Chapter 33: The Weight of the Win
The polished wooden door to Dean Sharma's office felt like the entrance to an arena. Ayushi nervously smoothed the front of her kurta, her breathing shallow. "I can't believe a VC is actually in there. What if I mess this up, Aarav?"
Aarav gave her a reassuring smile, though his heart was hammering for a different reason. This wasn't destiny; this was business. This, he knew. "You won't mess it up," he said, his voice a picture of preternatural calm. "You know our plan better than anyone. Just follow my lead."
Dean Sharma opened the door, his face set in a look of strained corporate enthusiasm. "Ah, Mr. Aarav, Ms. Ayushi. Come in, come in. This is Mr. Rao, from Nexus Capital."
Mr. Rao was a lean, sharp-eyed man in his late forties, dressed in a crisp, button-down shirt with no tie. He didn't stand. He simply gestured to the two chairs opposite him, his gaze already dissecting them. "Dean Sharma speaks highly of your... enthusiasm." The word hung in the air, implying it was their only real quality.
"Thank you for seeing us, sir," Ayushi began, launching into their practiced pitch. She was solid, reciting their market research and projected user base flawlessly.
Mr. Rao held up a hand, cutting her off mid-sentence. "Your numbers are theoretical. Your 'win' was academic. Every MBA student has a plan. What you don't have is a tangible market-entry strategy that survives contact with reality. Your main competitor, 'SwiftLog,' already has 60% of the market. How do you compete?"
Ayushi faltered. This was a direct, brutal assault on their weakest point. "Well, sir, our algorithm is more efficient..."
"Everyone says that," Rao dismissed.
"Because they're focusing on the wrong metric," Aarav cut in, his voice quiet but commanding.
Rao's eyes snapped to him. Dean Sharma looked like he was about to have an aneurysm.
"They're all competing on delivery speed," Aarav continued, leaning forward. "But the real bottleneck, the one SwiftLog is currently bleeding money on, is last-mile sorting. They're using a centralized hub model that's about to be obsolete."
Rao's expression didn't change, but his posture did. He leaned in, just a fraction. "And you know this how?"
"SwiftLog is about to post its first major loss next quarter," Aarav stated, not as a prediction, but as a fact. "They're going to blame 'expansion costs,' but the real reason is that their sorting tech can't handle their volume. They're going to try and acquire a smaller German logistics-tech company in eight months to fix it, but by then, their stock will be in freefall."
Aarav was, of course, reciting history. In his timeline, he had studied SwiftLog's collapse as a case study.
"Our entire platform," Aarav pressed on, "is built on a decentralized, AI-driven sorting algorithm. We don't just deliver faster; we sort smarter. We won't need a central hub for at least three years. We can beat them on margin, not just speed."
There was a heavy silence in the room. Ayushi was staring at Aarav, her mind racing. None of this—the quarterly loss, the German acquisition—was in their research. It couldn't be. It hadn't happened yet.
Mr. Rao stared at Aarav for a long, calculating moment. "That is... a very specific and bold prediction, Mr. Aarav."
"It's a bold market," Aarav replied, not blinking.
Rao suddenly smiled. It was a thin, sharp smile, like a blade. "I've been in meetings all week, listening to children play-act as executives. You're the first person who sounds like he's actually built something."
He stood up, and the energy in the room shifted. "My senior partners are flying in next week. I'm skipping you past the analyst stage. I want you to pitch to them. Directly. Don't waste my time."
As the office door clicked shut behind them, Ayushi sagged against the wall, a giddy, disbelieving laugh bubbling up. "Aarav! What was that? 'They're going to post a loss next quarter'? 'The German acquisition'? How did you know that? It was like you'd seen the future!"
The casual accuracy of her words hit him like a physical blow. He scrambled for his deflection. "I... I've been researching nonstop. I found a deep-dive analysis on a German logistics forum. Just... a strong gut feeling, I guess."
