"Oh, someone please turn off this dumb alarm!" I started to roll over on the bed, but then it hit me, today I have to attend the competition. Oh god, I'm screwed! I jolted awake and bolted to the bathroom.

I started brushing my teeth while doing my morning business, don't even try to judge me; desperate times call for desperate multitasking. Way better than pooping my pants in front of thousands of people.

Then I lunged out of the bathroom, grabbed a towel, and blasted the shower on full. I scrubbed like I was scrubbing a stubborn buffalo, sloshing soap everywhere.

I knew I was running late, but come on, beauty is non-negotiable! My skin probably looked like a tomato by the time I was done, red and raw from the sheer violence of the scrubber.

I grabbed my towel and wiped off the water as I stepped out of the bathroom. My dress was already laid out on the bed, thanks, Mom. It was a rose-pink, heavy designer chunni. I'm a jewelry designer who wants to be modern, but moms will always be moms. I hopped into the dress as fast as I could and started on my makeup.

"Let me just put on some mascara... and a little foundation, can't have people dying from looking at my scars!" Just kidding. My skin's glowing... like a cactus. I still need to shave my facial hair, but that'll have to wait.

Once I was ready, I sprayed my favorite perfume, wottagirl. Hopefully, nobody would faint from the smell. I grabbed my things, took a deep breath, and headed out the door.

"Again, you're late!" Mom shouted, but I gave her a nervous smile and dashed out.

"Bye, Mom! Bless me to get into my dream company!"

"Just visit the temple before going to the competition!" she yelled after me.

I smiled back and jumped into my car, old, but priceless. Dad bought it with his first salary, and whenever I feel low or lost, sitting in it feels like sitting on his lap. Okay, no more getting emotional, if I start crying, my makeup will be ruined, and my eyes will look way too pretty for anyone to stop staring at me.

I started driving while blasting my favorite song, "Tere Bin Nahi Jeena"....old is gold. I stopped at the temple and hurriedly gathered the things for the pooja.

"Oh God, my favorite one! And I know I'm your favorite too, please let me win this competition. I promise I'll give you more than the prasad my competitor said they would!"

After that, Pandiji gave me flowers and blessed me.

Bang!

Wait, what was that? Someone had fallen from their vehicle! The sound was deafening. People these days... the moment they get a new vehicle, they forget all about safety.

I grabbed the prasad and rushed out, but my eyes widened, and my mouth dropped open.

I clutched my flower , well, my yellow car, so I called it a Sunbeam. A guy was standing nearby, hands in his pockets, casually looking around. I dashed toward him.

"Are you blind or what? Why did you hit my Sunbeam?!" I yelled.

He gave me a weird look, like I'd completely lost my mind.

"I didn't crush a laundry detergent! I just hit this... old car. I'm looking for the owner to say sorry," he said.

Wait, did he just call it old? Old car? I gritted my teeth and glared at him, every ounce of patience evaporating instantly.

"What did you just say? You hit my car and call it... old?" I grabbed his collar, fury blazing.

That rat-faced guy looked at me with an apologetic expression. "I'm sorry, ma'am..."

Before he could finish, I shook him hard, fury burning through my veins. His words died in his throat.

"I'm sorry... mam, leave me! You're mixing my body parts!" he yelled, sounding like a dying sheep, but I shook him like a syrup bottle anyway.

Suddenly, the back door of his car swung open. A man stepped out hands covered in tattoos all the way to his neck, sleeves rolled up, veins standing out like ropes. His brown eyes were sharp, jawline chiseled, muscles obvious even through his shirt, and his aura screamed danger. He towered over me, nearly 6'4".

I froze, my anger colliding with instant panic. "Uh... I mean... I was just...." My words faltered. My mind raced: do I apologize, do I run, or do I just pretend I didn't see him?

Meanwhile, the guy with my Sunbeam stood there awkwardly, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

The tattooed man's eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, and I swear the ground seemed a little hotter under my feet. My heartbeat was a drum solo in my ears.

Great.

Just great.

Here I was, supposed to be heading to a competition, and now I was about to get demolished for... my car.

I took a slow breath, lifted my chin, and let my glare do the talking. "Sir... I don't know who told you my car was old," I said, voice steady and sharp.

"But it's my Sunbeam, and you just hit it. So, congratulations... You owe me an apology."

No second thoughts. Just raw defiance sitting steady in my bones. He might've been towering, inked, and built like a warning sign, but today, I wasn't the one backing down

Move

Wait... did he just tell me to move? How dare he? His voice was deep, vibrating like a cello, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he spoke, but I wasn't impressed. I took a deliberate step toward him, chin high, eyes locked on him.

"Sir, I think you didn't hear me," I said, each word deliberate, sharp as a knife.

