22-12-2025, 07:10 PM
Chapter 14 – Lunch Invitation
The morning after the message from Rohan, Prem’s phone started ringing before he even finished his coffee.
One client. Then another. Then three more.
Apologies. “Misunderstanding.” Projects unblocked. Full speed ahead.
Prem stared at the screen, idlis cooling untouched on his plate.
He turned to Nivi, voice disbelieving. “They’re all back. Every single one. The company… it’s back on its legs.”
Nivi looked up from helping Aara with breakfast, eyes sharp. “Rohan?”
Prem shook his head. “I still don’t believe it’s him.”
Before Nivi could reply, Prem was already dialing Aaravind.
The call connected.
“Thanks, man,” Prem started, words tumbling out.
“Sorry, I don’t know how you unblocked everything. If there was any misunderstanding… I’ve got nothing to do with that Rohan guy—”
Nivi’s face darkened. She hissed under her breath, low enough only Prem heard: “Don’t you have even a little self-respect?”
Aaravind’s laugh crackled through the speaker, cold and mocking.
“Stop, stop, stoop,” he sneered.
“Unblocked? Bullshit.
No one has the guts to offend our group.” A pause, voice turning oily.
“Let me tell you the real deal—give me Nivi, take the contracts back.”
Nivi’s hand shot out. She plucked the phone from Prem’s grip.
“Fuck you, Aaravind,” she said, clear and cutting, then cut the call.
The room went silent.
Prem stared at her, stunned. He had never heard her swear. Never seen that steel in her eyes.
Moments later, voice quieter, Prem muttered, “Was it really Rohan?”
Nivi set the phone down. “Who else do you think?”
She met his gaze. “Don’t judge everyone by appearance… or gender.
You never know someone’s potential.”
The words hung. Prem felt them land—not just about Rohan.
He looked away, pride stung, but something shifted inside him. Quiet. Unspoken.
He pulled out Rohan’s simple visiting card and dialed.
“Hello, Rohan. Prem here.”
Rohan’s voice, calm on the other end. “Yes?”
“Who are you, really?”
A soft smile in Rohan’s tone, though Prem couldn’t see it. “I’m a businessman. I bring business, people return favors. That network helped.”
Prem swallowed. “Thank you. And… sorry for judging you.”
Rohan’s reply was indifferent. “I don’t care, Mr. Prem. Do your work now. No more legal troubles. Show progress with other clients—Largebase might reconsider when they see you succeeding.”
Click. Call ended.
Rohan set the phone down in his penthouse office overlooking the Bay of Bengal.
He had already handled Aaravind—the CFO would stay clueless how a “mid-level tech guy” had pulled it off. Perfect punishment: confusion, humiliation, powerlessness.
Rohan had no real interest in Prem or Nivi beyond teaching Aaravind a lesson.
He planned to hand the rest to his VP, step back.
Until the phone rang again twenty minutes later.
Prem.
“My wife… she wants to thank you properly. Lunch at our place?”
Rohan’s first instinct: No.
He didn’t need gratitude. Or complications.
But curiosity tugged—their story, Aaravind’s obsession, the woman who had sent the list herself.
And something else. A pull he couldn’t name yet.
“Outside,” Rohan said. “Somewhere open. Garden restaurant on ECR stretch. Tomorrow, 1 PM.”
They agreed.
The morning after the message from Rohan, Prem’s phone started ringing before he even finished his coffee.
One client. Then another. Then three more.
Apologies. “Misunderstanding.” Projects unblocked. Full speed ahead.
Prem stared at the screen, idlis cooling untouched on his plate.
He turned to Nivi, voice disbelieving. “They’re all back. Every single one. The company… it’s back on its legs.”
Nivi looked up from helping Aara with breakfast, eyes sharp. “Rohan?”
Prem shook his head. “I still don’t believe it’s him.”
Before Nivi could reply, Prem was already dialing Aaravind.
The call connected.
“Thanks, man,” Prem started, words tumbling out.
“Sorry, I don’t know how you unblocked everything. If there was any misunderstanding… I’ve got nothing to do with that Rohan guy—”
Nivi’s face darkened. She hissed under her breath, low enough only Prem heard: “Don’t you have even a little self-respect?”
Aaravind’s laugh crackled through the speaker, cold and mocking.
“Stop, stop, stoop,” he sneered.
“Unblocked? Bullshit.
No one has the guts to offend our group.” A pause, voice turning oily.
“Let me tell you the real deal—give me Nivi, take the contracts back.”
Nivi’s hand shot out. She plucked the phone from Prem’s grip.
“Fuck you, Aaravind,” she said, clear and cutting, then cut the call.
The room went silent.
Prem stared at her, stunned. He had never heard her swear. Never seen that steel in her eyes.
Moments later, voice quieter, Prem muttered, “Was it really Rohan?”
Nivi set the phone down. “Who else do you think?”
She met his gaze. “Don’t judge everyone by appearance… or gender.
You never know someone’s potential.”
The words hung. Prem felt them land—not just about Rohan.
He looked away, pride stung, but something shifted inside him. Quiet. Unspoken.
He pulled out Rohan’s simple visiting card and dialed.
“Hello, Rohan. Prem here.”
Rohan’s voice, calm on the other end. “Yes?”
“Who are you, really?”
A soft smile in Rohan’s tone, though Prem couldn’t see it. “I’m a businessman. I bring business, people return favors. That network helped.”
Prem swallowed. “Thank you. And… sorry for judging you.”
Rohan’s reply was indifferent. “I don’t care, Mr. Prem. Do your work now. No more legal troubles. Show progress with other clients—Largebase might reconsider when they see you succeeding.”
Click. Call ended.
Rohan set the phone down in his penthouse office overlooking the Bay of Bengal.
He had already handled Aaravind—the CFO would stay clueless how a “mid-level tech guy” had pulled it off. Perfect punishment: confusion, humiliation, powerlessness.
Rohan had no real interest in Prem or Nivi beyond teaching Aaravind a lesson.
He planned to hand the rest to his VP, step back.
Until the phone rang again twenty minutes later.
Prem.
“My wife… she wants to thank you properly. Lunch at our place?”
Rohan’s first instinct: No.
He didn’t need gratitude. Or complications.
But curiosity tugged—their story, Aaravind’s obsession, the woman who had sent the list herself.
And something else. A pull he couldn’t name yet.
“Outside,” Rohan said. “Somewhere open. Garden restaurant on ECR stretch. Tomorrow, 1 PM.”
They agreed.
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)