ANAYA'S POV :-
About 11:00 AM, Singhania Textiles HQ, Okhla
The noise outside my tenth-floor window was an infuriating, low-frequency buzz. It was the sound of disruption, the sound of inefficiency, and frankly, the sound of poverty demanding attention it hadn't earned.
I adjusted the cuff of my bespoke blazer—a necessary action to steady my nerves, not that anyone would ever see me shaken—and stared down at the small, disorganized gathering. They were protesting the acquisition of the old Khadi cooperative land, land we needed to build our state-of-the-art automated unit.
“Sir, this is the final hurdle,” I addressed Mr. Saxena, my Head of Legal, whose forehead was already glistening despite the office AC. “I need that land cleared by the end of the fiscal quarter. The share price is dependent on the Phase II expansion.”
Saxena wrung his hands. “Ms. Singhania, the local opposition has solidified. It’s not just the old weavers anymore. They have a young, very sharp activist leading the communication. He’s filed a public interest petition citing environmental clearances. He’s slow, but meticulous. He’s calling for a media blitz this afternoon.”
I finally looked at the crowd below, spotting the supposed leader. He was tall, dressed in a simple white kurta, his back unnervingly straight, holding a hand-painted banner instead of a professionally printed one. Amateurish.
A young activist. That meant a student. An idealist. Someone who thought passion trumped logistics.
VEER'S POV:-
ABOUT 11:05 AM, Outside Singhania Textiles HQ, Okhla
The noise of the traffic and the chanting around me was loud, but inside my head, it was quiet. The kind of quiet I needed for reading complex policy papers.
I checked my watch. Eleven-oh-five. Five minutes until the scheduled press briefing. I briefly glanced up at the glass tower, a beacon of capitalist excess that mocked the community living below it. I knew Anya Singhania was up there. She had to be. She was the architect of this callous land grab.
“Veer, they look ready to move the barricade,” whispered Mrs. Lakshmi, one of the older weavers whose family had worked this land for generations.
“They won’t move, Lakshmi Aunty,” I reassured her, though my adrenaline was high. “We’ve done nothing illegal. Our petition is filed. We are simply citizens demanding accountability. Their lawyers know the optics of dragging peaceful protestors away before the media arrives would be disastrous for a major textile CEO trying to go public.”
Anya Singhania. Even the name sounded rich and sharp, like glass cutting through fabric. I had studied her publicly available reports. Brilliant, yes. Driven, certainly. But utterly devoid of empathy. She was focused on margins, while I was focused on human costs and environmental decay.
I had spent the last three weeks immersing myself in the Environmental Impact Assessment data she had tried to suppress. Her company's proposed effluent plan was a disaster waiting to happen for the local water table. My goal was simple: force a corporate responsibility review or stop the acquisition entirely.
A nervous-looking man in a too-tight suit—Saxena, the legal head—emerged from the main gate, flanked by security. He headed straight for me.
ANAYA'S POV :-
Pathetic.
“Find his price, Saxena. Find his father’s debt, his mother’s medical bills, whatever. This is Delhi. Everyone has a price, and I am the one holding the bank.” My voice was low, perfectly level, and entirely devoid of emotion. That was my power. “I will not let some romantic UPSC wannabe student derail a nine-hundred-crore investment. Set up a meeting. Now. I want to look him in the eye and watch him fold.”
He was a problem. And in my world, problems were simply puzzles waiting for the right amount of pressure and money to solve. But even from ten floors up, there was something in the way he stood—still, focused, utterly unconcerned with the massive corporate fortress looming over him—that pricked my attention.
VEER'S POV :-
Mr. Veer Sharma? Ms. Singhania would like a private, immediate meeting with you upstairs to discuss a… resolution.” Saxena didn't hide his condescension.
I felt the familiar, hot surge of anger, but my UPSC training had taught me discipline. I smiled, a simple, disarming smile that belied the calculation behind my eyes.
“Tell Ms. Singhania that I don't negotiate policy under duress, and I certainly don't go to her. If she wishes to discuss the legal merits of her contamination risk, she can come down here and address the community she seeks to displace.”
Saxena spluttered, clearly unused to dealing with people who couldn't be instantly intimidated.
As he scrambled to relay my message via his earpiece, I looked back at the glass tower. I knew I had just signed myself up for a battle that would consume my precious study time and threaten my calm existence. But this wasn't about the exams anymore. This was about principle.
And I realized, with a quiet confidence that settled my stomach, that I was finally going to meet the most beautiful, most arrogant woman in Delhi. And I was going to be the first person to tell her 'No.'
ANAYA'S POV:-
He didn't look scared. He just looked resolved. And that, I realized with a flicker of intense, unfamiliar irritation, was a dangerous combination. ....
Write a comment ...