Avy did not expect him to look unimpressed.
Most people did one of three things around her:
They feared her.
They flattered her.
Or they avoided her.
He did none.
It was a business summit — her first public appearance since returning. The hall was filled with executives, investors, media.
She wore charcoal grey. Minimal jewelry. Sharp lines. Controlled aura.
She stepped onto the stage.
The room quieted.
Her speech was precise. Efficient. Visionary. No unnecessary emotion.
Applause followed.
When she stepped down, people surrounded her immediately.
Compliments. Questions. Networking smiles.
She responded politely, but her attention shifted.
Across the hall, near the far glass wall, stood a man who wasn't clapping.
He wasn't bored either.
He was thinking.
Tall. Clean posture. Navy suit without flashy detail. Calm eyes.
He didn't approach.
That alone made her curious.
—
Later that evening, as the crowd thinned, he finally walked toward her.
Not hurried. Not hesitant.
"Ms. Avy," he said evenly. "Your strategy for regional expansion was bold."
Not impressive.
Not brilliant.
Bold.
She tilted her head slightly.
"And?"
"And bold decisions are either remembered as genius… or cautionary tales."
Her eyes sharpened.
"You assume I didn't calculate the risk?"
"I assume you calculated it," he replied calmly. "I'm wondering if you calculated the resistance."
Interesting.
Most men tried to agree with her.
He challenged her — but respectfully.
"And you are?" she asked.
"Arjun Mehra."
His handshake was firm but not dominant. Confident without trying to overpower.
"I run a logistics infrastructure firm."
She knew the name.
Not massive — but rapidly rising. Clean reputation. Strategic growth.
"You didn't applaud," she said directly.
A faint curve touched his lips.
"I don't applaud ideas. I invest in them."
Direct.
She liked that.
"Then are you planning to invest?"
"Possibly," he said. "If you're willing to listen to an alternative supply model."
There it was.
Not flirting.
Not ego.
Proposal.
They moved to a quieter corner table.
He opened his tablet and showed her projections.
He had done research.
On her company.
On her new structure.
On her recent internal adjustments — changes Ishita had influenced.
"You restructured your board," he noted. "More transparent than before."
She held his gaze.
"Yes."
"Good decision."
No sarcasm.
No manipulation.
Just assessment.
For the first time in the evening, she felt something unfamiliar.
Engagement.
Not control.
Not authority.
Engagement.
—
An hour passed.
They debated. Numbers. Efficiency. Risk margins.
He disagreed twice.
She countered twice.
Neither backed down easily.
At one point he paused, studying her.
"You're different from what I heard."
Her expression remained unreadable.
"And what did you hear?"
"That you don't collaborate."
"And now?"
"I think you simply don't tolerate incompetence."
A very subtle pause.
Then—
The smallest smile appeared at the corner of her mouth.
"You're observant."
"I try to be."
Silence lingered between them.
Not awkward.
Measured.
He closed his tablet.
"I won't waste your time pretending this is casual," he said. "I'm interested in partnering professionally."
A beat.
"And personally?"
He didn't hesitate.
"I'm interested in understanding you."
No dramatic tone. No playful teasing.
Just truth.
She studied him carefully.
Most men who showed interest wanted power beside them.
He seemed to want challenge.
"You don't seem intimidated," she said.
"I respect capability," he replied. "Fear wastes energy."
That answer did something quiet inside her.
She had been feared her entire life.
Respected?
Rarely.