"Whoa, this hotel is impressive, huh?" I marveled at the opulent interior of the hotel, holding my office bag close. "Meh, I can totally afford it... in my dreams."
As I was lost in my thoughts, a lady dressed in all white approached me, looking neat and friendly. "How may I assist you, sir?"
"Right, yeah. The name's Aryan. Aryan Singh. Engineer by profession, alma mater from Rohtak University, CGPA 8.3, and-" I was interrupted by the lady's voice.
"Um, that's not necessary, sir. I just want to know your purpose here. Are you looking to book a room, or are you here for lunch?" She stated plainly, trying her best to smile.
"I understand what you are saying. I was just trying to be polite, you know, the usual way conversations start," I chuckled before adding, "But hey, I'm actually on the hunt for someone. He's disappeared into thin air."
"Who are you looking for?" she inquired.
"John Cena," I replied with a dramatic sigh. "Man, he left me hanging. He was right here, but now, I can't see him."
Her eyebrows shot up in confusion. "Excuse me? Um, sir, was that a joke?"
"Absolutely," I grinned mischievously.
She shot me a stern look, "Sir, you're wasting my time."
"Oh, come on now, sweetheart. I caught you in the act, making an Instagram reel by the reception desk. I'm by no means wasting your time."
Her complexion deepened in hue with each passing second. I could practically see a temper scale beside her, and it was rising. "Look here, Aryan, or whoever you are. If this is your attempt at being slick and smooth in front of a lady, you've clearly missed the mark."
"Aw, shucks. I thought we had some strangers to lovers chemistry brewing there," I sighed in mock disappointment.
"You don't even know my name," she huffed at me in annoyance and briskly strolled off in the opposite direction, muttering something I couldn't quite catch.
"Worth a shot," I mused to myself with a shrug. "Ugh, the engineer curse strikes again! Rumor has it, we engineers perish without money, girls, and fun. I guess we're destined to be broke, single and virgin."
Shrugging, I moved inside, searching for the man I was actually here for—Mr. Raghav Adani, a South Indian model. My boss wants him to advertise our IT company for pamphlets.
Reaching the dining area, I pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from my coat. Raghav: 6 '1, Coat-suit, mask for popularity, smells like Sandalwood.
"The hell? Who cares about his scent?" I muttered. Office checklist – officially the weirdest.
Having perused the list, I scanned the area, my raven eyes following the crowd until they landed on a figure with his back to me. He seemed to tick all the boxes, so I confidently made my way toward him.
"Hello, sir," I greeted politely. He looked at me in surprise, swiftly masking it. His face remained hidden behind a mask, naturally. The only hitch was that he didn't smell like Sandalwood; instead, there was a faint aroma of honey and lilies.
He nodded, silent as the Sphinx. Well, isn't he a chatterbox? I thought, slightly annoyed. God must have a great sense of humor putting me here to convince Mr. Silent-and-Masked for our company.
I tried once again, "Hello, sir. I'm Aryan Singh from Skytale Private Limited. Our director, Mr. Oberoi, sent me here." Still, no reaction. Damn, this guy.
Okay, so let it be, I sighed and dropped my act, "Look, man, I'm not getting paid enough for this, you know. I mean, yeah, you're a popular model and all that, but hey, I can write it on paper that I work five times harder than you do. Like, what are the chances of you getting 1210 AIR in JEE ADVANCE?"
He quirked his brow, studying me for a good ten seconds before mumbling in a deep voice, "I pursued humanities after 10th."
"Exactly! While I took science. My life has always been tougher than yours. So, you gotta respect me and listen to what I've got to say. Do I have your attention?" I asked him expectantly.
He nodded yet again.
"Alright, here's the scoop. Our company is a cash cow in the IT sector, and we sponsor models and famous personalities. We're even IPL investors. So, yeah, we're pretty hot in the reputation department. Therefore, Mr. Shrikant Oberoi, our director, wants you to join forces with us and become the face of our company this year."
"Which team?" He asked softly.
"Eh?" I looked at him, my face scrunched in confusion.
"Which team does your company sponsor in the IPL?"
The sparkle returned to my eyes as I continued, "Well, of course, the best one. Chennai Super Kings. But I'll let you in on a secret; I personally prefer Royal Challengers Bangalore."
He seemed intrigued, "They don't even have a trophy though."
I chuckled, "You just had to bring that up, didn't you?" I wiped a lone tear from my eye before speaking, "Look, a game isn't all about winning. It's also about learning. Besides, cricket sometimes is about fate. So yeah, RCB lacks that, I guess, but hey, what they don't lack is a non-toxic and supportive fandom. Us fans are always there for them, you know."
"Who is your favorite in there?" He asked.
