Chapter 4: Crossing Paths Again

I brought the memory card back to Amit Bhaiya. He was very satisfied: “Rohit, you’re pretty diligent—just in time, there’s a dinner tonight. I’ll take you to meet some people. As a reporter, contacts are everything.”

I quickly thanked him.

But when we arrived, I saw a familiar black Audi in the parking lot.

I froze. “President Priya and the others... are here too?”

Amit Bhaiya turned back and winked at me. “The dinner I’m taking you to is with President Priya. Rohit, don’t underestimate your Brother Amit’s connections.”

It was too late to back out. I could only brace myself and follow him in.

The restaurant’s fragrance of tandoori spices and the clatter of steel plates welcomed us. My hands were still shaking as I adjusted my shirt collar, hoping no one would notice the cheap tag sticking out the back.

Luckily, the private room was large. Small reporters like us weren’t at the same table as Priya and her group.

Amit Bhaiya introduced me to many industry seniors.

“This is the new guy in our company this year, a smart young man named Rohit. Rohit, say hello to everyone.”

I folded my hands politely, doing a quick namaste before launching into the rounds of introductions, the way Ma had taught me—never forget your manners in front of elders.

As a newcomer, I inevitably had to offer toasts. By the end, my head was spinning. I barely managed to apologise before rushing to the bathroom, covering my mouth.

The sharp smell of fried onions and melting ghee churned my stomach. I vomited as if the world was spinning. I rinsed my mouth, splashed cold water on my face, and walked out.

The corridor lights were dim. In the shadows by the window stood a familiar figure.

My heart pounded. I wanted to pretend I hadn’t seen her and just go back.

But as I took a step, Priya called out behind me. One word at a time, her voice carried countless complicated emotions: “Rohit.”

My steps froze. I swallowed with difficulty, hearing her footsteps approach, steady and unhurried.

Instinctively, I closed my eyes.

Her steps stopped in front of me, her familiar presence drawing near.

The scent of mogra in her hair brushed past me, and I remembered the first time I’d braided those flowers for her, my fingers fumbling. Her bangles jingled faintly, a sound that used to mean home.

I opened my eyes and saw her gaze, deep as the sea.

“...President Priya.”

My throat tightened, and I spoke softly, “How did you know my name?”

She didn’t answer right away, just looked at me for a long time before straightening up again. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture oddly vulnerable against her otherwise poised exterior.

“Your senior took you around to toast everyone. The whole private room knows your name.”

Thinking of Amit Bhaiya’s loud voice, my face grew hot.

“Sorry, my senior is very nice to newcomers—maybe a bit too enthusiastic. If we disturbed President Priya’s mood, I apologise.”

I quickly tried to explain, afraid of implicating Amit Bhaiya, even apologising for him.

But Priya didn’t respond. Under the warm yellow lights, she narrowed her eyes slightly, looking at me with a half-smile.

“In Reporter Rohit’s eyes, do I seem like someone who cares about every little thing?”

I lowered my head and muttered, “That’s not what I meant.”

The next second, a gilded business card was handed to me.

“You’re still an intern, right? There’s a job opportunity—want to give it a try?”

Her manicured nails brushed my fingers as she handed over the card, her eyes lingering on mine just long enough for the pulse in my throat to leap. The card’s weight felt disproportionate—like a golden ticket, or a challenge.