"If it is true, there are as many minds as there are heads, then there are as many kinds of love as there are hearts."

— Leo Tolstoy

*****

"Sir." Pratik addressed his boss as he walked toward him, his mouth quirking upward in a comical, inept smile, approaching the two men stepping out of Rolls Royce.

Viransh removed his sunglasses and raised an eyebrow at the sight of his assistant attired in a neon yellow suit. He flicked a glance at the bodyguard, who stepped around him. The burly man's deep brown gaze blackened into an almost pitiful shade of ebony when they coasted down a radiant suit before he turned away, as if the brightness burned his eyes.

"Pratik." Viransh injected a playful lilt into his voice. "Next time, warn me when you decide to chaff yourself in a gaudy outfit and I'll make sure I don't take off my glasses."

"Duly Noted." The younger man said in a clipped tone. The humour vanished into thin air like a mist of fog before the morning sun when he beheld Viransh's foul mood. Uttering nothing further, he threaded on the heels of his boss and the bodyguard into the office building.

"Any updates on the investigation?" Viransh asked the moment the assistant closed the door shut behind him with a soft click.

A short time ago, Viransh had assigned him to compile about Avni Desai and go through the hospital records for the past three years. Pratik, being a brilliant hacker and a very efficient assistant, always came in handy in circumstances like this, and he entrusted no one except him and his head of security, Anand, in aforesaid matters.

Viransh's lips curled into a faint smile at the thought of her. It was unsettling how she flooded his thoughts every passing second of every day. He heard nothing from her lately. Something had changed that night. With a myriad of events to weigh, he wasn't sure why she spurned him again. There were days when he nearly gave in to the impulse to call her, hear her voice again, and know if she was doing well, but he restrained himself. Her nonchalance hurt. A shot of sharp stabbing sting prickled his heart whenever her rejections surged into his mind. Ignoring the burning feeling in his chest, he shoved the pessimistic thoughts aside.  

No, if he had to be patient with her. Because no matter how harder he would try to decipher her, the harder she would try to barricade her walls. And this time around, he didn't want to crumble her walls to the ground. He was willing to mount the wall—no matter how high it was.

"...something's amiss with the hospital records...may need more time to investigate—Sir, are you listening?" A hint of uncertainty and exasperation sluiced in Pratik's voice.

"Yes." the dark-haired CEO responded, jutting his chin out at the assistant. "Take your time. If required, involve Anand in this and get it done at the earliest." His lips twitched in a near sneer and his eyes sharpened. "And don't question me again."

"Noted." Pratik visibly swallowed and handed over the file to the mogul. "I think you might need this."

Viransh's forehead crinkled into a frown as he read through the report, his shrewd eyes lingering over a piece of new information. A trickle of something cold and foreign washed down his spine before his downward-turned lips curled in hubris. Interesting.

The assistant fixed his glasses and accessed the grim silence of the room before broaching an additional issue. "I've got intel on El Dorado."

"What about it?" Viransh spread his hand on the table, shifting gears to full business mode.

"Though it's not confirmed yet. There are chances Mr Ratan Seth may vote our company out."

The competent assistant wasted no time beating around the bush and laid out all the details. Sometimes, Viransh thought he may partly be a magician because the fanciful man could conjure things out of nowhere.

There had been a cut-throat battle between Seths and Maliks to make sure they remain the market leaders for the years to come. Viransh knew downright chauvinist and practised prevaricator Ratan Seth won't sit quiet, now that Maliks were close to overtaking them. If not more, Ratan's son, Rudra, got aggressively beaten up in Graceview and arrested for molesting a hotel guest.

El Dorado piqued itself as one of the very exclusive organizations for the wealthiest and most influential business groups in the country. The Club, established decades ago, was to institute rules and control in business and to ensure each group member adhered to the norms and excellence set forth by the group. Being a part of this organisation had certain privileges and prominence in the industry.

Being kicked out of the group wouldn't be a fatal blow, but it would surely hurt the reputation of Maliks, given the fact Viransh's forefathers were one of the founding members of the Imperial Eight and this alone was enough reason for Maliks to stay in the group. El Dorado is his legacy.

