Chapter 3 - Behind The Mask

As the hours slipped by, the weight of the day began to settle over Aarohi like an invisible cloak. The relentless rhythm of introductions, explanations, and negotiations gnawed at her energy, but she refused to let her exhaustion surface. With each new meeting, she straightened her spine, smoothed the edges of her blazer, and stepped forward with a quiet determination that betrayed none of her weariness.

Yet, amidst the flurry of names on her list, one remained untouched: Zaika. She had left it for last, not out of oversight, but with calculated intent. The restaurant carried an air of quiet intimidation, and Aarohi knew she would need every ounce of confidence earned throughout the day to approach it. It was a silent challenge she had set for herself, a test that loomed larger than all the others combined.

By the time the sun dipped low on the horizon, spilling hues of amber and rose across the city, her list was nearly complete. Agreements stacked neatly in her bag weighed heavily on her shoulder, but there was a satisfying comfort in their presence. And yet, beneath the satisfaction lingered anticipation—a faint hum of nerves that tightened her grip on the final folder as she turned her attention toward Zaika, the last and most formidable name on her list.

As she stood by the cab that would take her to Zaika, Aarohi allowed herself a brief, solitary moment to breathe. The tension that had been simmering beneath the surface all day began to creep back in, coiling tightly in her chest. But now, it felt different—less like fear and more like the calm before a storm.

She closed her eyes for a heartbeat, steadying herself, letting the cool evening air graze her skin. Her pulse thrummed with a mix of nerves and resolve, the weight of the moment settling heavily on her shoulders.

"I'm ready," she murmured, the words a quiet vow to herself as much as a reassurance.

With that, she stepped into the cab, her grip firm on the folder that carried her vision. Zaika was next—a name she'd been saving, a challenge she couldn't ignore. And she was going to face it head-on, with everything she had.

Aarohi knew little about the elusive Mr. Sharma, but what she did know was enough to set her pulse racing—a potent blend of excitement and unease. He wasn't just a restaurant owner; he was a name spoken in careful, measured tones, a man whose influence stretched far beyond the walls of Zaika. Within her company, his name carried the weight of legend, whispered in hushed reverence as the one no one could win over, a figure who had built an empire on exacting standards and an unflinching vision.

Zaika wasn't merely a restaurant; it was a legacy. And Mr. Sharma? Its fiercely guarded gatekeeper. Over the years, many had approached him with proposals, each more extravagant than the last, and yet every overture was met with a resolute no. To land a deal with him was not just a victory; it was an accolade, a crowning achievement that could elevate any company to new heights. For Aarohi, it was the kind of challenge that exhilarated and unnerved her in equal measure.

Sitting in the back of the cab, she rehearsed her pitch for the countless time, her fingers absently tracing the embossed leather of her planner. The polished confidence she had exuded throughout the day now felt fragile, her resolve chipping under the weight of expectations. This wasn't just another meeting; it was the meeting, the one that could shift the course of her career.

The cab slowed as Zaika came into view, its golden lights casting a soft, inviting glow against the evening's deepening blue. Aarohi's breath caught for a moment. The restaurant exuded an understated grandeur, its carved wooden doors framed by climbing vines and glimmering fairy lights. It seemed to whisper of secrets, of promises only the worthy could uncover.

She straightened in her seat, rolling her shoulders back in an effort to ease the tension that had crept into her frame. Her nerves hummed with electricity, thoughts spiraling despite her best efforts to focus. Would she find the right words? Would her vision hold up under Mr. Sharma's scrutinizing gaze?

As the cab pulled to a stop, Aarohi drew a deep breath, the cool air rushing in as she opened the door. The moment stretched taut around her, and for a fleeting second, she hesitated, her reflection caught in the glossy window of the cab. She wasn't just here to pitch an idea—she was here to prove herself, to fight the quiet doubts that had trailed her for so long.

With a final adjustment of her blazer, she stepped out, her heels clicking against the pavement as she approached Zaika's imposing entrance. The warmth of the lights brushed her skin, a stark contrast to the storm of nerves within.

Whatever awaited her beyond those doors, one thing was certain: she would face it head-on, with the quiet determination that had carried her this far.

As Aarohi stepped into Zaika, the world shifted around her. The hum of conversation mingled with the clatter of silverware, a symphony punctuated by the rhythmic hiss of dishes being plated in the open kitchen. The air was thick with the unmistakable aroma of spices—warm cardamom, smoky cumin, and the faint sweetness of saffron—creating an intoxicating pull that was both inviting and overwhelming.

