How was the previous chapter ....thora jyada details added thi usme , I felt it was a bit different from other chapters but still thought to write it down and This one is also detailed .
Now you continue with the chapter .
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(5K Words )
It was evening. The sun had dipped low in the west, leaving behind soft streaks of orange and purple in the sky. The moon had risen quietly, casting a cool, gentle glow over the quiet courtyard. A light breeze moved through the trees, rustling the leaves as night slowly settled in.
The family had planned a bonfire for the night, and downstairs, the soft sounds of laughter and voices could already be heard. Firewood was being gathered, and the warm smell of smoke was just beginning to drift into the air.
Arini stood alone on the second-floor balcony, her gaze fixed on the old haveli across the courtyard. The tall, weathered structure stood silent in the moonlight, its windows dark, its walls covered with creeping vines. There was something about it tonight—something still, almost watchful.
She leaned on the railing, lost in thought, her mind drifting far from the chatter below. In that quiet moment, with the moon above and the fire beginning to glow below, everything felt suspended—calm, yet full of something unspoken.
The distant sound of folk music filled the air, but her mind wandered elsewhere—memories of street food walks, boat rides, and arguments that turned into silence.
Aksh entered the balcony quietly, his navy blue shirt slightly undone, hair tousled as if he, too, had been struggling to breathe under the weight of old ghosts. Their eyes met—no hostility, no warmth—just an understanding that tomorrow would change everything, yet fix nothing.
"Funny how this city never changes," Aksh said softly, not looking at her.
"But we did," Arini replied.
No reply.
Arini's fingers traced the carved marble railing absently, her expression unreadable. The air between them was thick—not with emotion, but with everything unsaid.
"You think we'll survive this?" she asked after a pause, not out of hope, but simple curiosity.
Aksh leaned against the pillar beside her, staring out at the city lights twinkling like distant memories. "We've survived worse," he said. His voice was calm, maybe even tired. "Remember when we couldn't stand being apart?"
"And then we couldn't stand being in the same room," she added, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
That smirk used to light him up Once . Now, it only made him nod in quiet agreement.
Arini turned toward him. "Let's just get through tomorrow. No fights. No arguments ."
Aksh met her gaze. "Deal."
For a moment, the silence between them wasn't empty—it was understanding. Not love. Not hate. Just a truce in a war that had run too long.
And as the breeze carried the scent of marigolds and rosewater, they both knew—Udaipur hadn't changed. But they had. Forever.
The flickering lanterns swayed above them, casting warm, golden patterns on the stone floor—fragments of beauty trying to soften a truth neither wanted to face. The moment stretched longer than either expected, quiet yet saturated with things left unspoken.
"Do you think they know?" Arini asked, folding her arms tightly over the embroidered shawl draped around her shoulders. "That we're not what they think we are?"
Aksh shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe they see what they want to see. Two people coming full circle. Lover from two years... now tying the knot." He gave a bitter chuckle. "Fairy tale, right?"
She shook her head. "No fairy tale ends with compromise."
He looked at her then—really looked. For a flicker of a second, she still looked like the girl who once scolded him for sneaking sweets during class trips, who helped him in every situation no matter good or bad . That version of her was gone, but not forgotten.
Memories surged her without warning.
She could see it all — as if the past had returned for a moment to fill the night. Her younger self, laughing breathlessly as Anavika di spun her in circles across the courtyard. The shrill arguments with Varika over the smallest things, always ending in stubborn silence or sudden laughter. And Aksh... not like now. Back then, he had been her friend, her quiet anchor. Someone who knew her favorite hiding spots, who waited at the gates when she was late, who always noticed when she fell silent — and never asked why.
That version of them felt like a lifetime ago.
Now, they stood side by side in silence, two people bound not by warmth but by convenience. A marriage arranged not for love, but for purpose — hers, driven by something colder, quieter. Revenge.
She sighed, a soft breath that fogged in the cool evening air. The wind touched her face gently, almost as if trying to stir the girl she used to be. But that girl was long gone — left behind in the echoes of the haveli, in the laughter that once filled these walls.
Now, everything was different.