"Seth would require at least fifty-five per cent stake. We need to make sure he isn't getting any more votes than he already has." He rushed a hand over his clean-shaven jaw, his annoyance at war with the fierce desire to preserve their stake in the organization anyhow. "I can't dishonour our company's name by being booted out of the group."

"Should I inform Deven Sir?"

Viransh's fiery amber gaze gravitated at his assistant, a scowl levying on his perfectly sculpted face. "I'm your boss, not him." A note of warning slipped into his voice.

A sheen of sweat broke down on Pratik's forehead despite the chilly temperature of the room. He parted his lips to come up with a relevant response, but he snapped it shut when his boss's aggravated voice dwindled to his ears.

"Is the boardroom ready for today's meeting?"

"Yes, sir."

Pratik winced when Viransh rose to his full height, almost knocking the paperweight on the table. The recent matter in question infuriated his boss. He gulped because he knew Viransh's wrath was just the tip of the iceberg. There's a bigger issue waiting for them on the table—Senior Malik, whose fury was like a blizzard, ready to sweep them off the ground with its howling winds.

The sound of Viransh's expensive leather shoes clacked on the floor of the deathly silent room, an air of nobility surrounding him. As expected of a domineering CEO, his presence was hard to miss or defy. Everyone's gaze in the room heavily followed him and no one dared to move or make a noise when he leaned back on the seat, like a king claiming his throne, his steely bronze orifices grave and unreadable while his mien—businesslike.

"Let's dawn the day with the first candidate."

***

Every twelfth month of the year, Malik Groups held an event wherein they provided opportunities for the young business ideologies to institute their own employment and identity in the market. Investing in start-ups meant stimulating them to earn a maximum profit with the fewest casualties and losses—further, thoroughly generating surplus and revenue for the socio-economic development of the country.

But Maliks were only willing to invest a larger amount into new ventures until they satisfied them with promising talents and brilliant ideas.

The meeting room was eerily quiet and people in the room could hear nothing except for the occasional ticking of the clock and shuffling of papers.

Viransh's brows drew closer, forming creases on his forehead as he earnestly studied the executive summary of the new proposal. After an interminable silence, he set the document aside and stared at the young man in front of him.

The man pushed the rimless glasses on the bridge of his nose to force down the anxiousness that dreaded storming out as he awaited Viransh's approval. The mogul's perilous countenance did nothing but cause his stomach to churn uneasily, while nervousness slithered up his spine at his rigid stare.

"You've done the market analysis well." Viransh's indecipherable expression didn't shift, but the temperature in the room seemed to have suddenly plunged low. "Though before we proceed further, I would prefer to understand your outlook on the restaurant."

Viransh had studied the document congruously. The proposal was good with a very succinct summary and an idealistic approach, though it was off a few digits. Many people hired consultants to draft out the plan—except that as the owner and entrepreneur, the business venture, being an expansion of their desired skills and philosophies, they needed to be directly involved in an effective planning approach. That being the case, Viransh individually preferred to interview the applicants. To perceive if they were genuinely interested in the project.

The question left the young interviewee flabbergasted. Didn't he read the complete document just a while ago?

Quickly veiling the shock, he offered a polite smile and answered in an even voice he could manage. "Sir, I don't have a backstory like others, neither I have grown up in all riches. People from all the classes celebrate little things, but not everyone can afford gourmet food all the time."

Anxiousness slowly wore off as he explained about his venture, a hint of confidence dousing with each word. "It has been always my view that 'Let's dine out tonight' is a more common phrase used by the upper classes than the middle class. Are there places that make better food than I do? Probably. Are there places that would be more affordable? Certainly yes. So, what makes me different? The answer is a bit cliché, but I'll say it to you, anyway."

Viransh's thick raven brow soared up a little at the retort, but he remained silent and attended to the further explanation.

He released a heavy breath. "I make it different, Mr Malik. My venture is not just about food being exceedingly inexpensive, it is about good food that is both quality and flavours wise, being accessible. It's about having a luxurious hotel affordable with paper in the wallet of a common man."

