POV: Ashwin

Success looks different when it costs you silence.

To the world, I’m Vice CEO of one of the country’s most influential legacy firms. To myself, I’m just a man constantly walking a line between logic and the one storm that refuses to die down.

Aaravi shekaran.

She was the first girl who taught me that persistence could feel like punishment.

---

When I was twelve, my father told me that emotion was expensive.

“Boys like us don’t cry,” he said, while tying his tie in front of a full-length mirror. “We calculate. We conquer.”

I believed him.

My childhood was made of crisp shirts, late-night meetings, and a mother who loved quietly but expected loudly.

When rajshekar uncle brought us in as investors, I was twenty-one, already jaded, already working full-time with my father. When I met Aaravi at that alumni event — all bright eyes and soft smiles — I saw trouble wrapped in sunshine.

I avoided her. She didn’t care.

For years, she followed me around like a song I couldn’t mute. She spoke too much. Felt too much. Wanted too much.

And I couldn’t give her anything. Not then. Not now.

But she never stopped.

She built a business, a name, a brand. She became a woman who dazzled crowds and got standing ovations. But to me, she was still the same girl who didn’t understand what no meant.

Every compliment she gave, every invitation she extended, every gentle touch — I filed them away under danger.

---

The negotiation this morning had gone smoother than expected. The investor cracked the moment I laid out the risk forecast. Rajasekar sir — her father, my mentor — clapped me on the back like I was his own son.

He’s the only man whose approval makes me feel anything.

“You handled that like a real shark,” he said, walking into my cabin now.

I smiled faintly. “Your guidance, uncle.”

He chuckled. “Don’t make me feel old.”

I closed the file on my desk as he settled into the opposite chair.

“I have something to ask you.”

I nodded.

“I’m going to Singapore for the global trade conference. Might extend the stay. I want you to keep an eye on Aaravi while I’m gone. She won’t admit it, but she gets reckless when I’m not around.”

My jaw tightened slightly, but I kept my voice calm. “Of course, sir. I’ll make sure she’s safe.”

He smiled. “I trust you more than anyone else here.”

That... hit.

He stood, patted my shoulder, and left.

The moment the door clicked shut, I dropped into my chair and exhaled like I’d been holding my breath for three years.

My head hit the backrest.

Of course he trusted me. Everyone did.

But no one asked how it felt to be trusted with someone who doesn’t understand boundaries.

Aaravi had always been a force. A hurricane disguised as a girl. She barged into spaces I left empty on purpose.

And yesterday, she touched my arm again. Called me impressive. Invited me out like we were lovers, like this wasn’t one-sided torture.

She didn’t see how hard I was trying to stay indifferent.

She didn’t care.

She smiled like she could rewrite my rejection.

I stared at the ceiling. My office lights buzzed faintly.

For a moment, I closed my eyes and saw her face.

Smirking.

Hopeful.

Unmoved by the word no.

This wasn’t love. It was madness.

And I was stuck babysitting it.

---

Still, part of me didn’t say no to Rajasekar uncle.

Because even in the chaos, even in her exhausting persistence — I’d rather be near the storm than pretend I’

m not affected by it.

Whatever happens next, I’ll handle it.

Just like I always do.

Alone. In silence.