Chapter 9

LadyMeringue

@LadyMeringue

A/N: Hey there everyone! :D :D Here is the next update! :D :D

Happy Reading! :D :D

8th February, 2008:

This has got to be the worst day ever hands down.

I missed Ishaani's birthday, she isn't receiving my calls and she's mad at me because I couldn't make it there when I promised her that I would. I don't really understand what she's mad about though because she very well knows that I'm having a financial crunch. But no, since when have my troubles ever bothered her, really? And if that's not less, Finch and I got into an ugly argument because of her when he wanted to lend me the money for the tickets which I point-blank refused to accept, so even he isn't talking to me now.

I already sent Ishaani her birthday card and letter, and I think it should reach her today (hopefully) if my calculations are right. I wanted to send her the Enigma book as well, but I didn't. Somehow, after all the arguments we had upon the phone over her birthday (see, this is exactly why I didn't want to break the rule!) I just lost confidence with it. It would have probably been a great idea to send it to her now for her twentieth birthday, but I just couldn't.

I wanted to be there when she received that book to see that priceless expression upon her face, but since I won't be there, I didn't send it. And that got me brainstorming about when I could probably give it to her and the answer just fell into my lap. I'd give this to her the day I propose to her. As simple as that. The rest would just be self-explanatory. Atleast something would fall into place, I guess.

What do I do about Finch though, beats me. That guy just can't take no for an answer! I mean seriously, we've known each other for three months now and that too so well! He knows that I hate it when people pay for my stuff, and yet he kept acting like an idiot to pay for my air ticket. I know that he was just trying to help, but I guess the circumstances weren't right. We were both in a nasty mood that day and well, the rest in history.

Ishaani asks me to be on guard with Finch because she feels that he's being to benevolent for a foreign stranger. Well, she hasn't met him so she's saying. I always believe that everything is driven by logic, but there are some things that just cannot be explained. My friendship with Finch is one such thing. He's my professor and the social and racial difference between us is as vast as it can be and yet there's a bond that overrules it all.

Maybe it's God's way of giving me the strength to pull this all off well. Or maybe just sheer dumb luck. But either way, I know that I'm not wrong about Finch. My instincts have never been wrong so far, and I know it in my guts that it isn't even now. I just hope that the new friend Ishaani has made (Chirag?) is as good and genuine as she hopes him to be. I've told her enough about the world out there to keep her on her guard, but that girl is an idiot. 

And her instinct is something that I can NEVER trust.

From what she's told me about him though, he does sound pretty decent and an exception to the usual breed of the high-society kids, and it's good. And if Mota Babuji has been having no issue with it, I have no worries then. Ishaani's judgment may not be sound, but atleast his is. And from what I spoke with him two weeks ago, he did seem to assure me that Chirag is indeed a good guy and that Ishaani has been coping well since the past three months now.

The fact that she's coping well with a stranger, no less, is both frightening and reassuring at the same time, though I cannot determine which is heavier. It's obviously reassuring because I know what my departure did to her and the extent to which she must have killed her emotions for me. She may not say it but that doesn't mean that I cannot see it either. I can always see through her facades. Always. No matter how strong they are, but they're never strong enough for my eyes.

But then again comes the inhibition because well, its a new friend. A friend who is bringing her out from her shell probably as fast as I did. I always liked thinking that it was something that only I had the power to do so when the world failed to, so its bound to prick that I was wrong, perhaps. And with it comes the human pangs of jealousy that I can't help but feel at times thinking about how she's gotten a new friend.

I know my Ishaani well enough to know that she won't fall for him or anything... Okay, that's stupid of me to assume ofcourse, but I just can't help but think so! All those last moments of ours, those eye locks, those gentle brushes, those... those sudden moments of that unwarranted tension that just seemed to bubble out of nowhere... It had to mean something, right? And Chirag is just her friend, just like Finch is mine. I tend to overthink at times and envision stupid things, but that's always been my problem, I guess. My own fears and insecurities tend to cloud my judgment at times, like Ishaani always tells me.