Viransh caught a flicker of glee and enthusiasm glimmering in the shallow pool of obsidian orbs as he spoke more about his ideas. Partially, he expected the man to start with his sob story and gain sympathy like many candidates before him did, which had somehow turned his mood sour. He hated curry favours.

"And for what you said, why should I not hire some local chef from any downtown dinner but invest in your venture, Mr Vyas?" He questioned, the haughtiness of the CEO was easy to tell.

"You would've done that already if you thought it would've been successful." Samarth tactfully responded, his voice cordial yet firm. "It might bring the spice which every average Indian craves, except for your current audience, which is altogether different from my target audience."

Viransh's eyes darkened into liquified redwoods at the bold admission.

"Maliks right now are high-end restaurants. Many people think they're not for them." Samarth continued, his words soaked into the pocket of air separating them.

Peering at Viransh's stoic face, Samarth turned serious and straightened his spine like an unwavering tree, ready to brace an icy storm.

The atmosphere in the room turned suffocating for Viransh's personal team and assistant but for the two young men. With two tyrannical, shrewd men in the same room, their auras were vying with each other for dominance.

A muscle pulsed in his jaw as Viransh pondered on the interviewee's interpretation. "You want to say I can't do it without you?" He chided.

"Of course, you can. But if you're going to do it anyway, why not with me?"

"That's quite bold of you, Mr Vyas." A shadow passed through his orifices before it sank beneath the cool amber surface and a small smirk threatened to split on his face.

Pratik's jaw dropped so fast it surprised him he didn't feel the cold, hard surface of the tabletop at Viransh's reaction. He expected his boss to flick the candidate outside the room with a mere few words and here he was, listening to the guy's explanation with obvious interest and, if not wrong, keen to accept the proposal. He heaved an inaudible sigh of relief. At least, his boss's sour mood evaporated into thin air and now he won't need to work overtime today.

"I've got a few savings. I prefer minute investment and an excellent marketing strategy." Samarth added.

"Let us set a date for further discussions. My assistant will contact you as soon as possible." Viransh nodded and picked up a Montblanc. Flipping to the last page, he tilted the heavy metal pen. The weight of the pen reminded him of how he could ruin or cap a dream by simply signing his name on a piece of paper.

Samarth's eyes widened a bit, taken aback by his words. Is he considering my proposal for real?

Seeing the wheels turning in his head, Viransh affirmed and signed the document. "Yes, I'm interested in your proposal."

"Thank you, Mr Malik." Samarth's lips curled into a slight smile, a glint of triumph and gratitude swirling in his dark eyes.

Viransh stood up, extending his hand in Samarth's direction, to which the young chef didn't hesitate before returning the gesture and matching the grip pressure of the CEO. "It was nice talking to you, Mr Vyas."

"Likewise, Mr Malik," Samarth revealed a friendly smile. "And please call me Samarth. I'm not accustomed to formal honorifics."

"And you must call me Viransh. We're going to be partners, after all."

***

Avni clambered out of the bed, and at the sudden movement, her hand brushed against something. The next thing she heard was a strident sound of a heavy object toppling onto the ground. Her eyes flitted to the floor, a shaky breath releasing her mouth when she sighted her beautiful drab night lamp hurtled on the cold tiles, its colourful and jagged shards littering around the obsolete item.

When the glares of dawning light descended through the translucent windowpane, the floor glistened, shimmering with a brilliant silvery hue against the white shingles. The broken pieces were enticing, the lucid light beckoning her forward.

Avni couldn't resist its allure any longer. She knelt on the ground, her hand inching forward and grazing a whetted shard. A small gasp escaped her throat when her slender finger pierced by the sharp edge of the glass, blood seeping through where the knife-like shard had tingled her index finger before they slowly trickled down on the floor.

Her lips curled in a rueful smile. How pitiful. Some beautiful things were destined to be marvelled at from afar. For when they're held, it leaves the beau a bloody mess.

A tight vice clutched Avni's chest, squeezing her fragile organs. No matter how good the epiphany was, the resemblance with reality was no different.

