The morning after the deal felt like a hangover without the fun.
Aryan sat at the polished marble breakfast bar of his Dubai apartment, laptop open to a financial model, a half-empty cup of black coffee cooling beside him. The numbers blurred. All he could hear was Rishi's voice from last night, casual yet deliberate:
"You'll never guess who's moving to Dubai next month."
The doorbell rang.
Aryan didn't move. He knew who it was.
A moment later, Rishi let himself in with the keycard Aryan had given him years ago a gesture of trust that had never been revoked.
"Still wearing yesterday's shirt?" Rishi said by way of greeting, dropping his leather messenger bag on the sofa. "Charming. Very 'reclusive genius.'"
"I changed," Aryan said, not looking up.
"Into an identical shirt. Progress."
Rishi helped himself to the coffee machine, the whir and hiss filling the sleek, sunlit space. The apartment was all clean lines and quiet luxury a showpiece that felt less like a home and more like a very expensive waiting room.
"Singapore call moved to three," Rishi said, bringing his coffee over. "And the green-tech pitch is at eleven. The founders are nervous. They need this funding."
Aryan nodded. "Their projections are solid. It's the scalability narrative that's weak."
"Which is why they need us." Rishi leaned against the counter, studying him. "You think about it all night?"
"About the scalability?"
"About the person moving here."
Aryan closed his laptop softly. The click was final. "Were you going to tell me, or was the hint the whole game?"
Rishi's smile was a slow, knowing curve. "What's the fun in telling? Let's see if you remember."
Here it was. The dangling thread from last night, now being gently tugged.
Rishi took a sip of coffee. "Remember the All College Finance Challenge in third year? The one the economics faculty hosted. You came second."
A memory surfaced bright lights of the auditorium, the buzz of the crowd, the tight feeling in his chest when the results were announced. He'd been so sure he'd win.
"Vaguely," Aryan said, his voice even.
"You lost to a girl from the Economics stream. She answered the final question on cryptocurrency arbitrage before you'd even finished processing it." Rishi's eyes held a glint. "You watched her go up to collect the trophy. She smiled at you on her way back to her seat."
The air in the room shifted.
A name echoed in the silence of Aryan's mind, unspoken but vividly present.
Meera.
He remembered her smile not triumphant, but kind. Almost apologetic. As if she'd known how much he wanted to win.
He'd told himself it didn't matter. Told himself he was just being competitive.
But later, he'd replayed that moment more times than he'd admit.
"Why are you telling me this now?" Aryan asked, turning his coffee cup slowly on the marble.
"Because she's the one who's here." Rishi's tone was lighter now, but his gaze was steady. "Landed yesterday. Took a position as Head of Strategy at that new sustainable fintech EcoNomic. Probably our competitors in a year."
Aryan stood up, walked to the floor to ceiling window. Below, Dubai glittered a monument to everything he'd built and everything he'd buried.
Meera. In Dubai.
"You want to see her?" Rishi asked, joining him at the window.
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
They stood in silence for a moment, two friends side by side, the city stretched out before them like a promise and a warning.
THE GREEN TECH PITCH
The meeting was in one of those sleek glass towers in Dubai Internet City, where every company looked like the future and everyone spoke in acronyms. Aryan and Rishi were shown into a minimalist conference room with a view of the palm shaped islands below. Three founders in their late twenties sat across the table, trying to project calm but radiating nervous energy.
"We believe our AI-driven energy optimization platform can reduce commercial carbon footprints by forty percent," said the CEO, a woman named Layla with sharp eyes and a steady voice.
Aryan listened, asked precise questions about data sourcing and client retention, but his mind kept drifting. Meera is Head of Strategy at EcoNomic. He wondered if her office was nearby. If she looked out at the same skyline. If she ever thought about that finance challenge, or about him.
Rishi, ever perceptive, took over the questioning smoothly when he noticed Aryan's focus wavering. "Your client onboarding process is it fully automated, or is there human intervention at key stages?"
As Layla answered, Aryan's phone buzzed silently in his pocket. A notification. He ignored it, but the vibration felt like a heartbeat against his leg.
When the founders stepped out to get prototype demos, Rishi leaned over. "You're miles away."
"I'm here."
"Physically, yes." Rishi's voice dropped. "Look, if you need to process the Meera thing, process it. But don't let it cost this deal. These kids are good. Their tech is solid. We can help them."
"I know." Aryan rubbed his temple. "It's just… unexpected."
"Life usually is."
THE AFTER MEETING DRIVE
They decided to invest. The terms were fair, the vision aligned with theirs. In the back of the chauffeured car heading back to the office, Rishi finally broke the quiet.
"So."
"So."
"She asked about you, you know."
Aryan looked out the window. The Burj Khalifa stood tall in the distance, a silver needle stitching sky to earth. "What did she say?"
"Just how you were. What you were up to. If you were happy." Rishi paused. "I told her you were successful. Busy. Unchanged in all the important ways."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you still work too much, still think too deeply, and still hide what you feel." Rishi's tone was gentle, not accusing. "She smiled when I said that. Said some things never change."
Aryan felt something tighten in his chest a mix of warmth and ache. Meera remembered him. Not just as a competitor in some college contest, but as a person. As Aryan.
"Do you have her number?" The question left his lips before he could stop it.
Rishi didn't smile triumphantly. He just nodded, pulling out his phone. "I do. Sent it to you just now."
Aryan checked his phone. There it was a Dubai number, with a simple message from Rishi: "Whenever you're ready."
He stared at the digits. They felt like a doorway one he wasn't sure he was brave enough to walk through.
BACK AT THE APARTMENT
The rest of the day passed in a blur of calls and emails. The Singapore expansion, a hiccup with a regulatory filing, updates to the quarterly financials. Aryan worked mechanically, his efficiency untouched, but his mind was a silent hum of what if.
That evening, he stood on the balcony again, the same spot as the night before. The city lights were just starting to bloom against the indigo sky. He held his phone, Meera's number glowing on the screen.
He thought about Anaya. "You are my almost."
He thought about the finance challenge. Meera's smile.
He thought about eight years of silence between then and now.
His thumb hovered over the call button.
But courage, he realized, wasn't something you found in skyscrapers or bank accounts. It was something you built in the quiet, in the between moments, in the heart you'd spent years trying to silence.
He didn't call.
Not yet.
Instead, he typed a message deleted it typed again. Finally, he sent something simple, neutral, safe:
"Heard you're in Dubai. Welcome. If you need any tips on surviving the heat, let me know. Aryan."
He put the phone down, face up on the marble ledge, and turned away, walking back into the living room as if distance could calm the sudden racing in his chest.
Three steps.
Four.
Then a soft, distinct buzz.
He froze.
Slowly, he turned back.
The phone screen glowed in the deepening twilight.
A notification pulsed gently:
1 New Message Meera.
He didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
The city glittered below, indifferent to the small, seismic shift happening forty-five floors above.
What did she say?