The courtyard still stood, the moonlight still poured in silver sheets, but nothing felt the same. Not the people. Not the silence between her and Aksh. Not the reason they were standing together now.
And yet, beside her, he stood — steady as always, unknowingly tangled in the quiet storm she carried inside.
A voice from inside called Arini's name .
She stepped back from the balcony, nodding toward the door. "I should go."
Aksh stayed where he was. "Yeah. Big day tomorrow."
She paused at the threshold. "Aksh?"
"Yeah?"
"If nothing else... thank you for not making this harder."
He nodded once. "Same to you."
And just like that, she was gone, leaving the balcony quieter than before. He remained a while longer, listening to the city, to memories that refused to fade.
It was the longest conversation I and Aksh had after 10 years .
I was walking through the corridor, mentally running through my to-do list, when someone called out behind me.
"Ms. Rajvansh, wait—"
It was Bhavya, slightly out of breath and holding a tablet.
I turned around, a bit sharper than intended. "How many times have I told you not to address me so formally when we're not in the office?"
She gave a quick, sheepish smile. "Sorry—but it's work-related. Urgent, actually."
I gestured for her to go on.
She stepped closer and handed me the tablet. "There's been a change in the board's schedule. The emergency meeting on the EastBridge merger has been moved up to tonight—8 p.m. They want you to attend virtually and present your final recommendations."
I scanned the updated briefing on the screen. "That wasn't on the agenda this morning."
"I know. It came in while you were in conversation... with Mr. Aksh. The Singapore legal team flagged a compliance issue in the expansion contract—they've requested a Zoom call . I've already confirmed it in your calendar."
I gave a nod, already adjusting my focus.
"There's one more thing," she added. "Mr. Kapoor from PR has been trying to reach you. He says there's a possible media leak—related to the merger. He's waiting in the virtual lobby and requested to speak with you as soon as possible."
"Alright," I said. "Push everything else to day after tomorrow unless it's critical. I'll speak to Mr. Kapoor now. And block out fifteen minutes before the board meeting—I want to go through the figures alone."
Bhavya tapped her screen quickly. "Done."
She hesitated before turning away. "If you need anything else..."
"I'll let you know," I said, already walking back toward the study.
I closed the door behind me and opened my laptop as Mr. Kapoor is waiting .
I sat down at my desk and slipped on the headset. A quick tap, and the screen lit up with the waiting room prompt:
Mr. Kapoor – PR Head – Waiting.
I clicked Admit.
His face appeared within seconds, sharp and tense as ever. He didn't waste time on greetings.
"Ma'am, we have a situation," he began.
"Go on," I said, keeping my tone steady.
"A leak. Or something close to it. A financial blogger with a decent following posted a speculative piece early this morning—he mentioned a possible merger involving us and EastBridge. No names were confirmed, but it was specific enough to cause a stir."
I narrowed my eyes slightly. "How much traction has it gained?"
"Minimal—so far. But industry insiders have started sharing it. If it spreads any further, the board's hand could be forced, and it might affect tonight's vote. Worse, EastBridge might pull out altogether if they think we're mishandling confidentiality."
"Do we have any idea where the leak came from?"
He shook his head. "Not yet. I've flagged our internal communications team to start an audit. But I suspect it's external—a vendor or maybe someone from the EastBridge side. We've kept our end airtight, as far as I can tell."
"Damage control plan?" I asked.
"I'd recommend a holding statement ready to go, just in case it escalates. Non-confirming, of course—something vague but calming. We're drafting one now. I'll send it for approval in the next hour."
"Do it," I said. "And tighten access. No one outside leadership and legal should have access to the final draft documents from now on."
"Understood."
I paused. "If the post gains more traction before the meeting, inform me immediately. And have a direct line ready with legal during the board call. I won't have surprises mid-presentation."
Kapoor nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
I ended the call and leaned back for a moment. Even when you did everything right, the cracks had a way of finding their way through the walls.
I pulled the next file toward me and refocused. I called Chhavi but she didn't picked up so I messaged Bhavya to Inform Chhavi about the board meeting and stricly warn her to not skip otherwise consequences will be not in her favor .