I trust my knowledge upon Ishaani to know that she isn't so emotionally volatile to just fall for anyone left, right or center, especially someone who she's just known like three months ago. But then again, isn't it a tendency of the human mind to fall for something or someone when they are at their most vulnerable? You match traits with the thing or person who's the cause of their current state of mind and if that thing or person ends up easing your pains away as a form of a newly found distraction, the process is then very natural.

It's a very common method of getting over something, or in this case, someone. And I haven't been able to help but notice how she keeps saying how uncannily similar we are in many things. It's happened with both Ishaani and myself in case of each other that led to us becoming best friends when we were trying to find an escape from the atrocities of our life and our fears and our minds eleven years ago... What's to say it might not happen with her again, especially when there's no one there to be her voice of reason anymore?

Oh my God, I'm just talking plain stupid now. And being completely irrational. I definitely trust her more than this. Okay, she may have had some errors in judgment, but my girl is a strong one. You just can't break her down like a puppet. It takes years of knowing someone to even be able to pull that off. Oh shit. Ishaani was right. Maybe I do obsess a lot over the art of manipulation and the human psychology with regards to that. This is just plain sick what I just worked out.

I guess this is happening because she's angry with me on her birthday and I don't know how to make her feel better from thousands of miles away. If only she'd answer the phone! But no, she just wants to remain mad upon me just because I promised her a month ago that since I do have my study break now, I'd fly down for maybe ten days for her birthday, and also get some more first hand knowledge from Mota Babuji with regards to the certain technical issues that was problematic for my next thesis paper.

And THIS reminds me - I forgot to tell you about the most important thing that actually did happen today! Like you know, I've been facing a crunch for some time now and my finances are back to nearly rounding off to zero, so I finally decided that it was time to bring in some extra cash. A part time job was a must. And since Mota Babuji had given me the number of one particular Sanjeev Zaveri (who was one of his oldest friends), I decided to give him a call and get an appointment afterall. I still don't know how I'll be able to manage my crazy university schedule and the part-time job together, but I don't have any other option. I'll have to make night and day one and pull this off.

So, I'd given the number a call three days ago (which reminds me, sorry that I'm not regular still with the entries but I'm sure you understand!), and his secretary managed to give me an appointment for today afternoon at three. And because the office is located at the CBD, I had to go all the way cycling (taxi fares are really expensive so I preferred renting a cycle instead)!

Thankfully, even after taking the wrong route twice, I managed to reach his office with five minutes to spare still. It was a huge structure, the commercial complex. Mr. Zaveri's office was located on the sixteenth floor and seventeenth floor, and I was redirected to the latter. I'd barely left the lift and walked through the carpet-floored corridor when his secretary spotted me, looking harried.

"Are you Mr. Vaghela?" she asked me, looking apprehensive. I wondered whether if I'd say yes, she'd begin to cry. I nodded my head though, and she bit her lip in what I assumed was worry.

"Your appointment has been cancelled for today. Mr. Zaveri's in a nasty mood and he refuses to meet anyone for any job recruitment for the next six months," she replied quickly and the experience of being rejected by means of secretaries was sufficient to let me know that this was a well-rehearsed answer.

"But I didn't receive any-" I began, but she shook her head, looking slightly demented even though her blonde curls fell upon her face gracefully.

"Look, sir. If you want to go back alive from here, you might as well turn around right now," she warned and I still didn't know whether I was supposed to take her seriously or laugh upon it.

On observing closer, I could make out that her hazel eyes did look rather tense and he pale cheeks flushed in spite of the compact powder that was evident upon her flat cheekbones. They were like almonds, I noticed as her peach dress highlighted her protruding collarbones even more so with the halter neck pattern. She was an Australian, no doubt from her accent, but it was easier to understand her dialect. I now realize that she'd adjusted her accent for my own understanding. Multi-lingual with the English language.

"Try to convince him to see me, please," I pleaded and she suddenly looked cross, throwing her arms upon her hips like a reprimanding teacher who'd had enough for one day.