I. Want. An. Apology. For. What. Your. Man. Did.

My stomach tightened. My hands wanted to shake. I wouldn't let them. He looked like danger carved into flesh, but I locked my spine and met his stare. Fear could claw at me all it wanted... it would not have my expression.

The guy who'd hit my car hurried over, hands up. "I'm sorry, miss, tell me how much I owe you. I'll compensate for the damage."

I gave him a stern look and rolled my eyes. Before I could speak, the tattooed man's hand shot out and closed around my throat. "I told you , move away from my way," he growled.

How dare he? For a second, I was stunned by the sudden violence, but only for a second. I lifted my leg and slammed my pointed heel into his shoe so hard he staggered back. "I'm not a puppy you can hold by the throat," I snapped. "And rich-dad's rich son? Totally lacking manners."

"Hold your tongue, lady," he snarled, stepping forward with his teeth clenched.

I didn't answer. I kicked the car's side mirror with my high heel glass exploded across the pavement, the sound ricocheting down the street. My hands trembled with anger, my heart a furnace of fury, but my eyes were ice.

"Enough." His voice is flat, a low blade. He doesn't shout; he doesn't need to. Everyone hears him anyway.

"Don't tell me to stop," I spit, wiping the dust from my palms with the back of my hand. My voice trembles, but the tremble is an edge, not fear. "You think grabbing a woman by the throat is okay? You think you own the road?"

His brown eyes sharpen. "You could have been killed." It's not a question.

"Then maybe I should have been," I snapped. "At least I'd have a story to tell." I pop my jaw, daring him to care.

The driver scrambles over, hands raised like a beaten animal. "Sir, ma'am, I'll pay for the damage, please...." His voice is a wet, pleading thing.

"You'll regret?" he asks slowly, and there's a warning under the words now. "You make enemies where none need to exist."

I laugh, short and hard. "I don't make enemies. I will meet them." I cup my throat where his fingers left a bruise, then smile. "If you want to be my enemy, go ahead. Make my day."

Something akin to amusement flickered across his face before vanishing without a trace.

"Tell your boss to show some respect for women."

I turned toward the driver. My voice was calm, but there was a dangerous edge beneath it. My eyes never left him.

His jaw tightened, and he gritted his teeth.

He took a step toward me as I started the engine, close enough that I could hear the whisper of his suit. "You're loud," he said, quiet enough that only I heard. "And dangerous."

"Good," I answered without hesitation. "I prefer it that way."

He studied me for a long, measured breath, like cataloguing a storm. Then he turned, speaking into the crook of his neck as if to no one in particular: "I'll make you regret you were ever born." It was mock‑sympathy and a warning all in one.

"I think you're already regretting meeting me , and if you ever dare cross me again, I won't just crack your car mirror; I'll smash your factory which will make your future products" I said, eyes flicking to his pants.

His eyes widened for a beat, then he pulled himself together; a dirty smirk curled at one corner of his mouth. He leaned in close, cheek brushing my ear.

"Interesting," he breathed, venom lacing the word, and the sound made the hairs along my spine stand to attention.

I shoved him, my pulse stumbling, my courage stitched together with stubbornness and breath.

I pulled out a 500-rupee note and waved it in his face. "Buy some manners for yourself," I said, flipped my hair, and strutted back to my car.

Who did he think he was, trying to bully me? I ranted the whole way to my destination, cursing him in every language I knew.

Ugh, rich people. They act like the whole world belongs to them, like they're superior to everyone. What a terrible day.

  *****************************************************************************

I slammed the brakes, the car screeching to a halt in front of a tall, glimmering building that seemed to touch the clouds. My teacher jogged up beside me, slightly out of breath. "The competition's about to start," she said, her voice laced with urgency. "Let's go."

The building was massive, clearly the playground of a billionaire hosting this event. I stepped inside, and, wow... everyone looked like they'd come straight from a fashion show, short dresses, heavy makeup, the works. I touched up my own face and adjusted my things, trying to stay focused.

Then the competition began.

My hands froze instantly, as if someone had poured ice water through my veins. For a second, I couldn't even feel my fingers. They just hovered above the table, stiff and uncertain, refusing to cooperate with the confidence I had rehearsed in my mind a hundred times before coming here.

I took a deep breath and stepped inside properly. The tag hanging around my neck suddenly felt heavier than it should, the thin strap grazing my skin, the plastic card resting against my chest like a reminder of the pressure I was under.

With every heartbeat, it tapped softly against me, as if counting down my courage. I turned toward my teacher, searching for something steady to hold on to. She offered me a small, reassuring smile and mouthed, All the best. Her lips moved gently, but her eyes carried expectation.

I swallowed and nodded, forcing my feet to move.