7:45 p.m.
The soft hum of the laptop and the dim glow of the screen were the only sounds in the quiet room. I had demanded fifteen minutes alone—to steel myself before addressing the board. I went through several articles and files and EastBridge is not that what it claims to be . There are many setbacks and flaws that matter a lot in mergers like this.
The proposed merger with EastBridge was being touted as a strategic milestone, but I had uncovered too many flaws hidden beneath the surface gloss—weaknesses that could undermine everything we had built.
7:59 p.m.
The virtual boardroom came alive with familiar faces—Asia Top's key executives appearing one after another, their expressions serious. Moments later, the EastBridge board joined, including their CEO, Mr. Vikram Malhotra. The atmosphere was tense but professional.
Mr. Raghavan, our CFO, opened the meeting. "Thank you all for joining on short notice. This agenda is critical—"
Before he could continue, Ms. Chhavi, interjected crisply, "Documents have been circulated. We are here to finalize and authorize the merger proposal."
She looked frustrated . Of course she is after all she had just got forced to join a board meeting .
All eyes shifted to me.
Raghavan nodded toward me. "Ms. Rajvansh , your recommendation, please."
I leaned forward, locking eyes with every board member present, including EastBridge's CEO.
"After exhaustive analysis," I began, my tone cutting and resolute, "I cannot, in good conscience, endorse this merger. EastBridge's financials contain troubling inconsistencies. Several key liabilities were either downplayed or omitted in their disclosures. Their technology platform, lauded as complementary, is in fact outdated in critical areas and incompatible with our infrastructure."
A hush fell.
"I have reviewed the integration plans. They are overly optimistic and fail to account for significant cultural and operational disparities between our organizations. There is no clear strategy for risk mitigation concerning data security and compliance, areas where EastBridge has faced recent regulatory warnings."
I paused, letting the weight of my words sink in.
"This merger, as it stands, poses a tangible threat to Asia Top's market position and shareholder value. It is reckless to proceed without addressing these fundamental issues."
Not a single voice dared interrupt.
Mr. Malhotra's face tightened, but he said nothing.
Mr. Das, our Head of Strategy, exchanged a glance with Raghavan, clearly unsettled.
Ms. Chhavi's eyes narrowed slightly but she remained silent, deferring to my judgment.
I continued, my voice colder, unyielding.
"If EastBridge wishes to salvage this deal, they must first demonstrate transparency by disclosing all liabilities in full, overhaul their integration framework with realistic risk assessments, and provide binding assurances regarding technology compatibility and compliance measures."
I leaned back, signaling the end of my statement.
"Until these conditions are met," I concluded, "this merger is off the table."
The virtual room remained silent.
Mr. Raghavan cleared his throat. "Thank you, Ms. Rajvansh . Your concerns are noted."
Without another word, I logged off the meeting.
The deal was dead—for now.
After my final words hung heavy in the virtual room, an oppressive silence followed—thick enough to choke the usual buzz of corporate chatter.
Mr. Raghavan was the first to break it, clearing his throat cautiously. "The board appreciates your thorough evaluation, Ms. Rajvansh. It is clear that you have raised significant concerns that require immediate attention."
Ms. Chhavi's expression was unreadable, but her voice remained steady. "From a legal standpoint, these disclosures and risk assessments are non-negotiable. We will request detailed clarifications and demand compliance documentation from EastBridge."
EastBridge's CEO, Mr. Vikram Malhotra, finally spoke, his tone measured but firm. "Asia Top's standards are well-known and rightly exacting. We respect Ms. Rajvansh's perspective and take these points seriously. Our team is committed to revisiting the data and addressing every concern with full transparency."
He glanced toward his board members, who nodded in quiet agreement.
Mr. Das tentatively added, "Given these new conditions, it may be prudent to delay the vote and reconvene once EastBridge submits the requisite information."
My voice cut in, cold and precise. "Delay the vote indefinitely. Until I am confident in the integrity of this deal, Asia Top will not be compromised."
The meeting adjourned shortly after, but the tension lingered.