Her heels clicked softly against the polished floor as her gaze swept the room. Elegant wooden paneling framed the walls, illuminated by the amber glow of ornate pendant lights. The atmosphere was alive, vibrant with life, yet there was a precision to it, a subtle choreography in the way servers glided between tables, balancing trays laden with artfully plated dishes.

Aarohi held her head high, her confidence a carefully constructed façade, but beneath it, her thoughts swirled with quiet urgency. She couldn't shake the question that had been trailing her all morning—would he be here? The chef who had sparked her curiosity, the one whose brief glance had lingered longer in her mind than she cared to admit.

The restaurant manager glanced up from his desk as she approached, his expression polite but efficient. His crisp attire and sharp posture spoke of someone accustomed to ensuring Zaika's standards remained impeccable.

"Yes, ma'am?" he asked, his voice professional, smooth as the polished wood beneath their feet.

Aarohi squared her shoulders, her fingers tightening momentarily around the leather strap of her bag before she forced them to relax. "I'm here from [Company Name]," she said evenly, her voice steady despite the faint tension coursing through her. "I have a meeting scheduled with Mr. Sharma."

The manager's brow lifted slightly, his expression unreadable for a moment before it softened into a polite smile. "Of course. Please, follow me," he said, gesturing toward the back of the restaurant.

As he led her through the maze of tables, Aarohi's gaze flickered briefly to the open kitchen, its bustling energy both mesmerizing and daunting. She caught a glimpse of chefs in motion, their faces focused, their hands deftly crafting dishes with practiced precision. And then she felt it—a fleeting, inexplicable awareness, as though someone's gaze had brushed against hers.

But she didn't look back. Not yet. She pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the task ahead. This was about Mr. Sharma, about proving herself. Everything else could wait.

The manager led Aarohi through the quiet corridor, the muffled hum of the bustling restaurant fading with each step. Stopping at an office door, he knocked softly, the sound sharp in the otherwise hushed space. "Mr. Sharma, Miss Aarohi from [Company Name] is here for your meeting."

Her breath hitched.

The man looked up, his sharp features bathed in shadow and light. A tailored suit clung to his broad shoulders, polished to perfection, but beneath it, she caught the unmistakable glint of a chef's jacket. His posture was composed, his expression unreadable, until something shifted—a flicker of recognition in his eyes.

Aarohi's mind stuttered, the image of him from the day before flashing like a broken reel. The kitchen. The cap. The mask. Him. The cold, aloof figure who had barely spared her a glance while serving her table. And now? Now he sat before her as the enigmatic Mr. Sharma, owner of Zaika.

She froze, every carefully rehearsed line slipping from her mind like sand through her fingers. It couldn't be. Was it really him?

Across the room, Ayaan's dark eyes narrowed, his gaze raking over her with a mix of surprise and scrutiny. He didn't move, didn't blink, but the subtle shift in his demeanor spoke volumes. The girl from the dining area—her. Of all people. What was she doing in his office?

His lips pressed into a thin line, his fingers drumming once against the edge of the desk. "You." The single word was clipped, his tone carrying the weight of a dozen unspoken questions.

Aarohi's composure wavered, her thoughts scrambling for footing. She straightened her shoulders, forcing herself to meet his gaze, her voice carefully neutral. "Mr. Sharma?"

Ayaan leaned back in his chair, his dark brows pulling together in faint irritation. He didn't respond immediately, his silence filling the room like an unspoken challenge. The air between them felt charged, taut with a tension neither could name.

Her confusion simmered beneath the surface, but she refused to let it show. This wasn't the time to falter. Whatever twist of fate had led her here, she would handle it. She had to.

Aarohi cleared her throat, willing herself to steady the storm of thoughts swirling in her mind. The shock of recognition had burned away, leaving behind only the cold grasp of professionalism. "I'm Aarohi, from [Company Name]. We have a scheduled meeting regarding the event," she said, her voice steady despite the weight of the moment.

Ayaan's gaze flickered over her briefly before he leaned back, his posture distant, his jaw tight. His fingers drummed once on the polished surface of the desk, a rhythmic sound that filled the room with an almost deliberate intensity. "Right," he muttered, his tone clipped, devoid of warmth. He wasn't here for small talk, and certainly not for whatever strange twist of fate had brought them face-to-face like this. The meeting was unavoidable, and he wasn't about to let the unsettling surprise derail his day.

The tension in the air thickened, a quiet undercurrent that crackled between them, yet neither of them dared to break it. Aarohi could feel it—a charge in the room, as palpable as the rich aroma of Zaika's dishes that still lingered faintly in her senses. This wasn't how she had imagined this meeting would unfold. She had expected a certain formality, a distance of sorts, but not this. Not this unnerving familiarity.