"Well if you're so smart then, sir, give me a way to," she shot back at me, and I gave her a flustered look. 

Her boss must have really been mad at her if she looked so petrified of being in the same room with him again. It reminded me of all those times when people would flee out of Mota Babuji's cabin with the same look of fright. Old times, old times.

"Just tell him that Harshad Parekh's protege is here to see him," I said suddenly, biting my tongue. 

I didn't really mean to say that and I don't know even know why I did. Maybe it was instinct. Or maybe it was the memory of Mota Babuji that let the words slip away from upon my tongue even before I was consciously aware about it. I didn't want to meet Mr. Zaveri this way but the damage was already done. All I could do was play along, now.

"Alright, but whatever happens from this point forth is on your head. Don't tell me that I didn't warn you," replied the secretary hesitantly, before jerking her head towards the entrance of the office and walking ahead of me.

She brought me into the office and told me to take a seat upon one of the plush chairs as she went into the cabin like a deer being sent to a lion as bait. The moment the door opened, there was a violent explosion of a sound that wasn't difficult to conclude as the mysterious Mr. Zaveri yelling upon the phone. The voice was cut out abruptly the moment the door shut behind the secretary.

I'd used my ace card and I was still trying to figure out why I'd done so when there was no real motive behind the same. But like always, instinct had been a driving force over here as well. I waited for the next fifteen minutes with the most brutal of apprehensions that kept crossing my mind about what I were to do if I didn't get any sort of job over there today. No other company would recruit me during my Masters, especially seeing how there were hardly any vacancies for an economic analyst in the market and even those positions require atleast ten-fifteen years of experience. The maximum I had was seven. And the wave of fear that the beginning of the recession in the US two months ago had brought on was another thing to my sheer disadvantage.

Just when I could no longer take my thoughts anymore, I sprung upon my feet and began pacing the corridor impatiently, hoping that the secretary would bring me out from the misery of this wait soon enough. The thought had barely formed words of prayer in my mind when the secretary left the cabin. My feet came to a halt.

"Go in, he wants to meet you," was all she told me in a stony voice.

I stared at the secretary, stupefied, but it was evident that she'd had a very trying day herself to put up with anything anymore. I don't know how she convinced her boss to do so, but she must be one talented girl to do the apparent impossible. Getting my senses back, I shot her an apologetic smile as I made my way towards Mr. Zaveri's cabin, a smile that she didn't return. I was sure that I'd heard a sniff before the door shut behind me though. But everything was wiped away from my mind the moment my eye fell upon the majestic cabin, and in the center of it, the man of the hour - Mr. Zaveri.

The cabin was as huge as Mota Babuji and Falguni Maa's room back at the Parekh Mansion, the walls painted a superb terracotta. Several frame adorned the walls that either pronounced the achievements of the man before him or else the several milestones that the company had earned that were all hung as souvenirs of victory. Trophies and medals remained perched proudly on the walnut-coloured shelf behind Mr. Zaveri, along with several books and files categorized precariously on similar shelves on either side of the room.

The furniture in the room remained of the same colour, and in the center sat Mr. Zaveri on a clear glass-topped table. These were cabin goals, was all that crossed my mind. If I ever reached that position one day, I swear that I'm going to make an identical cabin like the one Mr. Zaveri has right now. 

I looked outside the window that seemed to kiss the cabin with the most magnificent spurt of sunlight, bathing the room in a regal beauty. The harbour waters glimmered like diamonds in the distance, looking as stunning as I remembered seeing them for the first time when Finch took me over to his yacht docked at the Sydney Harbour Bay.

And finally, my eyes fell upon Mr. Zaveri, who had now looked up from his files, taking in my appearance with scrutiny. Atleast I know that the formal teal blue shirt and the black trousers that I'd worn in a tuck-in fashion was good enough for the interview, an added grace being the formal black coat that I'd carried along from my tuxedo of the farewell. It all went beautifully and I atleast looked like a man who belonged at the corporates, even though my cycle didn't. Never mind that.