Behind every pixelated face was the unspoken truth: this merger, once seen as inevitable, was now a battlefield—and I had drawn the first, definitive line.
I sighed and leaned back in my chair just as the door to my room creaked open. Three familiar figures entered—Chhavi, Varika, and Mishika.
Chhavi's frustration was evident; her face betrayed the storm of thoughts swirling beneath her composed exterior. Varika and Mishika, on the other hand, exchanged subtle glances, their mischievous smirks setting off a quiet alarm inside me.
"What do you guys want now?" I asked, voice calm but edged with suspicion.
Varika was quick to respond, her tone light but insincere. "Nothing, really. Just thought we'd come check on you. We won't disturb."
I knew better. They never just 'came to see me' without a reason.
Chhavi stepped forward, unable to hide her impatience. "The bonfire is starting soon... won't you join us?"
I shook my head. "Can't promise. The Singapore legal team flagged a compliance issue with the expansion contract. They've requested a Zoom call, so I'll have to attend that as well."
Chhavi's annoyance flared. "Don't tell me I have to sit through another meeting with you while everyone else enjoys the bonfire, folk music, and dancing."
I gave her a pointed look. "You're the legal director of India's main branch, Chhavi. You're coming with me to this meeting."
She groaned but knew better than to argue.
Varika and Mishika exchanged a quick glance again, but said nothing. Whatever their intentions, I'd keep my guard up.
Chhavi flopped onto the edge of the couch with a sigh, already scrolling through her phone, probably reviewing the documents again. She wouldn't say it out loud, but she was just as invested in keeping the company's legal integrity intact as I was—only she expressed it through sarcasm and dramatic eye rolls.
I turned to Varika and Mishika, who were still hovering near the door like they were waiting for something.
"You two can speak your minds. I know you didn't walk all the way here just to check in on me," I said, not even bothering to look up from my screen as I reviewed the Singapore legal notes.
Mishika gave an exaggerated laugh. "We really didn't come with any agenda , di ."
"That's a first," I muttered.
Varika raised an eyebrow. "You're impossible sometimes, Arini di ."
"I have to be," I replied flatly. "Especially when people think they can outplay me."
There was a short silence after that. A slight shift in Varika's expression told me I'd hit the nerve I was supposed to.
"We'll let you get back to your empire," Mishika said with a playful smirk, but there was something else behind her eyes. I didn't miss it.
"Good idea," I replied coolly, not bothering to offer a smile.
They left the room a second later, leaving Chhavi and me in silence. I tapped the corner of my laptop, the clock ticking down toward the scheduled call.
"They're up to something," Chhavi said without looking at me.
I glanced at her. "I know."
"Should I dig?" she asked casually, still scrolling.
"Not yet," I replied. "Let's see if they slip first."
Just then, the screen blinked. The Zoom call request from the Singapore legal team came in.
"Showtime," I said.
Chhavi straightened her posture, already switching into professional mode.
The Zoom window blinked open, revealing a grid of crisp suits and stiff expressions. Across from me: four members of the Singapore legal team, two of whom I had dealt with before. The others were new — fresh faces, but already tense with the weight of what they were about to deliver.
Chhavi sat beside me now, her expression sharpened into quiet readiness. She had switched into legal mode the moment the call connected.
"Good evening, Ms. Rajvansh," said Ms. Irene Ng, Head of Compliance for our Southeast Asia operations. Her voice was polite but clipped — this wasn't a courtesy check-in.
"Evening," I replied calmly. "Proceed."
Irene didn't hesitate. "We've identified a compliance breach in the third clause of the revised expansion contract with Tang & Hwan Infrastructure. The clause appears to bypass new data residency protocols outlined by Singapore's updated commercial protection legislation."
I gave a slow nod. "How recent is the legislative change?"
"It came into effect eleven days ago," said the associate beside her. "We were not informed of any update being factored into the final version that was approved and forwarded last week."
"Because it wasn't," I said. "It was signed off based on the last ratified policy, not a speculative amendment."
"But the new clause has legal standing now, and technically—" he began.
