Aaliya slowly rotates her stocking clad feet. She rubs her palm against the arch of her feet and winces as she presses each. She looks up and finds me watching her. “Sorry! These boots are new and not yet broken in.”

I clear my throat. “By all means, please be comfortable.”

She gives me a grateful smile in return and tucks her legs beneath her, facing me completely.

“Tell me about your work,” I say.

“So, we have an architecture and design firm, Alpha Arc. We design and build houses from scratch and we do the interiors as well. In addition, we have a store in Mumbai called ASD, Aaliya Singh Designs, for people who like to instantly shop what they see. That’s my pet project. We contract a lot of our furniture pieces for the store and otherwise also from Italy, Portugal and many times from Turkey as well. We have some of the best names from the industry showcased at the store. Plus, we have a separate section highlighting Indian artists, artisans and Indian antiques. Here, have a look...”

She gets an iPad from her bag and scrolls through a folder before handing it to me. I sift through the photos of the store and understand that it’s a huge space filled with beautiful furniture settings, exclusive accessories, lights etc. It is indeed impressive. She flips through more photos and shows me images of the houses she’s designed and the interiors she has done. I scroll through pictures, one after the other of tastefully done rooms with just the right amount of lighting and colors that suit the aesthetic of each space. They are all beautiful and inspiring. I have to accept that she is talented. She speaks confidently about her work and I ask her several questions that she replies to easily.

Our hands brush as I hand the iPad back to her. I hear the catch in her breath, but I force my mind to ignore it.

“Who is the we?” I ask.

“We?” Her brows draw together.

I clarify. “You kept saying we as you described the store and your work.”

Her eyes dart away from mine before she looks back at me. “It’s a family business.”

“And who’s in charge of the business?”

She tilts her head. “Me!”

“How old are you?”

“Going to be twenty-nine next month.”

My jaw slackens. “You’ve achieved so much at such a young age. It’s quite remarkable.”

“Thank you!” she says with a lift of her shoulders.

“Now, tell me why you were so enthralled by those doors at Jonathan’s estate?” That question has played at the back of my mind ever since I witnessed her fascination with those damn doors.