For a brief moment, a part of her wanted to retreat, to escape the sharp edge of the awkwardness that hovered over them like a cloud. But she fought the impulse. She had come this far. She couldn't let this unexpected revelation throw her off course.

With a quiet exhale, Aarohi squared her shoulders and took a step closer to the desk. Her folder, crisp and neat, was placed deliberately in front of her—an anchor of sorts, something to focus on. She met his gaze, steady and unwavering, the cool professionalism she had built over years of navigating high-stakes negotiations now sweeping in like a second skin.

Ayaan didn't blink, his dark eyes measuring, calculating. But there was a flicker there, just beneath the surface, something barely perceptible but enough to unsettle her. For a moment, Aarohi wondered if he too was grappling with the same sense of disbelief. The same question—What are you doing here?

But no. He wasn't the kind to let such things slip. He was colder, more composed. His silence spoke volumes as he waited for her to continue.

She pushed aside the remnants of uncertainty and focused. This was business. She had to remind herself of that. She was here to pitch, to convince him of the value she could bring to the event—a task that now felt impossibly more difficult, but not impossible. She would prove herself, no matter how bizarre the circumstances.

"Mr. Sharma," she began, her tone firm now, a trace of steel threading through her words, "I believe our collaboration could be mutually beneficial. I've taken the time to understand the ethos of Zaika, and I'm confident that this event could showcase your signature dishes in a way that elevates the experience for your customers—and our guests."

Ayaan's eyes lingered on her for a long moment, assessing, considering. Then, with a slight nod, he leaned forward, his hands clasped before him, waiting for her to continue.

This was her chance—her opening. Despite the tension, despite the unpredictability of it all, Aarohi was determined not to falter. She was in the lion's den, but she wouldn't let the lion have the last word.

Ayaan leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. His arms were crossed, and his posture exuded an effortless cool, a quiet dominance that only deepened the tension in the room. His gaze, however, remained sharp—piercing, like a blade slicing through the air between them. His expression was unreadable, but the slight narrowing of his eyes suggested a subtle skepticism. "Go on," he said, his voice flat, the words hanging in the air like a challenge. "What's your pitch?"

Aarohi, despite the weight of his gaze, kept her composure, her voice steady as she began. "Thank you for taking the time to meet today, Mr. Sharma," she began, her tone measured, though a faint tremor of anticipation lingered beneath the surface. "Our company is organizing a food event in town—a culinary competition where local restaurants, including yours, will have the chance to participate. Each restaurant will present its signature dish, and professional chefs will rate them. This will not only showcase your restaurant's specialties but also give you exposure to both the local community and neighboring towns."

Ayaan remained silent, his expression unreadable. He listened without interruption, though there was a certain distance to his demeanor, an air of careful consideration. His eyes followed her every move, as though evaluating her not just through her words, but the very essence of her presence.

Aarohi pressed on, unwilling to let the stillness of his attention throw her off balance. "The event will be free for restaurants, but here's the catch—you'll have the opportunity to network, connect with potential new customers, and gain significant publicity.

This will help position Zaika as one of the top destinations for dining. Moreover, by showcasing your dish to the media, you'll increase your restaurant's visibility."

The words hung in the air, but Ayaan's gaze remained unyielding, his expression unchanged. He hadn't moved, hadn't given any indication that he was impressed—or even interested. But she could feel the weight of his scrutiny, his mind working behind those sharp eyes.

Then, after a moment that stretched just long enough to make her wonder whether she'd lost him completely, he raised an eyebrow—a barely perceptible gesture that conveyed more than a thousand words. His voice was calm, but there was a bite to it now, a probing sharpness that cut through the air between them. "And how is this going to benefit me?"

Aarohi didn't flinch. His directness didn't catch her off guard. She had expected it. She had prepared for this very question. Her pulse quickened, but she answered with a quiet confidence, her voice unwavering. "Mr. Sharma, the exposure your restaurant will gain from this event is invaluable.

We'll be working with influencers, local press, and food bloggers—people who are trusted by the community. This will not just be a fleeting moment; it will be a launchpad for lasting connections. We'll promote the event across social media platforms, targeting audiences from all over the region.

For restaurants like Zaika, this kind of visibility can attract loyal customers, customers who will return time and time again long after the event ends. This isn't just attention you're gaining—it's tangible foot traffic. It's repeat business."

The words hung between them, weighty and unyielding. Aarohi could feel the shift in the atmosphere, a subtle change in the room's energy. Ayaan remained silent for a long moment, his gaze never leaving her.

There was a tension now, an electric hum that seemed to pulse through the space between them. She knew he wasn't an easy sell, but she also knew that if there was even the smallest crack in his armor, she had to be the one to exploit it.

