The conference room on the twenty-sixth floor of the Dogra Group headquarters reflected authority in every detail. The glass walls revealed the sprawling city below, where thousands of lives moved in rhythm with ambition and struggle. Inside, however, everything was controlled, precise, and disciplined. A long polished table stretched across the center of the room, surrounded by senior executives, department heads, and two international clients. Tablets, files, and laptops were arranged neatly, yet despite the organized setting, tension lingered in the air. Everyone was waiting.

At exactly ten o’clock, the door opened.

Suryansh walked in.

He was dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, his posture straight, his expression calm and unreadable. He did not rush, nor did he waste time. His presence alone shifted the atmosphere. Conversations stopped, chairs adjusted, and eyes followed his movement as he took his seat at the head of the table. Without offering formal greetings, he placed his tablet in front of him and said in a composed voice,

“Let’s begin.”

The presentation started immediately. A senior manager stood up and began explaining the expansion strategy, highlighting profit margins, projected risks, and expected growth. Charts appeared on the screen, numbers shifted, and graphs rose and fell. Throughout the presentation, Suryansh listened silently. His gaze moved from the speaker to the screen and back again, absorbing every detail. He did not interrupt, nor did he appear distracted. His stillness itself was intimidating.

When the manager finished, Suryansh leaned back slightly and folded his hands. He looked at the screen for a moment before speaking.

“On page fourteen, your logistics cost is underestimated by twelve percent,” he said calmly. “You calculated using last year’s supplier rates. Those contracts expired three months ago. The revised rates were finalized last week.”

The manager hesitated and replied nervously, “I… I must have missed that update, sir.”

Suryansh continued without changing his tone.

“You also ignored the revised tax policy in Zone C. That changes your margin by four percent. Which means this projection is optimistic, not realistic.”

Silence filled the room. The clients exchanged surprised glances, clearly realizing that a serious flaw had been detected. Before the mistake could turn into embarrassment, Suryansh tapped on his tablet and displayed another chart.

“However, if forty percent of the shipment is redirected through Zone A and the warehouse lease is renegotiated, the cost difference will be balanced. We already have preliminary approval for that.”

The new figures appeared on the screen. The risk had been corrected. The loss had been prevented. The plan had been strengthened. One of the clients leaned forward and said with genuine admiration.

“You noticed that within minutes. Most companies would realize this only after suffering losses.”

Suryansh replied calmly without moving his gaze from the screen.

“We prefer to fix problems before they become expensive.”

From that moment, the meeting moved entirely under his control. He questioned unrealistic timelines, corrected weak strategies, and refined every detail with precision. Every decision was backed by data. Every suggestion carried logic. He neither raised his voice nor showed impatience. Yet no one dared to challenge him without careful thought.

By the time the meeting ended, the agreement had been finalized and the clients were visibly impressed. As they stood to leave, one of them shook Suryansh’s hand and said sincerely and said with excitement.

“Working with you gives us confidence. You leave no space for uncertainty.”

Suryansh nodded politely and replied,

“That is our responsibility.”

After the clients left, the internal team remained seated. No one spoke. No one moved. Everyone waited because they knew he would not spare any mistake.

Suryansh closed his tablet slowly and stood up. His gaze shifted toward the manager who had made the error. His expression did not change. His voice did not rise. He simply said,

“You’re fired.”

The manager froze. “Sir, please, I can explain,” he said hurriedly.

Suryansh did not look at him.

“Security will collect your belongings. HR already has the paperwork,” he replied evenly.

A pen slipped from someone’s hand and struck the table, breaking the silence. No one dared to react. The manager, pale and defeated, gathered himself and walked out without another word.

Suryansh looked around the room and said calmly,

“Mistakes happen… Carelessness does not… This company runs on accountability.”

No one replied. Because he is right at everything. He picked up his blazer and walked out, leaving behind a room filled with quiet respect and unspoken fear.

That was Suryansh Dogra.

A man who never raised his voice.

And yet, controlled every sound in the room.

.

.

Gunjal lay on her bed with her phone pressed gently to her ear, her lips curved into a soft, continuous smile that refused to fade. The evening light filtered through the curtains, painting her room in warm shades of gold and peach, yet she barely noticed it. Her entire world, at that moment, existed inside that small device and in the voice speaking to her from the other side.

“I have planned everything,” Poorav said confidently. “After the wedding, I’ll take you traveling first. No excuses, no delays. There are so many places I want to show you. Mountains, beaches, small cafés, old streets. You’ll love it… I have a very long list.”

Gunjal’s eyes sparkled as she listened.

“Really? All of them?” she asked softly, as if afraid the promise might disappear if she questioned it too loudly.

“Of course,” he replied without hesitation. “And after that, I have an overseas business deal in three months. I’ll be going abroad for a while. You’ll come with me then too.”

She hesitated for a moment before asking gently,

“But… What if your mother or family says something? What if they don’t allow it?”

There was certainty in his voice when he answered.

“Then I’ll talk to them. If needed, I’ll fight for you. You’ll always be with me. Wherever I go, you’ll go... I won’t leave you behind… because after marriage I am not going to leave you.”

Her heart skipped.

“You promise?” she whispered.

“I promise,” he said firmly. “You’ll never feel alone after marriage. You’ll always be my priority.”

Those words wrapped around her like warmth on a cold day.

They spoke for a few more minutes, sharing small dreams and quiet laughter, before finally ending the call. Even after placing the phone aside, Gunjal continued to stare at the screen, her smile lingering as if his voice was still echoing in her ears. She hugged her pillow lightly and closed her eyes, imagining herself walking beside him in unknown cities, laughing in unfamiliar streets, and discovering new worlds with his hand in hers.

In her mind, the future looked peaceful, safe, and beautiful.

She slowly got up from her bed and walked toward the corner of her room where a large, slightly worn-out box was hidden beneath the table. She pulled it out carefully, making sure no one noticed. This box was her secret. Something she had protected quietly for years, especially from her father, who never approved of such “useless hobbies.” Her mother, however, had always understood. Without saying much, she made sure that Gunjal’s little world of creativity remained untouched.

Gunjal sat down on the floor and opened the box gently, as if opening a treasure chest. Inside were old sandals, torn fabric pieces, beads, buttons, broken accessories, ribbons, and half-finished designs. Things that others considered waste. Things she considered possibilities.

She picked up an old pair of sandals and smiled.

“Don’t worry,” she murmured softly, as if speaking to them. “I’ll make you beautiful again.”

She began working on them carefully, adding colors, adjusting straps, stitching tiny beads, and reshaping worn-out edges. Her fingers moved with familiarity and love. As she worked, she kept talking quietly, sharing her thoughts with her creations as if they were her closest friends.

“You know,” she whispered, “when I showed Poorav my designs for the first time, he was so happy… he was impressed… He didn’t laugh. He didn’t say I was wasting time. He didn’t say I was playing with garbage.”

Her hands paused for a moment.

“For the first time,” she continued softly, “someone looked at my work and said it was beautiful. Someone said I was talented. Someone believed in me… he appreciated my efforts...”

Her eyes shone with emotion.

“I put so much of my heart into these things,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “So much time. So much effort. But no one ever understood. No one ever cared.”

She smiled again, this time with quiet gratitude.

“But he did,” she whispered. “He understands me. And that’s enough. That’s more than enough.”

She held the sandal close for a moment, as if it were proof of her dreams.

In that small room, surrounded by forgotten objects and silent hopes, Gunjal sat lost in her future. A future she believed was built on love, respect, and promises that would never break.