3....BlueFile

(unedited)

The Next Four Days

For the next four days, Divya became Nikita’s personal English tutor.

And she quickly discovered something she had never realized before.

Teaching English to schoolchildren was easy.

Teaching English to her forgetful best friend was a completely different battle.

“Repeat after me,” Divya would say.

“Repeat after me,” Nikita would repeat.

“No! I mean the sentence!”

“Oh.”

And then they would start all over again.

By the fourth day, Divya was convinced that getting Nikita through the interview would require a miracle.

Interview Day

“Nikita, hurry up!” Divya shouted. “All this work was supposed to be done today. You’ve been running around like a madwoman since morning!”

“I’m nervous, babe!”

Nikita was pacing around the room.

“What if I go there and forget everything? Today might be the final day of my life. What if I suddenly start speaking Chinese instead of English? I swear, I’m terrible at interviews. My stomach starts doing somersaults the moment someone says ‘viva.’”

Divya grabbed her shoulders.

“Listen to me. It’s just an interview. If it goes well, great. If it doesn’t, there will be other opportunities. Whatever happens, you accept it and move forward. That’s it.”

She pointed toward the door.

Divya, you don't get it," Nikita murmured, her voice hollow and defeated. "Opportunities come, sure. But not like this. This isn't just another walk-in; it’s the one opening I’ve spent months praying for. I just know deep down that I’m going to completely bomb this interview."

“Now, are you going or not?”

​A heavy, mournful sigh escaped Nikita’s lips. "No... I have to go. The regret of not even showing up would sting a hundred times worse than getting rejected."

Divya threw her hands up in mock defeat, a smirk breaking through her exasperation.

"Look at you! You were born to be a philosopher, not a stressed-out job seeker. What is this sudden martyrdom? You didn't spend three years earning your degree just to bow out of a high-end hotel management role like some tragic heroine sacrificing herself for the greater good."

​A sudden, sharp laugh burst out of Nikita, breaking the heavy tension in the car. She swatted playfully at Divya's arm. "Shut up! Don't bring the Raichand family dynasty into this!"

Nikita picked up her bag.

“With a best friend like you, why would I be scared of an interview? The only person I’m scared of is you.”

Divya's eyes narrowed.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing!”

Nikita immediately smiled innocently.

“My red chili, I was only joking.”

Then her expression softened.

“But honestly, if you hadn’t been here, I don’t think I would have learned even half of what you managed to teach me in four days.”

She hugged Divya.

Divya started wondering, "I don't even know if you've learned even 5% of all the effort I put into teaching you over these past 4-5 days. As your teacher, I don't even have that much faith in you, but as a student, you have so much belief in yourself!"

“Why don’t you just move to Mumbai permanently and stay with me?”

Divya pulled away and shook her head.

“A trip is fine. But permanently? Never.”

She smiled.

“Assam is my home. I love it more than anything. That’s where I feel comfortable. And besides, I don’t trust these non-Assamese people around here.”

Nikita raised an eyebrow.

“Excuse me?”

Divya laughed.

“Anyway, I took so many days off from school just for you. Doesn't that count for something?”

Nikita's smile faded into something softer.

“It counts for everything, babe.”

She looked at her friend with affection.

“You’ve done so much for me.”

Her voice became nostalgic.

“Remember school? Whenever my aunt sent me to school with stale rotis, you used to bring an extra lunchbox just for me.”

Divya smiled.

“Of course I remember.”

“I miss those days.”

Nikita hugged her again.

“I have friends here, but none of them are like you. And honestly, I’m going to be incredibly jealous of the man who eventually becomes your husband.”

She laughed.

“He’s going to be so lucky.”

Divya rolled her eyes.

“There you go again. Somehow every conversation ends up at my marriage.”

She grabbed her bag.

"I don't know why, Divya, but I have this weird feeling that your future husband is hiding somewhere right here in Mumbai?" Nikita chuckled as she said this.

“Come on. Are we leaving, or should I start performing the evening prayer?”

Nikita laughed.

“Okay, okay. Let's go.”

The two best friends climbed into an auto-rickshaw and headed toward the hotel.

Neither of them knew what awaited them there.

Neither of them knew that the interview was about to become the beginning of something far bigger than a job.And Divya certainly didn't know that her 10-day trip to Mumbai was going to change her life forever.