I looked at him with my lips pursed in a thin line, "Hey, not that I mind, but it feels like you're more invested in the team our company sponsors in the IPL than the company itself."
"It is what it is," he stated simply.
"So, should I take that as a yes to our offer?"
"I'll think about it."
"So, not a yes?"
"It's not a no either. I'm keeping my options as open as the IPL trophy cabinet."
"Alright, let's strike a deal. If you manage to guess my favorite cricketer, you're in."
"That doesn't sound fair. You could just lie about it." He spoke like a seasoned negotiator. Clever guy.
"So, how about I take a swing and guess yours, and if I nail it, you join in?"
"I could cheat too."
I rubbed my temples in frustration, then met his gaze squarely. "Listen, you've got to roll with this deal, or that director is gonna come after my head. I have to put food on the table for my kids, you know?"
"Are you married?" He mumbled softly, his tone carrying a tinge of sadness. Huh? Why does he sound like that?
I blinked in surprise, "Nah, dude. Engineers have zero luck with women. I was actually talking about my pets—Sweater and Jumper. Twin Labradors. Adorable af. Would you like to see their pictures?" I spoke with genuine enthusiasm, my eyes sparkling.
And for the first time, he laughed. A full-on laugh, resonating through the space, soft and gentle, and dude, he looked ethereal while doing it. I was awestruck. Sunrays, filtering through the window, caressed his brown curls, and his eyes crinkled as he laughed.
He opened his eyes to look at me and immediately composed himself, coughing to cover up, "I apologize."
"No worries, feel free to crack a smile. I'm not your boss, and this isn't a boardroom," I said with a light-hearted tone.
"That's just how I am."
"Hey, any special someone in your life?" I asked with genuine curiosity.
His eyes widened, and a faint blush tinged his cheeks, "Where'd that come from?"
"Nah, just curious. Since you're not handing me a straightforward answer for the advertisement, I figured I could snag some tips. I want to get at least something productive from this meeting."
"Oh," he muttered quietly.
My stomach growled, and I tried to hide my face in embarrassment. My brain was practically screaming, 'Mission abort, Mission Abort. Chief has taken a serious image hit.'
"Hungry?" he asked, looking at me with an expression that could be mistaken for fondness.
I glanced down at the menu. Alright, yes, I could totally afford this. It was pricey, but hey, I was working for a highly reputable company. So, let's go for it.
"A club sandwich and a cappuccino for me," I declared. "What about you? The bill's on me, you know." I smirked, turning on the charisma.
He eyed me with curiosity, "You seem well-off."
"Oh, I'm rolling in riches – both in the wallet and the heart," I declared matter-of-factly.
"Good to know. Also, since it's your treat, I'd fancy an Americano and aglio e olio."
I gawked at him, "Aglio de what?"
"Aglio e olio," he repeated.
"And what kind of dish is that? Seafood perhaps?"
He shook his head, "It's a type of pasta."
"Ah, well, I'm more accustomed to the instant packet ones, you know. The quick-fix kind."
He nodded in understanding.
"Excuse me, waiter," I called out to the man standing a few steps away from our table, and he hurried over.
"Apologies for my assumption, sir, but I didn't expect you to place an order. You both seemed engrossed in conversation," he claimed with a relieved smile.
I stared at him incredulously, "Why would you think that? Also, just how long has it been since we sat together?"
"Almost 30 minutes, sir," he replied.
I turned to look at Raghav. He wasn't saying anything but was clearly enjoying the conversation. This sly, silent guy.
"Anyways, a cappuccino and club sandwich for me, and an Americano and aglio e olio for this kind man here."
"Certainly, sir," the man nodded before strolling off to the kitchen.
Returning my focus to Raghav, I took a deep breath before speaking, "Alright, now provide me with an answer."
"Regarding what?" he asked coyly.
I resisted the urge to pull my hair in frustration, mindful of my surroundings in this professional and upscale hotel. Doing something like that here would surely make me a spectacle.
"The advertisement, of course. We're not here to date, so I wouldn't be asking you for an answer to my proposal, right?"
He eyed me with interest, "I would've accepted the proposal if you had made one."
Now it was my turn to be shocked; my mouth fell open. "A-Are you flirting with me?"
"Is that what it looks like?" he asked.
"Certainly."
"No," he replied briefly.
I sighed in relief.
"What are your thoughts on homosexual people?"
I shrugged, "Why should there be any specific thoughts about them? Also, how does it relate to our current discussion?"
"We'll get back there, but just indulge me on this one."
I relaxed back in my seat, "Look, I believe there's nothing extraordinary to think or feel about them. They're just what you said—people. Like me, like you. They don't need a spotlight or any special treatment when they enter somewhere. Just let them naturally blend in everywhere, to the point where straight and non-straight maintain a necessary equilibrium."
