Samira’s POV
I walked out toward the waiting room where Irene was waiting for me. She was perched on one of the lounge chairs, her laptop open, fingers moving with quiet focus. I didn’t feel like disturbing her. Instead, I drifted toward the window, the glass cool beneath my fingertips, as though Nainital itself wanted to remind me that this place had always forced me to feel more than I wanted to.
Reyan’s presentation had unsettled me in ways I hadn’t expected. It had been sharp, confident, clear —competence wrapped in humility — and for the first time, I questioned my pre‑made decision to reject the proposal outright. His words lingered in my mind like echoes, refusing to be dismissed.
I felt conflicted. The more I thought, the more it all felt like a trap, yet I couldn’t put a finger