Inside, the hall looked larger than it had from outside. Bright lights reflected off the polished floor, rows of tables neatly arranged, each one assigned and waiting. I walked to mine slowly, aware of every sound... chairs scraping, papers rustling, low whispers fading into silence.

My table was perfectly arranged: sharpened pencils, blank sheets, measuring tools placed in precise order. It looked ready. I wasn't sure I was.

The instructor stood at the front, holding a stopwatch. His voice echoed clearly across the hall.

"Okay, guys. Let's begin."

The timer started.

And my mind went completely blank.

All the ideas I had practiced. All the designs I had imagined. Gone. My thoughts scattered like frightened birds. I stared at the empty sheet in front of me, the whiteness almost mocking.

Around me, everyone had already begun. Heads were bowed in concentration, hands moving with quiet confidence. Pencils glided across the pages as though they had been rehearsing for this very moment their entire lives.

The sound of sketching filled the air.

I felt small for a second.

My pulse quickened, my throat tightened, and panic tried to crawl its way up. But I closed my eyes briefly and inhaled deeply, letting the air fill my lungs, forcing my heart to slow down.

You didn't come this far to freeze now.

I opened my eyes again and picked up my pencil. The first line was hesitant. The second was steadier. Slowly, carefully, I began shaping my design. Curve after curve. Detail after detail. The paper no longer felt like an enemy... It felt like an opportunity.

I poured my whole heart into it.

"That design isn't just art," I whispered under my breath, so softly that no one else could hear. "It's a part of me."

Every stroke carried something personal... my sleepless nights, my silent sacrifices, my stubborn determination to prove that I belonged in rooms like this. I wasn't just drawing. I was fighting quietly on paper.

"Time's up."

The instructor's voice sliced through the air, abrupt and final.

A collective exhale filled the hall. Rapid breaths. Nervous glances. The faint scent of sweat and stress hung in the air. This wasn't just any competition. It was rumored to be conducted by one of the biggest Asian companies... the kind people only dreamed about entering. The kind that could change a life overnight.

But the mysterious part?

They never announced which company it was.

No logo. No name. No hint.

Just silence and speculation.

The uncertainty made everything heavier.

Then the door opened again.

A woman walked in with confidence that didn't need introduction. Bold red lipstick framed her smile perfectly. She wore a long, elegant shirt that reached her knees, flowing gracefully as she moved. Her heels clicked against the floor in steady rhythm. There was something magnetic about her presence... polished, powerful, effortless.

Her smile could light up the entire hall.

"Okay, everyone," she said smoothly, her voice calm and professional. "We'll let you know the winner soon. We'll email the shortlisted candidates about the internship details. I hope you all have a wonderful day."

Her tone was polite, almost warm, but unreadable.

For a moment, I couldn't tell whether my future had just begun... or slipped quietly through my fingers.

I glanced at the boy sitting nearby, who was staring at her like she was a giant cotton candy. Dramatically, I wiped his mouth with a tissue. He shot me. Are you serious? Look, but I ignored him.

"Which company is she from?" I asked, curious. He gave me a weird look, like I'd asked the dumbest question in the world. "Don't you know? The most famous company, Rathod Industrial Group."

The pencils slipped from my hand. My eyes burned red. My throat went dry. I gripped the edge of the table so tightly my palms hurt, but I didn't care. Everyone was watching, but I didn't want to stay a second longer than necessary.

I gathered my things and started to walk out. Rude? Probably. But I couldn't bear another moment there. My teacher looked at me with concern, but I just straightened my back and moved forward.

She reached out and held my hand. "What happened? Why did you come out?"

I yanked my hand away, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. "I... I don't want to stay here. I want to go home."

She let go, and I moved past her. I threw my things into the car and slammed the door, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white. Memories came rushing back, me as a little girl, clutching my dad's hand while he lay there, lifeless. My chest tightened, my throat burned, and I screamed into the empty car as the world around me blurred.

I stopped in front of the home and quickly made it upstairs. My mom called out, but I didn't respond. I collapsed onto my bed, letting the weight of everything press down on me.

I lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, the silence pressing down like a heavy blanket. My chest heaved, my mind replaying the past, every memory twisting like a knife. But somewhere beneath the pain, a spark flickered.

I wiped my tears roughly, jaw set. No one was going to see me crumble, at least, not for long. I swung my legs off the bed, planted my feet firmly on the floor, and took a deep breath. My hands still trembled, but I forced them to be steady.

"This isn't over," I whispered to myself. "Not today, not ever."

I ran my fingers through my hair, straightened my shoulders, and let that familiar baddie energy creep back in. The world had tried to break me, yes, but I had survived worse. And now... I was ready to take it all on, one bold step at a time.

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