My first impression of Mr. Zaveri was unfortunately that of an angry chicken who looked like he'd explode with an onslaught of eggs any moment. His face looked blotchy red as though the anger still hadn't quite faded away, and in spite of the stunning cream suit that he wore, it didn't hide away the slight paunch that came with age. His eyes were as sharp as that of a vulture and the white of his hair oddly gave me a feeling of a man who related every white hair with an experience that taught him a lesson. To tie it up with a ribbon, he was no fool. 

He was a man to watch out for.

"Sit," he boomed out suddenly, and I think I almost jumped in fright.

I felt my legs wobble like jelly even though I managed to cover the distance within four strides. Mr. Zaveri stood up and shook my hand before we both took our seats. From what I could make out, he did look reasonably impressed so far, especially after the handshake. Mota Babuji always stresses upon the fact that a person's handshake speaks a lot about his personality. Thankfully, I was always gifted with a firm grip right from the start.

"So tell me, Harshad's protege," he began, and I gave him a flustered look. This was exactly why I never liked using Mota Babuji's reference because at the end of the day, merit was always overshadowed by influence.

"Ranveer Vaghela," I responded back rather stiffly. Mr. Zaveri shot me a lopsided smile, perching his chin upon his delicately interlocked fingers upon the desk.

"You've acquired an interview with me on the reference of 'Harshad Parekh's protege', I hope you know that," he replied back placidly. 

I couldn't help but grit my teeth and hiss in pain, as though that statement had struck me some kind of mortal agony. But I didn't. I simply shot him a cool smile as his eyes met my own in inquisition. He wanted to see how well adept I was.

"I did have to begin from somewhere," I finally replied, and he nodded his head appreciatively.

"So tell me, Mr. Vaghela. What brings you here today?" he asked, and this time, I was quick to answer.

"I'm in need of a job."

"Aren't we all?" he joked, and I threw him a cold smile now. 

Being insulted in India was a different picture, but not here. Nobody knew Ranveer Vaghela and his plight, so it only helped me bluff with a confidence that I was remote from feeling. If I let my true self out in that minute, it would be a maniac running around the place pulling his hair in despair. But the man on the exterior was as calm and composed as ever. And I knew that I had to keep it that way if I had to nab the interview.

"I'm a little more in need than the others," I replied calmly and Mr. Zaveri 'tcched'. It was like a game of chess, where both of us were trying to read the other's mind before putting forth our next move.

"Rookie Mistake No. 1: You never tell the interviewer how badly you need to job," he said in a word of advise and I smiled in spite of myself. Well, he was right, to be honest. But I just wanted to clarify things right from the start.

"I wouldn't usually, but circumstances change," I defended and he gave me a curt nod.

"So this isn't your first interview then?" he asked, looking surprised.

"In Sydney, yes. In India, no," I answered and he looked at me curiously now.

"Then give me a cumulative answer," he encouraged and I bit my cheek before replying to him again, as though the figure was like the bitterest of medicines.

"This is my sixty-sixth interview," I mumbled and he gasped in surprise. I scanned his eyes to search for the first sign of a jeer or any other kind of mockery but none came. 

It was just that - surprise.

"Oh my! That's a huge number for your age. How many did you pass?" he asked, leaning back into his chair a little more comfortably. 

Had I not been so nervous, I had to admit that those chairs were as comfortable as heaven. How I wished that I could go to sleep then and there, but the fear of the man opposite me did the job of keeping me awake effectively.

"None," I replied grudgingly, and he gave me a sympathetic smile, softening his features considerably. But his eyes were as frighteningly stern as always.

"Rookie Mistake No. 2: You never let the interviewer know about how many interviews were a success or a failure," he replied and I was seized by the sudden urge to roll my eyes and him and hit my forehead. But seeing as I could do neither, I resorted to using the most polite answer I could go with.

"Point taken." 

I think he got a gist of my emotions though because I did see that momentary flicker of amusement in his eyes before he burst in speech again.