"Technically is not good enough," I interrupted, voice calm, razor-sharp. "You're telling me the legal framework changed less than two weeks ago, and no one on-ground flagged it before contract finalization?"
Silence.
Chhavi spoke next, voice firm. "It wasn't in our last circular, and no notice was dispatched to the legal heads across regional branches. That's a procedural failure."
Irene pressed on. "Regardless, the contract is now in technical breach. If the authorities choose to review it, we could face penalties, possibly a temporary freeze on asset movement related to the new development sites."
"Understood," I said coolly. "What's your immediate recommendation?"
"We would advise freezing any outward-facing execution related to the expansion until the clause is reworded and reapproved under the new legislative language."
I nodded once, slowly. "Draft the revision. I want it on my desk before midnight. This contract does not move forward until I personally approve it."
"Yes, ma'am," Irene said.
I glanced at Chhavi. "You'll oversee the clause redrafting and loop in both India and Singapore compliance heads. I want zero inconsistencies moving forward. You'll also audit the last six outgoing contracts to ensure there are no similar oversights."
"Consider it done," Chhavi replied.
I looked back at the screen. "And Irene—ensure your team updates every regional branch the moment legislation changes, no delays, no exceptions. I won't allow Singapore's oversight to become a systemic weakness in my company."
The air in the call had shifted. Every face now reflected it—not fear, but unmistakable recognition. The kind that came when you realized who was really running the room.
"Yes, Ms. Rajvansh," Irene said, more carefully this time.
I ended the call.
Silence returned to the room, heavy and thick.
Chhavi exhaled slowly. "That was... intense."
"They're lucky I was calm," I replied, reaching for my water.
She let out a dry laugh. "Remind me to never be on your wrong side in a boardroom."
"You already are. You just handle it better than most."
I got up from my chair, brushing a hand through my hair as I reached for my phone.
Chhavi didn't look up from her screen, but her brow arched knowingly. "What now?"
"Don't you want to attend the bonfire?" I said, walking toward the wardrobe. "Let's go. The family must be waiting for us."
She finally looked up and narrowed her eyes at me. "You're going out there dressed like that? You look like you just walked straight out of a high-stakes boardroom."
I glanced down at the black shirt I was still wearing. "Well, that's not entirely false. We did just survive two meetings back to back."
"Exactly," she said, standing and crossing her arms. "But that doesn't mean you walk into a bonfire gathering looking like a corporate shadow. At least wear something softer. Casual. Traditional, maybe? A cotton kurta, a normal top... something that doesn't scream 'Hostile Takeover'."
I laughed—genuinely, this time. It was rare, even for me. "Fine."
I pulled out a soft cotton palazzo set—ivory with faint blue embroidery. It was simple, comfortable, and nothing like what I usually wore . But tonight wasn't about that.
By the time we stepped downstairs, the courtyard was glowing with warmth—lanterns strung between trees, soft folk music playing in the background, and the bonfire crackling in the center, surrounded by cushions and low wooden stools.
My family was already there—along with Aksh's family , and Anavika di's family. Two performers twirled in traditional folk dance beside the fire.
Chhavi nudged me as we approached. "Now that's more like it," she whispered, nodding approvingly at my outfit.
The moment we stepped closer, a few heads turned. My mother smiled when she saw me. Someone handed us warm drinks.
Just as I took a sip from the glass in my hand, I heard Rounita Aunty's voice, warm and familiar.
"Arini beta, where were you? Ever since you arrived, you've been nowhere to be seen."
Before I could respond, Chhavi jumped in, dramatic as ever.
"Aunty, she locked herself in her room attending meetings—and dragged me into them too. I didn't even get to enjoy the evening!"
Rounita Aunty laughed, shaking her head fondly. "That sounds exactly like her... and Aksh. Both of them always working, always buried in their laptops."
There was an easy smile on her face .
I didn't say anything. Just offered a quiet half-smile and took another sip from my glass.
Chhavi muttered just loud enough for me to hear, "Yeah, two crazy workaholics marrying each other."
I shot her a look, but she just shrugged, sipping from her cup with exaggerated innocence.
"Wait till we reach Mumbai," I said, raising an eyebrow.