She hadn't come looking for anything.

She hadn't asked for anything.

Yet sometimes, fate doesn't wait for permission.

Sometimes, it simply walks into your life…

…and leaves you with no choice but to change.

***************

Five minutes had ticked by since Nikita vanished behind the heavy frosted glass doors of the interview room, leaving Divya alone in a sea of hotel elegance.

Divya couldn't deny it—the lobby genuinely felt like something straight out of a luxury travel magazine. A staggering fifty-one floors of glass and steel stretching toward the Mumbai sky, framed by massive, revolving glass doors that whispered against polished marble.

The furniture wasn’t just seating; it looked like modern art, sleek and intimidatingly expensive. The people gliding past looked like they had just stepped off a private jet, clad in razor-sharp suits and designer heels that clicked rhythmically against the floor. Even the receptionist possessed an ethereal, effortless polish, looking less like hotel staff and more like a high-fashion model.

As Divya stared up at the towering, cascading crystal chandeliers that cast a warm, golden glow across the vast expanse, she felt herself momentarily lost in the sheer scale of it all.

Then, she instinctively looked down at herself.

The contrast hit her like a cold splash of water. In this temple of ultra-luxury, she felt painfully out of place—a total outsider who didn't belong in the picture. She wore her everyday essentials: a simple black cotton kurti and leggings, small silver jhumkis dangling from her ears, and the familiar, round black bindi she never went a day without. On her wrist ticked a small, modest belt watch gifted to her by her elder sister.

As she glanced around at the surrounding crowd, a heavy wave of self-consciousness washed over her. Some of the women gave her sharp, dismissive up-and-down glances, as if wondering how someone so plainly dressed had wandered past security. Worse still, a couple of men nearby lingered with predatory, lustful gazes that made her skin crawl.

A flash of irritation pierced through her insecurity. *Some things never change,* Divya thought bitterly, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

People can wear clothes worth a small fortune, but expensive fabric can’t buy class or fix a cheap mindset.

Refusing to let the atmosphere get the better of her, Divya squared her shoulders, deliberately tuned out the judgmental stares, and pulled out her phone to start mindlessly scrolling through her feed.

Then, for no particular reason, her eyes drifted toward her bag.

A corner of a blue file was sticking out.

Divya froze.

Her eyes widened as realization struck her.

“Oh, no…”

She remembered.

Nikita had specifically kept that file in Divya's bag before leaving.

“Babe, keep this with you. I have a feeling I’ll forget my files if I carry everything myself.”

And somehow, Divya had completely forgotten about it.

“That idiot!”

She immediately stood up.

The hotel lobby felt like an architectural maze, and for a dizzying moment, Divya had no clue which way to turn. The sheer scale of the ground floor swallowed her up, leaving her standing awkwardly in the middle of the polished marble floor.

Deciding against wandering aimlessly, she quickly navigated her way toward the grand reception desk. The front desk agent stood behind a sleek quartz counter, looking immaculately put-together.

"Excuse me! The interview rooms? Divya blurted out, her voice slightly rushed.

The receptionist paused, her eyes sweeping over Divya with a slow, critical intensity, taking in her simple kurti and modest appearance before replying in a measured, polite tone.

"May I ask why you are asking? And I'm afraid we cannot allow unauthorized visitors beyond this point without prior clearance."

A surge of panic hit Divya right in the chest. If she didn't get this file to Nikita right now, all of her friend's sleepless nights and rigorous preparation would go completely down the drain.

Desperation creeping into her voice, Divya tried a different approach. "Can you please send this file up with someone? Look, she’s here for the housekeeping department interview, and she accidentally left her crucial folder of personal and verified documents behind in a rush. Please, can't you have someone deliver it to her?"

The receptionist stared at her for a second longer, clearly weighing whether to brush her off, before finally picking up the desk phone. After a brief, hushed conversation with someone upstairs, she set the receiver down and looked at Divya.

"Ma'am, you are permitted to go up. Permission granted," the receptionist said formally. "However, for security reasons, you must leave your handbag right here at the desk before proceeding."

Nodding quickly and tossing her bag onto the counter, Divya hastily confirmed the exact floor number. Throwing a quick, breathless "Thank you!" over her shoulder, she broke into a fast jog toward the bank of elevators.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted an elevator car with its doors slowly gliding shut. Without wasting a single microsecond to think, she sprinted forward, slipping right through the closing gap just before the heavy metal doors sealed shut.