Her heart beat a little faster, but she didn't let it show. She would wait. She had done her part. Now, all she could do was wait for him to decide if this offer was something he couldn't resist.

"I've had many offers like this before," Ayaan said, his tone smooth and casual, almost too relaxed for the weight of the conversation. "What makes yours any different?" His gaze remained cold, the warmth of interest long gone from his eyes. "Why should I take yours, when I've already turned down the others?"

His confidence, almost impervious to her words, made it clear he wasn't just dismissing the proposal—he was indifferent to it. The idea of another venture, another partnership, did nothing to stir his sense of ambition. It was just another pitch, another story, another arrangement... all echoing the same hollow promises he had long learned to ignore.

Aarohi inhaled, her fingers gripping the folder in front of her as she tried to steady her nerves. She had prepared for this moment, knowing that convincing someone like Ayaan, a man with a reputation for rejecting opportunities, would not be easy. Still, her words were firm, laced with determination.

"But, sir," she began, her voice calm yet earnest, "you can start with us. I understand the legacy of Zaika—its reputation, its flavor, its history. But that legacy deserves to reach more people. It deserves to be experienced by those who have never had the chance to taste it. That's what we're offering, an opportunity to expand—an opportunity to introduce our cultural flavors, dishes that people don't even know exist. It's not just about growing Zaika, but about sharing something new, something different with the world."

Her eyes locked with his, her words flowing with a quiet intensity. "We want to help Zaika take the next step, to grow, to evolve, and in doing so, we believe it will also help you in ways you might not see yet. This is not just a business offer; it's a chance to bring something fresh, to open up a whole new branch of possibilities. It could be the next chapter for Zaika, one that blends tradition with innovation."

Aarohi leaned forward slightly, her tone shifting to one of quiet confidence. "You've rejected others, yes. But this isn't about what's been done before. It's about something new."

Ayaan's eyes softened for a fleeting moment, his gaze drifting down to the folder on the table before him. The weight of her words lingered in the air like a heavy silence, each syllable she spoke settling into the space between them. There was something about the earnestness in her tone that stirred something in him, but it wasn't enough to shake the walls he had so carefully built around his heart.

When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, measured—almost detached. It was the voice of someone who had heard it all before and had grown indifferent to the repeated offerings of ambition and growth.

"Your perspective is just about selling me this deal," Ayaan said, his words slicing through the tension with quiet precision. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tracing absent patterns on the table, the rhythm of his thoughts steady as he spoke. "For you, Zaika seems like just another restaurant, another business venture. But for me… it's different."

He paused, the flicker of something deeper crossing his face before it was quickly masked again. His eyes, cold and distant, never left hers as he continued, each word deliberate, heavy with the weight of his truth.

"I started this place from scratch. I never imagined it would grow this much. Hell, I never wanted that," he added, the hint of a bitter laugh barely audible. "All I ever wanted was to see happy faces. Laughter. That's what brings me peace—seeing people enjoy what I cook, hearing their laughter fill the air. Cooking… it takes me to a different world. A world where nothing else matters but the joy of the food, the magic of the recipes."

Ayaan's gaze hardened as he leaned forward slightly, his voice taking on a sharper edge.

"It's not about building an empire, or chasing numbers, or any of that. It's about the moment when someone takes a bite and forgets about everything else—when they find solace in something so simple. That's what I cherish, what I care about."

His words hung between them, raw and unfiltered, before he straightened himself again, his expression guarded, but his eyes still carrying the weight of what he had just shared.

"I never wanted Zaika to become another marketing tool, another hot topic in some competition game. I want it to be a place where people come because they feel like they belong. Because the food makes them feel something. I don't want them comparing my food to other restaurants. I just want them to appreciate it for what it is. It's about heart, not about trending hashtags or flashy ads."

The silence that followed was thick, heavy with the unsaid—yet there was something deeply vulnerable in the way he spoke, something that softened the edges of his seemingly unshakable resolve.

Aarohi sat in silence for a moment, the weight of Ayaan's words pressing down on her. His conviction was palpable, his passion thick in the air, and for the first time, she saw Zaika not just as a successful restaurant, but as a living, breathing entity—something far more sacred than she had originally realized. It wasn't just business to him; it was his heart, his soul, intricately woven into every dish, every corner of the place.

His quiet despair hung between them, as though he was guarding something precious, something fragile that she had yet to fully comprehend.

For a heartbeat, she was stunned, her mind racing to catch up with the depth of his thoughts. But she couldn't falter now. She had walked into this room with purpose, knowing there was still a chance to bridge the gap between their worlds. The door wasn't closed; it was ajar, and she wasn't about to let it slip away.

