The door creaked open, and Hriday Singh Shekhawat entered the meeting room silently. He paused in surprise—the girl was speaking aloud, rehearsing a speech to herself.

“Look, Mr. Shekhawat,” she said, straightening her imaginary confidence, “I want you to reconsider acquiring Mr. Saha’s property. I know it might hold strategic value for your company, but I ask you—think about Mr. Saha. Just once. Think about what that house means to him.”

“I don’t operate from someone else’s perspective, Miss,”

Hriday's deep, authoritative voice cut through the air like a blade.

Startled, Gauri flinched and turned sharply. “You…”

Hriday studied her face, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Wait a minute—I’ve seen you before.”

“That day. You made me cook for you,” she replied with folded arms. “Remember now?”

Recognition dawned. “Ah, yes. That day you left without a word. You should know, Miss… Hriday Singh Shekhawat doesn’t take kindly to disrespect.”

He took a seat with practiced elegance, his presence commanding.

Gauri stared at him, baffled.

“Mr. Shekhawat, that wasn’t disrespect. I was there by mistake. You could have corrected me instead of assuming things.”

“Watch your tone,” Hriday snapped. “Talk politely, whoever you are.”

“Maybe take your own advice first,” Gauri shot back.

"You—"

Knock knock.

Vivek entered, diffusing the tension with a file in hand. “Boss, I brought the documents.”

“Leave them on the table,” Hriday said curtly, eyes still on Gauri.

Vivek did as instructed and exited quietly.

“Take a seat,” Hriday offered.

“I’m fine standing,” Gauri replied coldly.

“As you wish.”

He opened the file, glanced through the pages, then handed it to her. “Read this.”

Gauri took the file with cautious fingers. As her eyes moved down the neatly typed lines, her face shifted from skepticism to shock.

“What… is this?”

she asked, stunned.

Hriday cleared his throat, then stood, walking toward her with a calculated step. He stopped just short of her personal space.

“I’ve decided not to pursue Mr. Saha’s property.”

Gauri blinked. “Really?”

“Yes. But on one condition—you work as my personal cook.”

“What?” Her eyes widened. “Why?”

“That’s not your concern. Just know that I need someone who understands my palate. And you, well… that day’s food was decent enough. Manageable.”

She scoffed.

“Well, I can’t manage that. I already have work. And frankly, you’d be better off hiring a professional. Kolkata is full of them.”

She slapped the file onto the table and turned to leave.

“Wait—don’t go,”

Hriday called.

“I won’t sign this,”

she said firmly, stepping out without looking back.

Hriday stood there, silent, then muttered to himself:

“Sign to tumhe karni padegi… aur yeh Hriday Singh Shekhawat ka vaada hai khudse.”

(You will have to sign… and that’s a promise from Hriday Singh Shekhawat to himself.)

Gauri unlocked the door to her modest but warm home. Though small, it was enough for her and her mother, a space filled with memories and mutual strength.

“Aa gayi meri bacchi,”

(You came my daughter.)

her mother smiled, having woken at the sound of the door.

“Yes, Maa… I’m starving!” Gauri dropped onto the floor, kicking off her shoes.

Kishori moved quickly, setting two plates on the mat and serving hot puris with aloo dum—Gauri’s favorite.

“You didn’t eat yet?” Gauri asked.

“How can I, without you?”

Kishori smiled gently.

“Maa, you have to eat on time—especially with your medicines.”

“I’ll take them now, don’t worry.”

They ate quietly, enjoying the comfort of home-cooked food and each other’s presence.

Later that night, Hriday emerged from the office party earlier than expected. His driver looked surprised.

“Sir?”

“Drive. Fast.”

Hriday slipped into the back seat, lost in thought as the city lights blurred past.

The next morning, Hriday stirred to the buzz of his phone. A video call flashed on the screen: Mom & Dad.

“Hriday, what’s wrong?”

Maithili asked immediately.

“You look tired.”

“I’m fine, Mom. Dad?”

He noticed the distance between his parents on the screen.

“Why are you two sitting so far apart?”

“Nothing, son,” his father said hastily.

“I have some work to handle—we’re returning to India in two days.”

His father walked off. Maithili stared in that direction with a sigh.

“Mom. What happened?”

“It’s… nothing, Hriday.”

“Mom.”

Only Hriday's mother could make the aloof, commanding CEO sound like a child again.

She hesitated.

“I… I fought with your father.”

“You fought with Dad?” Hriday raised an eyebrow in amusement.

“Yes. It was my fault. I brought up Sanjana—knowing how much he dislikes her.”

“For what?”

“…Nothing important.”

She quickly changed the subject.

“Tell me, how was your date with Disha?”

“Mom, it was a corporate party, not a date. I spoke to her. That’s it.”

“You need to try, Hriday.”

“Try for what?”

“For finding a wife. A good partner—for you, for us. I need a daughter. Someone to talk to, laugh with, plan things with. I get so bored listening to business talk all day. Papaji, Shikhar, and now you. Sometimes I miss your dadi so much.”

“I miss her too, Mom.”

“You have friends—Kamla aunty, Sanjana…”

“I said daughter, not gossip buddy,”

Maithili pouted.

“God gave me a hardworking, handsome son… but I still wish I had a sweet daughter.”

Hriday laughed.

“Is that why you used to dress me in frocks and tie up my hair as a kid?”

Maithili burst into laughter.

“Yes, my dear son… or should I say, my pretty daughter?”

Hriday rolled his eyes but smiled warmly.