looked like they could read a person’s mind before they even spoke.

Arnav was known in Delhi’s business circles as a man who got what he wanted. Ruthless in negotiations, impossibly composed under pressure, and — if gossip was to be believed — holding secrets that no one dared to ask about.

He checked his watch. 9:45 a.m. Time was money, and Arnav never wasted either.

“Sir, your 10 a.m. meeting will be in Conference Room B,” his assistant Meera said, stepping into the room.

“Cancel it. Reschedule for tomorrow.”

Meera blinked. “But sir—”

“Tomorrow,” Arnav repeated, his tone leaving no space for argument.

It wasn’t like Arnav to cancel meetings. But today, there was something else occupying his mind — something, or perhaps… someone.

Isha reached the towering building of Malhotra Enterprises just as the morning rush was thinning. She paused at the entrance, her breath clouding in the cold air. The building was intimidating in its perfection — shimmering glass panels reflecting the winter sunlight, the revolving doors spinning with a quiet authority.

For a brief moment, she hesitated. She had prepared herself for this meeting for days, rehearsed every possible scenario, but now, standing here, her heart thudded against her ribs.

“Come on, Isha,” she whispered to herself, squaring her shoulders.

Inside, the lobby smelled faintly of sandalwood and leather. A massive chandelier hung above, its crystals catching the light in a hundred different ways. Every sound seemed muted here — the soft click of heels, the low hum of conversation, the occasional ding of the elevator.

She approached the reception desk. “I’m here for an appointment with Mr. Arnav Malhotra.”

The receptionist glanced at her politely before checking the system. “Your name, ma’am?”

“Isha… Isha Kapoor”

The receptionist’s hands stilled for a fraction of a second before resuming. “Of course, Ms Kapoor . He’s expecting you. Please take the elevator to the 18th floor.”

As the elevator doors slid shut, Isha caught her reflection in the polished steel. Her face was calm, but inside, her thoughts raced.

Why did her name — their shared surname — seem to stir a flicker of recognition in people? Why did even the receptionist hesitate?

The elevator chimed, and the doors opened to reveal the hushed elegance of the executive floor. Meera, Arnav’s assistant, was waiting. “This way, Ms. Kapoor .”

The office door swung open, and there he was.

Arnav looked up from the file in his hand, his expression unreadable. For a few long seconds, neither of them spoke. The silence between them wasn’t awkward — it was charged, almost electric.

Finally, he gestured to the chair opposite his desk. “Please, sit.”

Isha sat down, her palms resting on her lap. She had come here with a purpose, but the weight of his gaze made her feel as though every secret she’d kept was laid bare.

“So,” Arnav began, his voice deep and steady, “you wanted to speak to me about something important.”

Isha nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yes. But before I do… I think you should know — this isn’t a business proposal. It’s personal.”

Arnav’s eyes narrowed slightly, though his composure never cracked. “Personal?”

“Yes,” she said softly. “Very personal.”

The room felt smaller now, the air thicker. Outside, the city moved on, oblivious to the storm that was quietly gathering inside this office.

Arnav leaned back in his chair, studying her carefully. “Then perhaps you should start from the beginning, Ms. Kapoor

She met his gaze, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. “The beginning,” she said, “is a secret I’ve carried for years. And… it’s about you.”

The air between them crackled with tension, and neither of them dared to move.

To be continued ~~

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