Slowly, she exhaled, the tension in her chest easing as she leaned forward, her expression softening, the weight of his words now absorbed into her own understanding. She spoke with care, each word chosen deliberately, but with the sincerity that had always been her strength.

"I understand now," she began, her voice steady but touched with gentleness. "Zaika isn't just a restaurant to you. It's a part of you—your heart, your legacy. I see that now." She paused, her gaze meeting his, the words coming more naturally, almost as though they had been waiting to be spoken. "And that's exactly why I believe this deal could work. What we're offering isn't about taking away what you've built. It's about sharing it with more people—people who will appreciate it just as much as those who already do."

Her voice softened, but there was an unshakable determination behind her words. She could feel the magnitude of his passion, but she also knew that her vision could help elevate Zaika, not just for its growth, but for its future.

"You say you don't want Zaika to become just another topic of competition," she continued, her eyes locked on his with unwavering sincerity, "But I believe it can still stay true to its soul.

You've created something extraordinary here, Ayaan. And more people need to experience it. We're not asking you to change Zaika—we're asking you to give it a chance to grow, to share your food, your legacy, with those who may never get the chance to step through your door otherwise."

She smiled, a quiet warmth spreading across her face, her expression soft but resolute. It wasn't just about business anymore; it was about understanding. It was about the bridge she hoped to build between them

"I believe we can help Zaika grow without losing its heart," she said, her voice calm but firm. "You can still keep the laughter, the joy, the peace that you find in your kitchen. We just want to bring that to more people. Let them experience what you've created—not just in the restaurant, but outside of it, too."

Her words lingered in the air, filled with an unspoken promise. She had said her piece, now all she could do was wait. Wait for him to see that the heart of Zaika didn't have to be compromised—it could still thrive, just in a different, larger world.

The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the soft murmur of the restaurant in the distance, the clink of silverware and the quiet hum of voices blending into the background.

Aarohi sat still, her gaze fixed on Ayaan, who had sunk into a deep silence of his own. His head was bowed, his eyes closed as though he were wrestling with the weight of her words, turning them over in his mind. She could almost feel the depth of his thoughts, the way he was processing everything—his reluctance, his passion, his fears.

She knew he was torn. His words had been clear, his emotions raw, and yet, she could see the uncertainty flickering beneath his calm exterior. The way his fingers lingered on the edge of the folder, as though holding onto the past, while his mind tried to reach into the future.

After what felt like an eternity, Ayaan opened his eyes, his expression unreadable. He looked at her, his gaze steady but distant, and when he spoke, his voice was calm, measured, yet tinged with a note of finality.

"Miss Aarohi, I truly appreciate your approach," he began, his tone even, though there was a quiet weight in his words. "The way you've presented this pitch today—it's… thoughtful. But I would like to discuss this further with my colleagues and the manager before making a decision." He paused for a moment, his gaze flickering to the side, as though gathering his thoughts. "We'll let your company know of our thoughts by tomorrow."

Aarohi wasn't surprised. She had known this moment would come, had prepared herself for it, but still, a part of her couldn't help but feel a touch of disappointment—though it was more about the uncertainty of what would come next than the rejection itself.

She had given her best, laid out her vision for Zaika with sincerity and conviction, but she knew, too, that sometimes, even the best pitch couldn't change someone's heart overnight.

She looked at Ayaan, who was already lost in his own thoughts again, his face set in a quiet mask. His decision, whatever it would be, was out of her hands now. But she had done all she could. She had shown him her perspective, the potential she saw in Zaika, and the way his legacy could reach even more hearts. And for that, she felt a quiet sense of peace.

Aarohi didn't allow herself to feel sadness or defeat. She had learned, over time, that sometimes, different perspectives were simply that—different. For some, Zaika was more than a restaurant, a piece of their soul poured into every dish. But for others, it was just a business, another venture in a world driven by numbers and competition.

She gave him a nod, her expression calm and composed, though there was an understanding in her eyes that had not been there before. "Of course, Mr. Ayaan," she replied, her voice steady and respectful. "Take all the time you need. I'll await your response tomorrow."

As she stood to leave, she felt a quiet strength in knowing she had tried her best. Whether or not he decided to take the deal was no longer in her control. But she had come to realize that sometimes, the best deals weren't the ones that were made with ease, but the ones that took time—ones that required understanding, trust, and a willingness to see things from a new angle.

She walked toward the door, her mind already shifting to the next challenge, the next opportunity. Whatever happened with Zaika, she would continue to find ways to grow, to learn, and to bring her vision to life.