The next morning, Mumbai woke up restless, as if the whole city knew something new was about to begin. Aanya Mehta, however, had been awake since 5:30. She hadn't slept much — not after replaying that interview a hundred times in her head.
By 9:00 a.m., her phone buzzed again.
Email from SkyLine Advertising:
Congratulations, Miss Mehta. Welcome to the SkyLine team as Junior Creative Writer.
She gasped. "I got it!" she shouted, spinning in excitement. Riya, still half-asleep, groaned, "Please let me dream for five more minutes before your Bollywood moment starts."
But Aanya didn't care — her heart was flying.
By 10:00 a.m., she stood in front of SkyLine's towering building again. This time, she wasn't nervous. She was ready. A fresh notebook in hand, her lucky pen tucked behind her ear, and that unstoppable smile on her face — she looked like a story waiting to be written.
Inside, she was greeted by the same elegant assistant. "Welcome back, Miss Mehta. Mr. Raichand asked to see you once you settle in."
Her heart skipped again. Mr. Raichand… already?
She found her desk — a small corner by the window, filled with sunlight and colorful sticky notes left by the previous intern. She placed her diary there and took a deep breath. New beginnings, she thought.
When she knocked on Arjun Raichand's office door, his voice came — calm, deep, and confident. "Come in."
He looked up from his laptop. "Miss Mehta. Congratulations — you officially survived the interview."
She smiled nervously. "Thank you, sir. I'll do my best to—"
"Good," he interrupted softly, standing up and walking toward the window. "SkyLine isn't just about creativity. It's about emotion. You'll be assisting me directly on the Aurora Perfumes campaign. It's our biggest project this quarter."
Her eyes widened. "Assisting you… directly?"
He nodded. "Is that a problem?"
She shook her head too quickly. "No, sir. Not at all! I mean— I'm honored."
Arjun's lips twitched, almost amused by her enthusiasm. "You'll learn quickly. I can tell. Just… try not to get lost daydreaming too much during meetings."
Her cheeks turned red. "I don't— I mean, I only daydream after work hours!"
He chuckled softly — a sound that made her heart flutter again. "We'll see about that."
Later that afternoon, Aanya joined her first team meeting. The conference room was filled with designers, writers, and photographers. Arjun stood at the front, his presence magnetic yet effortless. Everyone listened when he spoke — his words sharp, his ideas bold.
"Perfume ads," he said, "aren't about the product. They're about memory. About emotion. About what you feel when you smell it."
Then, unexpectedly, he turned to her. "Miss Mehta — if you had to describe the scent of love, what would it be?"
Aanya froze. Everyone was watching.
She took a breath. "Love smells like the first rain — unexpected, refreshing, and gone too soon if you don't hold onto it."
The room went silent. Arjun looked at her, eyes unreadable. Then, he smiled.
"That's… exactly the kind of answer I was hoping for."
The meeting continued, but Aanya couldn't stop smiling. She saw a flicker of approval in his eyes — and maybe, something else. Something deeper.
By evening, she was exhausted but glowing with happiness. As she gathered her things, a voice came from behind.
"Heading out, Miss Mehta?"
She turned. Arjun stood by the elevator, hands in his pockets.
"Yes, sir. Just… trying not to float home from excitement."
He gave that rare, half-smile again. "Keep that energy. The industry will try to take it from you."
The elevator doors opened. She stepped inside, but before they closed, she said softly, "I'll try not to lose it, sir… or myself."
For a second, their eyes met — a quiet connection that neither could explain. Then the doors slid shut.
Outside, Mumbai's sky was painted in orange and pink. Aanya walked toward the bus stop, the city lights shimmering like stars. She looked up and smiled.
Somewhere deep inside, she knew — this was more than just a job.
This was the start of something unexpected. Something beautiful.
Back in his office, Arjun stared at the same sunset from his window. For the first time in years, he wasn't thinking about campaigns or deadlines. He was thinking about her.
Her words, her voice, her eyes that held too many dreams.
He whispered to himself, almost like a confession—
"She reminds me… of who I used to be."
🌹 To be continued…