Stepping into the cool sanctuary of the elevator, Divya let out a long, shuddering breath, pressing her palms against the smooth steel wall as she silently prayed to reach Nikita with the file in the nick of time.

Pulling a small cotton handkerchief from her sleeve, she quickly dabbed at her forehead. Despite the high-tech, bone-chilling air conditioning humming through the car, she was sweating profusely—a mix of nervous adrenaline from the sprinting lobby dash and the lingering anxiety of the morning. Her eyes kept darting down to the tiny belt watch on her wrist, mentally ticking off the seconds as the digital floor numbers flashed upward in glowing red.

She was so utterly consumed by her frantic thoughts that the rest of the world completely dissolved. For a few suspended moments, she remained blissfully unaware of whether she was alone in the compartment or not.

Then, a subtle shift in the air—the quiet, heavy presence of another human being—pricked at her senses.

Slowly, her eyelashes fluttering upward, Divya turned her head toward the back corner of the elevator. Through the reflection in the polished mirrored wall, she realized she was definitely not alone.

Standing just a few paces away, half-hidden in the dim, sophisticated lighting of the cabin, a tall man stood in absolute silence, watching her with a calm, unreadable gaze.

Divya stopped for half a second.

The man glanced at her. Not a casual glance. His eyes lingered for a moment, as if he were trying to understand what someone like her was doing in a place like this.

Every single detail about Divya did not escape his watchful gaze. He noticed the subtle shudder running through her frame, the persistent nervousness radiating from her posture, and the way her white-knuckled fingers gripped the blue files as though her entire life depended on them. He stared at her not out of mere curiosity, but with an intense, analytical focus, as if he were trying to read the very thoughts behind her eyes, using her quiet expressions to clear the heavy confusion swirling inside his own mind.

He was dressed in a perfectly

tailored black blazer, paired with immaculate trousers. The cut of his blazer clung to his frame in a way that highlighted his formidable physical presence. His shoes were polished to a mirror shine, and every single detail of his appearance looked deliberate, down to the last thread. His hair was neatly styled, his posture was straight as a steel rod, and not a single wrinkle marred the perfection of his clothes.

His sharp face screamed a quiet, dangerous warning—an unspoken command that warned anyone foolish enough to cross his path not to mess with him. His piercing grey eyes seemed to broadcast a silent decree: *stay away from me, or you will live to regret it.*

A sudden shiver rippled through Divya's body. For a fractured second, their eyes locked. The heavy, unblinking way he stared at her felt less like a look and more like a dissection. Sensing nothing reassuring or comforting in that intense scrutiny, Divya's breath hitched, and she instantly broke the gaze, dropping her eyes away from his face to stare firmly at the floor.

Something about him felt…different.

She couldn't explain what it was.

Maybe it was simply the way he looked at her.

Or perhaps it was that strange instinct people sometimes get when they meet someone for the first time—the inexplicable feeling that tells you whether a person feels safe, warm, dangerous, or simply unfamiliar. Divya had always trusted that instinct.

And right now, something about this man made her uneasy.

She discreetly looked at him again.

For a fleeting second, Divya wondered if he had walked straight out of a fashion magazine.

*Who is he? Why is he staring at me like that? Do I look that strange?*

A storm of anxious questions whirled through Divya’s mind, but even through the fog of her panic, her survival instincts kicked in. She knew one thing with absolute certainty: it was infinitely safer to stay as far away from this stranger as possible.

The heavy, suffocating weight

of his stare carried something entirely unexplainable—an unspoken hostility, as if he found the mere fact of her existence in this room offensive, a disruption to whatever cold, controlled world he inhabited.

Shaking her head slightly, Divya forcefully shoved the spiraling thoughts away. She couldn't afford to get distracted, not with the stakes riding on the papers in her hands. She took a sharp, steadying breath, forced her racing heartbeat down, and willed herself to focus.

She quickly lowered her gaze toward the blue file in her hands.

She wasn't here to investigate mysterious men.

She had a much more important problem.

Nikita's interview.

The elevator doors slid shut.

And as the numbers above the door began to change—

1… 2… 3…

Divya had no idea that this seemingly insignificant elevator ride was about to become the first moment of a disaster she would never be able to forget.