"So lets not waste anymore time. I hope you've brought your resume," he asked and I quickly handed over my file towards him. 

He accepted it gracefully and read through the pages carefully, reading each and every minute detail with the fullest of his attention. Nothing ever missed his eye, was all that I could think by the way he was checking my resume. Even Mota Babuji never looked at my report cards like the way Mr. Zaveri was looking at my resume.

"Your resume is like a dreamland for me. Are you even sure you've done half of this stuff?" he asked finally after a gap of twenty whole minutes. I couldn't help but shoot the older man a broad smile in spite of myself.

"Test me, sir" I challenged subtly and he cocked his eyebrow at me, intrigued.

"That goes without saying, lad. Shall I test you on the basics?" he asked, giving me a truly intimidating look. 

I actually thought that I'd reduce into a jelly before his gaze, but somehow I stood my ground nonetheless. I don't think I ever let fear flicker upon my face even once in spite of the mental way my heart was beating in. I managed to nod my head amidst all these thoughts and Mr. Zaveri gave me a keen look.

"Mind you, the BSE and the ASX have different working mechanisms and methods. You might embarrass yourself," he warned, and this time my smile was truly genuine. 

Whether it was with the pain of the reality of what I was saying or with the confidence that things couldn't get worse than what I'd already faced, I couldn't say though.

"When a person had failed sixty-five interviews on unacceptable grounds of discrimination, I'm sure there can't be anything more embarrassing," I replied and he gave me an impressed look.

"You know what, son? I like that attitude of yours. You don't take shit from anyone now, do you?" he asked and I flushed slightly in spite of myself. 

I'm usually not this straightforward in any of my interviews and neither this confident with my speech. But I guess I was pissed about the whole situation with Ishaani that my recklessness pushed aside all my inhibitions.

"I speak what I believe," I replied finally and he clapped his hand as though a drama was about to begin.

"Well then, brace yourself," he warned, suddenly looking serious.

And I did brace myself because the next two hours were a storm that I didn't even expect. The arrays of questions and situations and technical terms and analyses that were asked to me were completely out of the box and unexpected. It was as though I was actually giving an interview of being an economic analyst when I was clearly unequipped for the same. And yet there was a thrill about answering them and running my mind behind strategies and analytics that made me cherish this interview like no other. 

Oh, it was a blast alright!

There were several questions that I missed out on because I wasn't a little more technical, but there were even more so that I nabbed with the combined efforts of my academic as well as practical life knowledge from all these years with Mota Babuji. By the end of the interview though, Mr. Zaveri did look extremely pleased with me, and he no longer looked as angry as he did when I'd entered the cabin two hours ago.

"Well, you certainly do seem qualified enough in spite of some technical knowledge missing here and there. Very astounding for your age," he complimented and I couldn't help but flush dully. Mr. Zaveri questioned further. 

"How many years have you been working with Harshad from?"

"Seven years," I replied promptly and he gave me a nod of approval as he buried his nose into the same pair of files again that he was reading through earlier.

"How do you know him, exactly?" he asked me brusquely and I suddenly hesitated whether or not to tell him the truth. 

But I took long enough to decide upon an answer because his head suddenly popped up from the files, staring at me through the golden rims of his spectacles that had fallen slightly below the bridge of his nose in scrutiny.

"I used to be his driver's son," I replied finally, not knowing where this was going to lead from this point forth.

"Used to?" he asked, and I hastened to reply.

"My father quit the job when I came to Sydney," I replied and he gave me a nod.

"That was an impressive performance, lad. I'll have my secretary give you a call by the next week and let you know the result," he said, and I felt my heart sink. 

This was the sixty-fifth time that I was hearing this same dialogue. My first interviewer didn't even give me the chance to reach this point of the interview.

"Sir, if you don't consider it imprudent, can I ask you of a favour?" I blurted out suddenly and Mr. Zaveri gave me a curious look. I took a deep breath before speaking calmly, even though I think my voice did betray my anxiety and hopelessness somewhere. 

