SHATTERED HER HEART

CHAPTER 05

Samira’s POV

The man who had brought the snacks earlier returned, moving with the competent stealth of someone who keeps rooms alive without asking permission. He set up the screen, his motions precise, practiced, invisible in their efficiency.

When he finished, Sejal reentered, gestured to him, and he turned off the lights. He stood to the side like a shadow earning its salary, silent, watchful, waiting.

Sejal began the presentation. She did her best — slides clean, numbers aligned, phrasing careful. But my dissatisfaction began as a string and quickly wound itself into a knot. I asked questions, sharp and deliberate, designed to test assumptions and squeeze risk out of promises. She blabbered politely through a few, offering hopeful guesses where sharp facts were required. On others, she stood blank, her silence honest. I appreciated the honesty, but I could not forgive the lack of preparation.

It was not her work. She knew only the edges, and the center was not hers to hold. Still, I expected more. My standards do not relax when men meet with accidents. Business does not pause for sentiment.

She knew it too — the way my smile flattened was a report card. Her eyes flickered with the awareness that she was failing me, failing the room, failing the weight of her cousin’s absence.

The room felt smaller with every passing minute. The glow of the projector painted numbers across the walls, but they meant nothing to me. My mind was already elsewhere — calculating flights, rehearsing refusals, drafting the sharp sentences I would deliver to my father when he asked why I had not stayed longer.

Sejal’s voice trembled as she tried to regain control of the presentation.

I rose, ready to leave, ready to call this a day that had failed to meet even my basic requirements. And then, from the dim corner, a voice cut in. Low. Respectful. Steady.

It was the man who had set up the screen.

The interruption should have been reassuring, but instead it unsettled me. His tone carried confidence and authority, not the tentative politeness of staff trying to please. He spoke as though he belonged in the conversation, as though the absence of Vivaan Malhotra and Sejal Malhotra's incomptence had permitted him to step into the light.

He began to answer the questions Sejal had fumbled. His words were measured, his logic neat, his confidence unshaken. And yet, the more he spoke, the more I felt the meeting unravel. Because competence delivered from the wrong mouth is not competence — it is theater.

I had not come here to hear from shadows. I had not traveled across continents to be lectured by assistants.

Every answer he gave only reminded me of the absence of the man who should have been here. Every slide Sejal clicked through only emphasized the hollow center of this meeting.

The disappointment was not in their effort — it was in the design. This was never meant to be Sejal’s burden, nor his. It was Vivaan’s. And Vivaan was not here.

The man’s steady tone filled the gaps, but together they were patchwork, not architecture. I listened, but I was no longer engaged.

I had come to Nainital prepared to reject a deal. Instead, I was rejecting the very idea of this meeting.

When the lights came back on, I stood. My chair scraped against the polished floor, the sound louder than it should have been, final in its tone.

“This,” I said, my voice cold, “is not what I came here for.”

Sejal’s eyes widened, her lips parted as though she wanted to defend herself, defend her cousin, defend the accident that had stolen him from the room. But I did not give her the chance.

“I respect effort,” I continued, “but effort is not enough. Numbers without conviction are decoration. Promises without presence are theater. And I do not negotiate with theater.”

The man lowered his gaze, his silence deliberate. Sejal swallowed hard, her hands tightening around the file she held.

I picked up my bag, adjusted my blazer, and walked toward the door with the knowledge that I had successfully wasted my precious time because of Vivaan Malhotra. The scrape of my heels against the polished floor was deliberate, final, the sound of a verdict being delivered.

“Ma’am," He called and blocked my way.

It should have angered me, but I was more curious than furious.

"My apologies, Ma'am, for stopping you abruptly. But..... Please, would you mind giving me a few minutes to explain?”

It was the same man — the one who had set up the screen, the one who had answered my questions with quiet competence when Sejal faltered. He wasn’t obsequious, wasn’t performative. His tone was polite, persuasive without being pushy. Something about the steadiness of his voice made me pause.

If I could waste an hour waiting for Vivaan Malhotra, another listening to a presentation that had never belonged to the woman who delivered it, and thirty more minutes watching this man try to stitch Sejal’s broken answers into coherence, then surely I could donate a handful of minutes to him — the one who sounded as if he had actually done the work.

“Who are you? What's your name?” I asked, because names are both doors and warnings.

“Reyan,” he replied. He paused, and I waited for a surname that did not arrive.

“Just Reyan, ma’am. I don’t have a last name,” he added, with a frankness that made me tilt my head.

I raised a brow, intrigued despite myself.

“I’m an intern here,” he continued. “I’ve completed my bachelor’s in business management and my MBA in International Business and Finance.”

I narrowed my eyes, suspicion sharp. “I’m guessing you’re another family member of Mr. Malhotra’s clan, but please—”

He cut me off with a chuckle, light but disarming. “Ma’am, I’m not Vivaan sir’s family. In fact, I don’t have a family.”