"I was kidding, yaar. No need to be so serious," she replied with a mischievous grin.
I nodded, then got up and started walking toward the stairs. Just then, I bumped into someone, and the drink in my hand spilled onto him.
It was Aksh.
"I'm sorry, I—"
"No, it's okay. I didn't see you coming," he said with calmness .
Before I could say anything else, Raghav appeared, eyeing Aksh from head to toe before bursting into laughter.
"Bro, what is this look? You're dripping like a rejected mango lassi."
Aksh shot him a flat stare. "And you look like a failed shampoo commercial. Move."
Raghav gasped dramatically. "Excuse me? I may be dramatic, but at least I don't walk like I'm carrying the weight of quarterly reports on my back."
"Better than walking like a man who's lost both his patients and his patients' respect," Aksh fired back.
Raghav clutched his heart. "Acha? This from the guy who once wore two different shoes to a client meeting and blamed 'creative styling'?"
Aksh smirked. "Still better than the man who thought a heart model was real and almost performed CPR on it in med school."
"That was once! And I was being thorough!"
"You were being terrifying," Aksh said, laughing now. "You screamed louder than your patient."
Raghav grinned. "You know what's terrifying? Your haircut during lockdown. Bro, it looked like you lost a bet with your barber."
"Coming from the guy who still thinks wearing Crocs with socks is peak fashion."
"They're ergonomic!"
"They're embarrassing."
"Arre chup kar, yaar . At least I don't act like a walking LinkedIn post. 'Rise. Grind. Excel Sheet.'"
"And you're a walking reel caption: 'Stay hydrated. Be kind. Eat Healthy.'"
We were still laughing when I felt someone step up beside me.
Chhavi appeared, arms crossed and grinning ear to ear. "What's going on here? Sounds like a full-blown comedy special."
I tilted my head toward the battlefield. "Live performance. Aksh and Raghav: The Roast of the Century."
Raghav spotted her and pointed dramatically. "Chhavi! Please explain to your CEO friend here that his shirt isn't moody charcoal black. It's just soaked and sad."
Aksh rolled his eyes. "Look who's talking. This guy shows up in the same three shirts on rotation and calls it a minimalist lifestyle."
"Because it is!" Raghav declared. "Unlike you, who shops like it's therapy and still ends up buying shirts of same black color ."
Chhavi let out a laugh-snort. "Okay, that one hurt and healed me at the same time."
Aksh grinned, mock offended. "You're siding with this man? He still uses a wired earphone in 2025."
Raghav shrugged. "At least I don't ask Siri for directions inside my own office."
"Oh please," Aksh scoffed, "You once tried to unlock someone else's car and insisted it was your 'identical twin vehicle.'"
"It was literally the same color!"
"It was a Toyota. In white. Every third car is a white Toyota!"
Aksh raised a brow. "Well, Raghav does need cardio. He got out of breath climbing three stairs last week."
Raghav held up a finger. "That was a test. For research."
"Yeah," Aksh said dryly, "A research paper titled 'How to Pretend You're Not Dying After Mild Movement'."
I tried to stifle a laugh but failed miserably. Chhavi was wiping tears from the corners of her eyes.
Raghav placed a hand dramatically over his chest. "Can you believe this? I'm being cyberbullied in real life."
Chhavi grinned. "Don't worry, I'm here. I'll defend your honor—though, to be fair, there's very little left."
Aksh raised a brow, glancing at me. "Wow. They've formed a team."
I smirked. "Perfect. Let's even the battlefield. Team Common Sense versus Team Mid-Life Crisis."
Raghav gasped. "Excuse me? Did you just call us a mid-life crisis?"
Chhavi crossed her arms. "We are youthfully chaotic, thank you very much."
"Yeah," I said sweetly, "chaotic like your wardrobe, Chhavi. How many prints does one person need in a single outfit?"
Chhavi threw me a look. "Spoken like someone who thinks wearing solid black every day makes her mysterious. Ma'am, you're not an enigma. You're just monochrome."
Aksh chuckled and nudged me. "Oof, that was solid. But you know what else is solid? Raghav's forehead. Bro, one more year and you'll need sunscreen only on the scalp."
