Unmatched

✨Dramatic?✨

SHANAYA'S POV:

"Did you screw up anything, babe?" Aarti said, panting as she skidded to a stop at my desk, looking like she'd just outrun a deadline.

I blinked. "Not that I know of. Why? What happened?"

She leaned in dramatically, whispering like we were in a spy movie.
"Well, the devil wants to see you."

My heart dropped. "You mean—"

"Yes. Her. The Destroyer of Souls and Half-Baked Presentations."

I groaned. "Aarti, I told you to stop calling her that."

"Fine," she said, straightening up and fixing her hair. "But just so you know, Satan wears sarees now."

I stood, fixing my top nervously. "Do you think it's about the campaign pitch?"

"Could be. Or maybe she found your blog and wants romance tips," Aarti said with a wink.

"Not funny."

"Oh, it's hilarious. Now go. May the Google Docs be in your favor."

I walked toward the glass cabin, rehearsing every possible mistake I might have made in the last seventy-two hours. Wrong font in the pitch deck? Accidentally cc'ing the client's ex in an email? Breathing too confidently?

I knocked once.

"Come in," came the crisp voice.

I stepped in, spine straight like I was on trial.

Ritu Sharma — Creative Director and undisputed queen of passive-aggressive post-its — looked up from her screen, glasses perched at the tip of her nose.

"Shanaya," she said, folding her hands. "Sit."

I did. The chair squeaked traitorously.

"So," she began, "I went through your campaign notes for the Aadha Ishq proposal."

My brain fired off panic alarms. She never starts with compliments. This was the setup before the takedown.

"And?" I said cautiously.

A pause.

"It's... fresh."

I blinked. "Fresh good or fresh like coriander in tea?"

She gave the tiniest smile. Victory. She wasn't going to eat me alive today.

"I like it. It's emotional, modern — has your voice. We'll pitch it."

I nearly exhaled loud enough to set off the AC sensors.

"Thank you. I— I really believed in the concept."

Ritu leaned back, fixing me with a sharp gaze.

"Good. Now don't screw it up. You're presenting."

The relief melted right off my face.

"I—wait. Me? To the client?"

"You wrote it. You sell it. Don't look so horrified."

I nodded numbly.

"And Shanaya?"

"Yes?"

"Fix your neckline before you go out. You're not selling drama, you're selling a brand."

Ouch.

I tugged my blazer forward a little and muttered, "Of course," even though every part of me wanted to say, My neckline isn't even dramatic, you just hate joy.