The morning sun in Mumbai had a way of pouring through the narrow gap between Aisha Mehra's faded curtains, touching her face before she was ready to greet the day. She stirred under her thin bedsheet, the soft hum of the ceiling fan mixing with the distant cacophony of vendors calling out in the street below. It was 6:15 a.m., the only time of day when the city still felt like it belonged to the quiet.
Aisha groaned softly, rolling to the side and silencing her alarm before it could blare for the third time. Every minute of extra sleep mattered, but so did every rupee she earned. And that meant no lazy mornings.
Her tiny bedroom, if you could call it that, was half taken over by a steel almirah that had belonged to her grandmother, its paint chipped and handles rusted. On the opposite wall, a wooden desk held her secondhand laptop, a stack of borrowed textbooks, and a ceramic cup stuffed with pens, half of which didn't work. Her life was organized in the way only necessity could teach you, nothing wasted, nothing extra.
She swung her legs out of bed, feeling the coolness of the tiled floor under her bare feet. In the adjoining kitchen, her mother was already up, frying poha and humming an old Kishore Kumar song under her breath.
"Morning, Ma," Aisha greeted, slipping past to grab a tumbler of water.
"Morning, beta," her mother replied, not looking away from the sizzling pan. "Your shift starts early today?"
"Mm-hmm. Nine o'clock," Aisha said, sipping the water. She didn't mention that she'd stayed up until nearly two in the morning finishing a freelance translation project for a client she'd found online. Every extra bit helped, even if it meant dark circles under her eyes.
Her mother turned slightly, wiping her hands on her dupatta. "Don't skip breakfast. You've been getting thinner."
"I'm fine, Ma. Just tired," Aisha said with a faint smile, then reached for her tiffin box.
Tired was an understatement. Her days blurred into an endless cycle, college lectures in the morning, a part-time café job in the afternoons, tutoring two neighborhood kids in the evenings, and freelancing late into the night. But despite the exhaustion, she kept moving. She didn't have the luxury of stopping.
Half an hour later, dressed in her only decent pair of black trousers and a crisp white kurti, Aisha stepped out into the morning bustle. The streets were already alive with honking rickshaws, chai stalls doing brisk business, and office-goers rushing to catch buses. She adjusted the strap of her worn leather bag and began the short walk to the station.
The local train ride was as chaotic as ever, squeezed between two women discussing grocery prices, Aisha balanced herself against the swaying compartment, clutching her bag close. She had learned to tune out the noise, her thoughts instead drifting toward her final year project submission. If she managed to do well and score a good internship, she might have a real shot at a stable job.
Except… she hadn't expected the call she'd received last night.
Her college placement cell had informed her that a corporate house, Malhotra Group of Industries, was looking for interns in their administration department. Aisha had applied weeks ago on a whim, never expecting to be shortlisted. But now, she had an interview scheduled for today.
Her stomach knotted at the thought.
She had no idea why a company of that scale would consider her. She didn't come from a fancy B-school or have an impressive portfolio. Her English was fluent but accented, her clothes neat but far from designer. And yet, the opportunity was too big to pass up.
By the time she reached her college campus, the sun was already beating down. She attended her lectures with half her attention, the rest of her mind rehearsing answers to possible interview questions.
"Just breathe, Aisha," she told herself under her breath while walking to the bus stop later that afternoon.
The headquarters of Malhotra Group was nothing like she had ever seen. The glass façade reflected the sky, making the towering building look like it had been carved out of clouds. The revolving doors at the entrance gleamed, the marble lobby beyond bustling with people in sharp suits and clicking heels.
Aisha hesitated at the threshold for a moment, acutely aware of how out of place she must look. She smoothed her kurti, squared her shoulders, and stepped inside.
A woman at the reception desk greeted her with a professional smile. "Good afternoon. How may I help you?"
"I—I'm here for the internship interview. Aisha Mehra," she said, hoping her voice didn't betray her nerves.
"Please sign in here and take a visitor pass. HR will send someone to escort you shortly."
As Aisha waited, she glanced around the lobby. Everything was polished to perfection—tasteful art pieces on the walls, an indoor plant arrangement that probably cost more than her entire monthly rent, and an air of efficiency that made her feel both awed and intimidated.
A young man in a navy blazer approached. "Miss Mehra? This way, please."
He led her through a corridor lined with glass-walled meeting rooms. The hum of muted conversations and the clacking of keyboards filled the air. She caught glimpses of neatly dressed employees working with the kind of focus she'd only read about in business magazines.
The HR office was bright and minimalistic, with a neat desk and two chairs facing it. A middle-aged woman with rimless glasses looked up from her laptop and smiled. "Aisha Mehra? Please, have a seat."
The interview began with the usual questions—her background, her skills, why she wanted the internship. Aisha answered honestly, emphasizing her willingness to learn and adapt. She left out the part about desperately needing the money; corporate recruiters didn't usually respond to desperation.
"You'll hear from us within a week," the HR manager said at last, standing to shake her hand.
Relieved it was over, Aisha thanked her and stepped out into the corridor. She had just reached the elevator when a deep voice caught her attention.
"Is this the candidate from HR?"
She turned instinctively. A tall man stood a few feet away, dressed in a tailored charcoal suit that fit him like it had been made for no one else. His presence was commanding—not just because of his height or his sharp features, but because of the quiet authority in his posture.
"Yes, sir," the HR escort replied quickly.
The man's gaze flicked to her, dark eyes sharp and assessing. For a brief moment, Aisha felt pinned in place, like he could see more than she wanted to reveal.
Something about him was familiar—she'd seen his photo in a business magazine. And then it clicked.
Arjun Malhotra. CEO of Malhotra Group.
Her pulse quickened. She had not prepared for this.
"Carry on," he said after a moment, his tone neutral.
She gave a small nod and stepped into the elevator, the doors closing between them. Only then did she exhale.
That evening, Aisha walked home with the golden light of sunset painting the streets. She tried not to dwell on the CEO's brief, unreadable expression. It didn't matter, she told herself. People like him lived in a different universe—one where power and influence came as naturally as breathing. She had her own universe to manage, filled with bills, deadlines, and late-night chai sessions over textbooks.
Still… something about that look lingered in her mind.
Her mother was waiting at home, the aroma of fresh parathas filling the air. "How was the interview?"
Aisha smiled faintly, sliding her bag off her shoulder. "Good, I think. Now we wait."
And wait she did, for the next few days, life went back to its usual rhythm. But when her phone rang a week later with a number she didn't recognize, her heart skipped a beat.
"Miss Mehra?" the voice on the other end said. "Congratulations. You've been selected for the internship. You start Monday."
Aisha stared at the wall in stunned silence, the words sinking in slowly. She had no idea that this Monday would be the beginning of a story she could never have imagined, one that would take her across the invisible bridge between two worlds, and change the way she saw love forever.