The words stunned me. He said them without pity, without self-indulgence, almost casually, as though being an orphan was simply another fact in his résumé.

“I was born and raised here in Nainital. A local,” he added, his tone steady, unashamed.

I stared at him, momentarily silenced. A local boy, an orphan, with an MBA degree, working under Vivaan Malhotra — and speaking with more clarity and conviction than Sejal, who carried the Malhotra surname and all its privilege.

His words unsettled me, not because they were dramatic, but because they were true. He was well-versed with numbers, sharper than Sejal, who I was certain had a fancy degree polished by her family’s influence. Reyan had none of that. No surname to shield him, no dynasty to prop him up. And yet, he stood here, speaking with competence that made me listen.

Against my will, he had already won a corner of my heart.

And I realized, with reluctant honesty, that I wouldn’t mind giving him one chance. One chance to show me his competence, to prove that he could change my decision — my already made mind to reject this deal.

I felt my mouth curve without permission — competence wrapped in humility is a rare perfume — and I told him to proceed.

He did. And he did well.

In fact, he did so well that for a brief stretch of time, I forgot I was angry. He handled the projections with confidence, his voice steady, his explanations clear. He broke down the risks in the plan with precision, not exaggerating them into nightmares but mapping them into manageable contingencies. He compared vendor capacities like someone who had actually read their contracts, not skimmed them for bullet points. He sketched out pathways for delays and failures without drowning the room in fear.

And when I asked questions — sharp, deliberate, designed to expose cracks — he answered without dodging, without guessing, without hiding behind jargon or slides. He spoke plainly, directly, with the kind of clarity that comes only from understanding.

I liked that. I am not impressed easily, but this impressed me enough to keep me in my chair.

By the end, when my curiosity had exhausted its list and my skepticism had run out of places to hide, I looked at him. Then at Sejal, who seemed shy, relieved, and slightly thrilled. She asked if I was interested in the project.

I smiled, looked back at Reyan, and found his eyes bright with the kind of enthusiasm that hasn’t yet learned to be cynical.

“I am really impressed, Reyan, by the way you presented and answered my queries. How long have you been working for Mr. Malhotra?”

My voice was warmer than it had been all day — because he had earned warmth.

“Just started, ma’am,” he said bluntly.

“Today is my first day. I was told Vivaan sir would be here and was asked to assist him and Sejal madam for this meeting. Afterward, I’ll be transferred to Delhi and assigned to a team depending on Sejal’s ... I mean Sejal Ma'am's recommendation.”

He side-eyed Sejal as he spoke, and to my surprise, she didn’t bristle. She smiled shyly, almost amused. Maybe he had already won her over too.

I sighed, unable to contain my curiosity. “If it’s your first day… and you’re an intern… how did you even manage to present it so well?”

His smile was enough to tell me he understood my confusion. He didn’t need to answer, but he did answer anyway, with the same frankness that had already disarmed me.

“I was there when Sejal ma’am was preparing for this presentation earlier. I helped her with some facts and numbers. She’s still learning.” He hesitated, glanced at Sejal, then back at me.

“Miss Gilbert, I—”

“Samira will be fine,” I interrupted gently.

Sejal smiled, grateful.

“Samira… I’m still studying. A first-year MBA student. My college hasn’t even started yet — I just got admission into IIM. Vivaan bro insisted I work here, said it would be good exposure for my MBA. He even made me a project manager — with no salary, and lots of work.” She laughed nervously, then grew serious.

“My apologies for wasting your time with that presentation. I wasn’t prepared. Bro isn’t like this — he’s always on time and professional. I don’t know why this happened, and then the accident… please don’t be angry. Give him a chance. Uncle — I mean Vivaan’s father — called me and said you’ll be staying here as the weather makes it impossible to travel to Delhi tonight. I promise, by tomorrow morning, my brother will be here; he is in the nearby hospital. He isn’t severely injured, so by late evening, he’ll be discharged and reach the resort. I know you didn't like our presentation and is clearly disappointed, but please give Vivaan bro a chance, and then make your decision.”

I looked at her, then at Reyan.

“I didn’t say anything about not liking Reyan’s presentation,” I said with a smile.

My tone softened because I felt bad for both of them. Just because Vivaan Malhotra was an arrogant, egoistic man who wasted my time and energy didn’t mean I had to treat these two rudely.

I could see wheels turning in Sejal’s head, her hope rekindling. Reyan’s eyes glowed with realization, a smile appearing slowly, cautiously.

“So this means you will sign the deal? You liked our presentation? You agree to the terms?” Sejal asked, her voice bubbling with excitement.

I let her words hang in the air, then answered carefully.

“Well, that’s for me to tell your brother, Sejal. I’ll let him know my decision. You said he’ll be here tomorrow, right? We’ll see then.”