"If you want to reject me because of my social background, please do so right now and tell me that you cannot hire me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked sharply and I gulped in fear. What was done, was done. There was no turning back now. I had to stick with what I'd just spoken.

"I was rejected in all my sixty-five interviews because of my social background," I confessed and he put down the file that he was holding. He eyed me in silence for five whole minutes before he finally decided to speak.

"Son, let me tell you an interesting story. Are you willing to spare some time for it?" he asked, and I'll admit that it did take me offguard. 

I was so sure that he'd have me thrown out from the cabin for even having the audacity to tell him something like that, being a servant. I nodded my head more out of fear than in the affirmative and he rested his head upon the chair now.

"Let me begin by asking you a question. What do you know about me?" he asked, and I racked my brains about what little I'd read about him in the newspaper.

"You're Sanjeev Zaveri. You run one of the biggest financial brokerage companies in Sydney along with a diamond business back in India. One of the most influential personalities at the ASX and one of the most influential Indians in Australia too," I added and he gave me a small smile. This was not what he was looking for in the answer, I understood immediately.

"What do you know about my life before my accomplishments?" he emphasized and I drew up a blank.

"Nothing, sir," I replied with resignation. He gave me a small chuckle in response before finally saying what was expected of me to be said.

"My father was a cobbler, Mr. Vaghela," he said and I gasped. 

This was seriously something that I wasn't expected AT ALL! I mean, it didn't even matter anymore because he was Sanjeev Zaveri! His background wasn't even in the picture anymore against all the accomplishments he had to his name. Oh... That's what he was trying to tell me that time. Stupid me.

But before I could even react, he began with his narrative.

"He didn't even have sufficient money to buy me my text books for school. I came from a backward class family who were only Brahmins just for namesake, and I think that was the only saving grace. I never knew what money even was till the age of 15, when I met Harshad Parekh. The two of us bonded over our poverty as we watched the rich only make their children ignorant about the privileges they had while we knew what every penny meant. But that also meant that we had something that they did not - the passion to succeed and write our own future."

"What happened then?" I asked and he continued as though I'd never interrupted him in the first place, the look in his eyes distant as though he were reliving the memories of those olden days of struggles.

"The two of us had our Maths teacher who was very fond of us since we were both his best students in the subject. He used to deal with the stock markets. Since neither of us had much material to practice sums upon, he'd call us over to his house and lend us books and teach us for free. He was a great man, our teacher. The true definite of what a teacher is meant to be. And as Harshad and I would sit and solve sum over sum relentlessly, we'd see him deal with the stock markets and numbers. And being the curious lads we were, we finally took the guts to ask him one fine day what it all meant, intriguing as it was."

"What did he say?" he asked once again, and he gave me a soft smile.

"I was honestly convinced that he'd be mad at us but Harshad definitely had more guts than me. He was always like that - ever curious and vibrant about the joy of learning. Our teacher looked at both of us keenly, and maybe he saw just how genuinely interested we were in knowing about what the stock markets really were. And so he sat us down and taught us the whole thing with just three thumb rules that have neither gone wrong for Harshad or myself till this date."

"What were they?" I questioned inquisitively and Mr. Zaveri leaned forward, as though giving away his most confidential secret away in a whisper.

"Buy low, sell high. Observe all, but always trust your instinct when you buy or sell. Always risk not more than 60% when buying or selling," he replied and I gasped once again. 

This was Mota Babuji's exact thumb rules as well when it came to the stock market and suddenly, I remembered about this unnamed teacher that he would always talk about.

"Mota Babuji would always talk about him too," I said more to myself, than to him. But he heard me anyway.

"Oh yes," said Mr. Zaveri with a fond smile upon his face. "-these were the three singular thumb rules he taught both of us before giving us the general idea about how the markets worked basically. It was all so fascinating and interesting... I remember all those nights when Harshad and I would sit underneath the streetlamp and formulate ideas upon ideas upon how we'd make our fortunes with the stock markets and become rulers of our own territory. It was all silly talk back then. We'd both have to be complete idiots to have actually have believed that it would become true one day. And maybe somewhere deep down, it did."

