Vikram found himself oddly disappointed by her lack of reaction. No pride in pulling off the impossible. No seeking of praise.
She gave him nothing to tease. Nothing to correct. Nothing to control.
And that quiet competence, that refusal to orbit around him, disturbed him more than any starstruck admiration ever had.
Week Two
Krishna Studios buzzed with its usual chaos. Spot boys ran with cables. Assistants shouted for quiet. Someone argued about a prop. Inside his vanity van, insulated from the noise and heat, Vikram scrolled through headlines praising the previous week’s producer meeting.
Smart strategy. Bold move. Vikram brings rivals together.
Across from him, Divya sat with her notebook open, reviewing the day’s call sheet.
He looked up.
Time for another test.
“I need you to schedule three meetings today,” he said suddenly. “Sanjay Hirani at Colaba for lunch. Anand Patil at Bandra at 1:30. And Zoya Mehta at Juhu at 2:15.”
Physically impossible. The Mumbai traffic alone made this request absurd. He watched her face carefully, waiting for the crack in her composure, widened eyes, nervous swallow or frantic calculation.
None came. Just that small line between her eyebrows, there and gone in a heartbeat. “Okay, Boss.”
She stood, tucked her notebook under her arm, and walked out of the van, phone already at her ear. No argument. No explanation of why it couldn’t be done. No request for a private helicopter to beat Mumbai’s legendary traffic jams.
Vikram sipped his espresso, satisfaction warming his chest. Finally, a challenge she couldn’t solve with clever manipulation and a notebook. Even Mrs. Menon would have pushed back on this one.
The morning shoot passed easily. He delivered every line perfectly. The director praised his “emotional depth” in a scene that required none. Two reporters waited outside the studio gates for quotes. Routine.
Two hours later, as the director called cut on another take, Divya appeared at the edge of the set and waited until he was free.
“Your meetings are confirmed,” Divya said calmly.
Vikram raised an eyebrow. “All three? At those times?”
“Yes. All at The Orchid Plaza.”
“The Orchid…” He paused. “That’s not what I asked for.”
“You asked for meetings with Hirani, Patil and Mehta between noon and 2:15,” she replied, glancing at her notes. “Hirani in the Lotus Room at noon. Patil in the Jasmine Room at 1:30. Mehta in the Lily Room at 2:15. Same building.”
He frowned. “They agreed to change locations?”
“Hirani was already planning lunch at Botanica inside The Orchid. I reserved a private dining space instead.” She adjusted her glasses. “Patil’s office is two buildings away. I mentioned you chose the hotel to reduce his travel time.”
“And Mehta?”
“She believes you remembered she once said The Orchid was her preferred venue during the Filmfare committee meeting. Each of them thinks you selected the location for their convenience,” she continued. “The hotel has treated it as one extended booking with room changes, so we’re saving on rental charges. Your preferred mineral water will be placed in each room.”
Vikram looked at her in silence.
She had managed ego, logistics and budget in one move.
He tried to locate the crack. The self-satisfaction. The subtle smile that said,See what I did?
Nothing.
She simply waited for his next instruction.