Avni was no different than these knife-like shards and the roses laden with thorns.

On the surface, Avni Desai seemed like a ripple of waves, gently rustling the shoreline, but underneath the serenity of the surf imposed a vicious tsunami, ready to wreck everything in its wake. There was no denying that she was a disaster. Over the course of time, she had come close to accepting this verity.

She stared down at the tip of the finger that bore a tiny wound, her dawn-tinted flesh smeared with red. Suddenly, the vermillion stain besieged her hands, crawling up to her forearms in a rapid shift before dripping onto the floor, a dull tapping sound echoing in the room and the pungent smell in the air rising as drops of blood splattered on the ground, drip by drip.

Panic seized her heart as she looked at her now red clothes, her breath coming out sharp and choppy. An intense urge to scrub the blood off the cotton fabric swelled in but she couldn't move.

All she could do was sit and stare into the broken splinters as the uncanny scene of that day stoned in front of her eyes—her room bursting with euphoric bliss of her cheerful giggles as she dashed inside the room, her tiny feet greasing with splattered colours on the tiles; Avni running after her, a contented smile etched on her lips as she approached the little girl; him, standing at the door, a fuzzy warmth spreading through his chest as the scene unfurled in front of him.

Mere seconds. Just mere seconds were enough to reduce everything into ashes, its embers billowing into the tense room, stinging her eyes as she stared at the two lifeless bodies on her feet. She felt the same noose around her neck, tightening, suffocating her before she no longer could breathe.

Avni blinked, the haunting scene disappearing into the wisp of daylights. She looked around and heaved a quivering breath. She was in her childhood bedroom and her clothes were no more smeared with blood. The noose around her neck loosened, and a gloomy veil of the past receded from her brain when she cast her eyes down and glanced at the shattered lamp.

The memories. They came back. It disappeared, but they'll come back. Somehow they always do.

Standing on her shaky legs, she strolled to her bathroom and turned on the water faucet. She ignored the painful stinging, as it was no match for the brutal ache in her rib cage.

Bandaging her finger up, she cleaned up the glass shards, assuring no sharp piece was left around. She dropped onto the bed, her bloodshot eyes lifelessly staring at the ceiling. Her back ached because of the uncomfortable position she was in but she didn't care.

The shrill ringtone of her phone sliced through her grim silence. She groaned before picking up the call, her arms lazily extending toward the phone, intending to turn it off, but she ended up accidentally answering it.

"Hello?"

Avni's hand tightened around the device.

The rich, smooth timbre sent shock fluttering to life in her chest. Her heart thudded against her rib cage wildly, as if the fragile organ found the purpose of living.

"Avni." He said again when he got no response.

Avni closed her eyes, his smoothing voice battering a chord within her chest.

"Viransh." She breathed, her voice trembling like a violin string, the syllables of his name lingering on her tongue longer than she expected.

She heard him intake a sharp breath relieved to hear her voice. She hadn't heard from him of late. Truth was, even if he approached her, she would've shunned him. It was better for him and for her; especially when she was walking on thin ice with metal shackles around her frail body. There was a giant elephant sitting between them—her misbeliefs and her fear. And they couldn't tiptoe around it.

"Did you see the magazine?" He queried after a perpetual silence, a smugness coasting his words as he continued. "People think we make a dashing couple. Oh, and your grandmother agrees."

A soft chuckle parted his lips and it slightly crumbled the cautionary barricade around her heart. A small smile graced her lips as she nodded, not caring he couldn't see her and tightened her grip on the device before leaning down and withdrawing the magazine, which she had carefully tucked into the drawer of her nightstand.

Her eyes lit up at the flawless photograph of the dazzling couple, especially him. With his jet black hair naturally swept back, his glorious amber eyes soul-piercing as always, and his tall stature dressed in all black except for his white button-up, he looked no less than a devastatingly handsome model turned businessman, stealing everyone's attention in just one glance. Next to him stood her, sheathed in white, resembling a physical embodiment of the moon. Indeed, they made a breathtaking