Destined to Be Yours

"Sir, are you sure about this decision?"

Gagan, Shourya Verma's personal assistant, asked hesitantly, his voice wavering as he stood by the large glass desk in Shourya's expansive office.

The soft hum of the city skyline beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows filled the silence that followed.

Shourya leaned back in his chair, his sharp gaze fixed on Gagan. His posture exuded a calm authority, the kind that commanded both respect and fear. His fingers drummed once against the polished surface before he replied, his voice steady and laced with conviction.

"Yes, I'm sure."

"But, sir," Gagan stammered, shifting uncomfortably, "this is too risky. If this backfires, it could lead to a total downfall of Verma Industries."

Shourya rose from his chair, towering over the nervous assistant. The room seemed to shrink as his commanding presence filled it.

Walking to the window, he clasped his hands behind his back, his silhouette framed against the glittering city lights.

"Gagan," he began, his tone low but powerful, "the greatest empires were built on bold decisions. This isn't about playing safe; it's about vision, about knowing when to take the leap." He turned, his piercing eyes locking onto Gagan's. "Do you doubt my judgment?"

"N-no, sir. Of course not," Gagan stuttered, beads of sweat forming on his brow. "It's just… the stakes are incredibly high."

Shourya's lips curved into a faint, confident smile. "Exactly. High stakes lead to high rewards. Remember, Gagan, fear has no place in leadership. If you're too scared to take risks, you've already lost."

Gagan swallowed hard, his unease palpable. "Understood, sir. I'll make the necessary arrangements."

As Gagan turned to leave, Shourya's voice stopped him. "Gagan."

"Yes, sir?"

"Trust me. This isn't just a gamble. It's a calculated move. And I don't lose."

The assistant nodded quickly, leaving the room with a mix of apprehension and awe. Alone once more, Shourya's expression hardened. He knew the risks. But he also knew the reward would be worth every ounce of danger. Failure wasn't an option.

He stared out at the city, his mind racing with the possibilities. The game was on, and Shourya Verma always played to win.

Vedha stood in the vast, luxurious kitchen of the Verma mansion, her gaze fixed on the row of gleaming utensils and ingredients neatly arranged on the countertop.

The space was immaculate, designed for precision, yet to her, it felt overwhelming. She had resolved to prepare something special for Shourya, a gesture of thoughtfulness. But the question remained—what dish would he truly appreciate?

As Vedha pondered, Seeta, the elderly maid who had served the Verma family for years, entered, carrying a basket of fresh vegetables. Her warm eyes lit up with surprise when she saw Vedha standing amidst the culinary equipment.

"Vedha beta, what are you doing here?" Seeta asked, setting the basket down with care.

Vedha turned to her, her expression a mix of determination and hesitation. "Aunty, I want to make something for Shourya. But I don't know his favorite dish. Could you tell me?"

Seeta hesitated, her smile faltering slightly. "That's a lovely thought, beta. But you should know—Shourya baba is very particular about his food. He notices everything—every spice, every flavor. Even the chefs here approach his meals with caution."

Vedha didn't flinch, her resolve firm. "I still want to try. Please, aunty, tell me what he likes the most."

Seeta studied her for a moment before nodding. "His favorite is paneer butter masala. But it's no ordinary preparation. The gravy must be rich and creamy, the spices balanced perfectly, and the paneer soft yet firm. It's a challenging dish to prepare, beta."

Vedha smiled faintly, masking the apprehension building within her. "Paneer butter masala," she repeated, her voice steady. "I'll make it. And he doesn't need to know who prepared it."

Seeta gave her a doubtful but amused look. "Very well, beta. The ingredients are here. Just remember—Shourya baba's standards are as high as ever."

Vedha rolled up her sleeves and began. She started by grinding fresh tomatoes for the base, her movements careful but uncertain. The spices had to be toasted just right, and she hesitated with each pinch, afraid of overdoing it. As she sautéed the onions, she winced when a small splash of oil hit her hand, but she pressed on.

Her struggle became evident when she attempted to balance the creaminess of the gravy. She added cream, then more spices, then tasted and adjusted again. Each step felt like a test, and with every stir, she worried whether it would live up to Shourya's standards.

When it was time to prepare the paneer, Vedha worked meticulously to ensure each cube was lightly golden yet tender. The fragrance of the dish filled the kitchen, but Vedha couldn't shake the nervous flutter in her chest.

Finally, she plated the dish. The paneer butter masala glistened in the serving bowl, its deep orange hue adorned with a swirl of fresh cream and a sprinkle of chopped coriander.

Vedha exhaled slowly, her hands trembling slightly as she wiped her brow. "It's not perfect, but it's made with care," she whispered. "I hope that's enough."