"So, we shouldn't make a fuss about them?"
"Not really, right? They aren't some hot headlines, are they? They're just people, with different tastes than ours, and that's it. Nothing special about them; they don't have 3 eyes or 4 feet. They don't come from Mars, so what's the point of giving them separate attention?"
"I see," he mumbled.
"Can we now focus on the main topic, please?" I requested.
"Sure."
"So, in a nutshell, you should really consider saying yes to our company. We're a bunch of great people. Our staff is so supportive and well-informed that they even knew how you smelled. It was right there in the checklist they handed me," I explained, realizing moments later how peculiar I must have sounded.
Raghav looked at me with a mix of surprise and caution, swiftly concealing the expression before saying, "You've got some dedicated staff in your company."
"No, wait. I know I sounded creepy, but that's not the point. We're actually a fun and good-hearted bunch."
"Uh huh," he said, his expression still skeptical.
I sighed, "Did I mess this all up?"
"Not entirely. I might not have appreciated the smell part, but the rest of it seems convincing enough," he replied. "Listen, I'll think about it. I can't say for sure, considering how busy my schedule is, but yeah, I'll give this some thought for sure."
"That's good enough, I guess."
His phone buzzed, and he took a peek at it, suddenly going rigid. Worry etched across his face, he immediately looked at me and spoke urgently, "I need to go."
"What about the food?" I asked.
"Well, consider it my treat. Good talk." He stood up hastily, pulled out some cash, placed it on the table, and rushed off.
"He sure dashed out of here in a hurry, huh?" I chuckled to myself, watching his retreating back before shaking off any lingering thoughts. "Well, it went decent, I guess."
I grabbed my cell phone, dialing the director. On the third ring, he answered, his voice booming from the phone. Damn, this old geezer! He's going to make me deaf one day.
"Aryan, my boy. How did the meeting go?" he boomed.
"Well, he didn't exactly hand me a golden ticket, but he did say he's mulling it over."
"So there's hope for us?"
"Looks that way," I replied.
"Well done, my boy." He chuckled heartily. "You've earned the rest of the day off."
"Much appreciated, sir."
With that, I hung up, feeling a weight lifted off my shoulders.
And just as the waiter approached with our order, he eyed the table from a distance before briskly making his way over. Placing the dishes on the table, he curiously asked, "Excuse me, sir. Where might your companion be?"
I nearly choked on my cappuccino, trying to respond, "Companion? Oh, he was just someone I had a meeting with."
The waiter, now looking a bit sheepish, stammered out a quiet apology for presuming things on his own.
"He had to dash off urgently," I explained.
"So, what about the food?" he inquired politely.
"Oh, I'll handle it," I shrugged nonchalantly.
"With all due respect, it's meant for two people, and consuming it alone could lead to indigestion," he warned.
"Bold of you to assume I'd abandon this lavish feast just because my stomach decides to play Tetris. Indian stomachs are like expandable memory cards – they can always make room in times of need."
"Well, in that case, please enjoy your meal, sir," the waiter said before departing.
"Heck yeah, I will," I mumbled, diving into the food. Sure, it was a bit excessive, but hey, it cost a pretty penny. I couldn't just let it go to waste, right?
Occasionally, I noticed people at nearby tables stealing glances at me, whispering among themselves. Oh no, what now? Did I smell bad? Or was there something on my face?
As I was pondering this, a grandmotherly figure passed by, giving me a comforting pat on the back. She spoke slowly, "Don't let it get to you, dear. Sometimes, good things fall apart so that better things can come together."
Could it be that the onlookers thought we were on a date, and he abruptly left, tossing cash as if paying off a prostitute? Then, here I am, stress-eating like a damsel in distress. If that's the case, I'd better slip away before I become the spectacle of public sympathy.
"Waiter, the bill, please!" I called out, and he hurried over with the check in hand. I took pride in settling it myself. I mean, hello, I've got dignity; I don't need anyone else's money.
Standing up with the grace of a ninja, I grabbed my office bag, strolling out of the hall. I even threw a wink at the receptionist, relishing her slightly disgusted expression as I chuckled my way out.
I gazed at the cars gliding past and watched the sea waves dance along the shore. The sun beamed down, its warmth embracing the day with perfection. Yet, I had no desire for further activity.
Hailing a cab, I arrived at my apartment. As I entered, I casually tossed my bag onto the perpetually occupied chair. It was always cluttered with belongings, never inviting enough for anyone to sit on. After splashing water on my face, I collapsed onto my bed, enveloped by its comforting, familiar scent.
Before I realized it, drowsiness swept over me, and my eyes fluttered shut. At some point—uncertain of how long—my eyes snapped open to the sound of my phone ringing.
I groggily pressed the answer button, placing it against my ear. "Hello."
"You're fired."