She beamed, grabbing his arm. "It wasn't a gut feeling; it was genius! Oh my god, we did it! We actually did it!"
Her happiness was radiant, and for a moment, Aarav let himself be swept up in it. This was a real win. A concrete, measurable change. He hadn't just saved her from a slander campaign; he had just laid the first stone for their new future.
When they got back to the Nandini stall, Akash and Pooja were still there, but the atmosphere around their table was entirely different. They were sitting close, Akash's arm draped over the back of Pooja's chair. She wasn't leaning away.
"So?" Akash called out, grinning. "How'd you slay the VC dragon?"
"We didn't just slay it," Ayushi announced, her voice full of triumph. "Aarav tamed it. We're pitching directly to the senior partners next week!"
"Get in!" Akash yelled, jumping up. "I knew it! 'The A-Team' for the win!"
Pooja looked up, and her usual sarcastic smirk was... soft. Genuinely warm. "Good. You deserve it. Your plan was solid."
"Well," Akash said, pulling Pooja to his side by her hand. "Not to be outdone... 'The A-P Team' has some news, too. We've decided to... well, let's just say we've merged our assets."
Ayushi's jaw dropped. She looked from Akash's beaming face to Pooja's slightly-blushing-but-trying-not-to-show-it face. "No! Really? Finally! It's about time!"
For the first time, all four of them were laughing, a pure, uncomplicated sound of victory. The shadow of Rajat felt distant, the tension of the last few weeks dissolved.
"Right! That settles it!" Akash declared. "Celebratory dinner tonight. And my treat. I called it first."
That evening, at a bustling, popular restaurant near MG Road, the mood was incandescent. The four of them were packed into a booth, the table laden with food. Akash and Pooja were bickering over whether Top Gun or The Matrix was the better film, a debate that was so clearly just an excuse for them to flirt.
Ayushi was relaxed, her shoulders down, her laughter easy and light. She was telling a story about a ridiculous professor, and Aarav found himself just... watching her. Watching all of them.
This was it. This was what he was fighting for. Not just Ayushi's life, but this. This feeling. This honest, happy, unbreakable little family he had accidentally built.
The bill came.
"Mine!" Akash snatched it. "My treat. I'm celebrating my new, official, and very scary girlfriend."
"Winner's treat," Aarav said, snatching it back. "And that's us."
They were in a friendly tug-of-war when Pooja rolled her eyes, plucked the bill from between their hands, and dropped her black-and-gold card onto the tray. "My 'I'm-a-master-hacker-who-just-secured-us-all-from-digital-oblivion' treat. Don't be children."
Both men stared, then broke into laughter. "Yes, ma'am," Akash said, giving her a mock salute.
Aarav leaned back, a real smile on his face. And in that moment, sitting among his friends, he had never felt more a part of something.
And he had never felt more alone.
He was the architect of this entire scene, and he was the only one who couldn't be honest about it. He was a refugee from a timeline they'd never know, a ghost at his own party.
His resolve from two nights ago—the decision to tell Ayushi on her birthday—hardened into something new. It was no longer just a "lifeline," a strategic move to "anchor" her against destiny.
It was a necessity.
He couldn't sit at this table, in this happy, honest circle of friends he loved, and be the only one living a lie. It wasn't just about saving her anymore. It was about saving himself.
"Aarav?"
He snapped out of his thoughts. Ayushi was looking at him, her smile fading into a look of familiar, searching concern. "What is it? You've been a million miles away all night."
He held her gaze, the lie feeling like acid in his throat.
"Just... happy," he said, the word almost true. "Happy we're all here."
She smiled back, but her eyes didn't leave his. "Me too. But there's still something you're not telling me, isn't there?"
The question hung between them, more honest than any answer he could give.
"There is," he said, his voice so low only she could hear. "And I promise... I'm going to tell you."
Soon. He thought of the date on the calendar. Her birthday. Soon.