Raghav mockingly touched his hair. "And yet I still have more hair than your sense of punctuality."
Chhavi joined in, pointing at Aksh. "You literally arrive five minutes late to everything and act like the world should adjust to your 'CEO vibe'."
I grinned. "Better than Raghav, who enters every room like he's on Grey's Anatomy but ends up acting like it's an episode of Kapil Sharma Show."
"Okay now that was uncalled for," Raghav said, holding back a laugh. "At least I save lives."
Aksh leaned forward. "And yet you couldn't save your taste in music. Bro listens to 2000s remixes like it's still 2005."
Raghav gave a fake offended look. "My playlist is elite. Unlike your cooking, which is basically edible confusion."
"Edible?" I scoffed. "That's rich coming from the man who thinks ketchup goes with literally everything."
Chhavi jumped in. "At least he doesn't microwave coffee twice in one sitting. That's not caffeine, that's emotional damage."
Aksh raised a hand for a high-five with me. "We may be chaotic, but we're functional."
I high-fived him with a smirk. "Unlike you two, who run on vibes and denial."
"Vibes are powerful!" Raghav protested.
"Denial even more," Chhavi added.
"Okay," I said, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye, "we need a name for this madness."
"Simple," Aksh replied. "The Roast League."
Raghav grinned. "Season one. Episode one: Ego vs. Reality."
Chhavi nodded. "And clearly, we're winning."
I pointed a finger at her. "Sweetheart, keep dreaming. We have comebacks in bulk . Oh Bulk se yaad aya Bulk mein toh tumhare excuses bhi aate hain "
And just like that, the roast war got intense .
Raghav cracked his knuckles like he was entering a wrestling ring.“Chhavi, ready?”
She sipped from her cup calmly. “Born ready. Let’s destroy these two like Aksh destroys every meeting with his ‘I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed’ face.”
Aksh smirked and turned to me. “Let’s show these emotionally unstable toddlers how real grown-ups roast.”
I clapped my hands once. “Bring it on. We don’t play fair.”
Chhavi spoke “Okay, team ‘CEO Vibes’ over there—also known as ‘PowerPoint presentations with legs’.”
Raghav joined “Exactly! Aksh walks into a room like he’s going to fire someone for breathing too loudly.”
Chhavi said “And she walks in like a villain reveal scene. Always in black, always judging.”
“That’s rich coming from Team ‘We’ll wing it’ — who literally spent 15 minutes earlier today trying to figure out how Bluetooth works.” I said .
Aksh joined me “Raghav’s the only guy I know who’s a doctor and still Googles, ‘What does a fever feel like?’ every month.”
I spoke “And Chhavi gives motivational advice like: ‘Sleep it off or cry. Both are healing.’ Very reliable.”
Raghav defended “We might cry, but at least we don’t send 2 a.m. work emails titled: ‘Urgent, but not really urgent unless I say it again’.”
Chhavi continued “And you two? You talk about ‘delegating work’ like it’s a personality trait. No wonder your assistants have trauma.”
Aksh replied “At least we have assistants. You two are so disorganized, I once saw your to-do list written on a tissue.”
I agreed “And it was lost five minutes later. Because, of course, it got used to wipe biryani masala.”
Chhavi retorted “It was multitasking!”
Raghav joined her “And efficient! Unlike Aksh’s driving. My guy drives like Excel is open in his brain.”
I looked at Raghav “That’s still better than Raghav, who wears Crocs to parties and calls it ‘alternative fashion’.”
Aksh Laughed “Crocs with confidence is still a crime, bro.”
Chhavi replied “And don’t even get me started on your airport looks. You both dress like you’re expecting a business merger on the flight.”
I said “That’s because we are the merger. Between stress and caffeine.”
Aksh joined “Your vibe is just chaos and iced coffee.”
Raghav said in protest “And yet we’re still the fun ones.”
I & Aksh spoke in sync “You’re the noisy ones.”
Beat.
A moment of silence… and then the whole group erupted into laughter.
___________________________________________________________
(5K Words )
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