"What happened next?" I asked, unable to resist.

"Harshad had to move to Mumbai because his mother had lost all their property in the mortgages. I'd lost both my parents by then and I had no siblings, so my teacher undertook the responsibility of my education. He'd just lost a son so he funded for my education over here in Australia. And since then, there has been no stopping. It's been an excruciating process reaching where I am today and it came at the cost of a 117 failures at interviews because of the colour of my skin. But that didn't stop me from achieving what I did."

"That's great, sir," I commended, now feeling prickles of shame at the fact that I'd nearly accepted defeat so quickly.

"There's no shortcut for success, Mr. Vaghela. Only grilling and more grilling until the diamond is the worth the price it is at last. This is what our teacher always told us. He was a great man, our teacher. If I'm here today, I only owe it to him. And the fact that I never let my social background bind me down to anything," he added, his stern gaze never leaving my face even once. I found it harder to look at him directly with every passing minute.

"I- I'm sorry, sir," I said shamefacedly and he gave me a sympathetic smile.

"You shouldn't be because it's human to feel so at times," he reassured and I did feel considerably better. "You cannot change what you're born into, Mr. Vaghela, but you can certainly change your fate by the end of it. It's a circle of life - what goes around, comes around. A man helped Harshad learn and become the man he is today, and he paid his dues by doing the same. So if you think that I'm going to reject you because of your background, you're thoroughly mistaken. I don't give a damn from where you come as long as you know what you're doing in the stock markets. That's all that I care about truly."

"I- Thank you," I said finally, unable to voice out my gratitude to him in any other way for reigniting the hope in my heart.

"There's no need to thank me for anything. I still haven't given you an answer yet. And since you are desperate for one, I'll be bluntly frank. I have no vacancy for you right now to offer in my company because all the slots are filled up. But," he added when he saw my expression fall down instantly. "-there's a fire in your eyes that doesn't let my mind rest in peace. It's a fire I know only too clearly because it was the same one that I'd often see in Harshad's eyes too. You're quite a mirror image of him when it comes to that gusto to succeed and that passion to achieve what you want to. And I appreciate that quality about you. So I will definitely give this a thought," he said finally, and this time I was even more tongue-tied than the last.

"I- I don't know what to say... Thank you, sir..." I said once again as he stood up, and so did I. We shook hands warmly once again as he walked me towards the door of my cabin.

"Off you go now, lad," he said kindly as he thumped my back, a shot that was quite powerful for a person his age. 

He didn't seem to scary now that I'd seem him at his worst and and his best, but he was certainly one to beware. I'd hardly walked any further though when he called out to me again.

"Harshad was right. You're every bit the genius that he boasted of you to be."

I felt the earth beneath my feet shake in that moment. So he'd known all along who I was. And it also made sense why it took the secretary so much time to get back to me and how she even managed to convince Mr. Zaveri in the first place. He knew about me right from the start. He was just testing me with fire and ice so see how long it was till I stood my ground without succumbing. But before I could say anything, the door to his cabin closed, along with the meeting.

I scampered away as soon as I could before my feet would betray me and collapse at the thought of the extent to which I was tested this afternoon. I don't even know how I cycled all the way back to the University, seeing how spellbound I was with the inspirational talk that I'd just received. It wasn't too reassuring at the end of the day that there was a high chance that I wouldn't get the job, but it only reminded me again about why I had to achieve what I'd set out to do. And I know that Ishaani had so many hopes about me making it for her birthday, but I'll make her understand. And I'm not going to sleep tonight without talking to her at any cost.

This was a sacrifice that we both had to make for the greater good. And this was just the beginning because the journey was only going to get more and more difficult from this point forth. But we had to remain strong for each other and stay united because we do have to meet at the horizon eventually. No matter how many twists and turns our life took, we would definitely meet at the horizon in the end. This is my instinct.

But for now, we have no option but to live with these trying times.

Constructive criticism will be more than welcome and sorry for any typos. :D :D