Getting off the bus, the humid Mumbai air filled my lungs. People walked with purpose, only occasionally stopping to sidestep someone asking for money. I made my way to the office block without much hassle; earlier in the week, I had taken the bus here to make sure I would not get lost. The building was new, and the huge glass windows reflected the August sun. I straightened my tie and walked into the building.

‘I am here to interview at BusinessForward,’ I said, leaning against the security desk. The guard didn’t look up from his phone. He silently pointed at the book in front of me to sign in, which I did.

When I put the pen down, he muttered, ‘Fourth floor.’

I walked towards the elevator, taking in the building.

BusinessForward occupied the fourth and fifth floors of the building. They were the leading consultancy agency in India, and their offices were a display of their success. Entering the office, I was very aware that this interview could change my life for the better. I walked up to the reception and introduced myself. I was given a form to fill in, and then led to the waiting room. The room was stark; white walls were decorated with oversized pictures of good-looking people shaking hands and looking satisfied with the service they had received. Four other candidates in suits were already there, filling in forms; none of them looked up to greet me as I sat down.

‘Ashray?’ a voice called out.

I looked up and saw a formally dressed, petite woman. ‘That’s me,’ I said and smiled, determined to make a good impression from the start.

‘Vihaan will see you now,’ she said and led me from the room to the elevator. We rode the elevator up one floor before getting out and making our way down a passage to an office encased in glass. The woman opened the door, motioning for me to enter, before closing the door behind me.

‘Vihaan Ahuja, director of BusinessForward,’ the man behind the desk said while rising and offering a hand. ‘Please. Have a seat.’

3

JHANVI

The bus stop was busy with people making their way home. It was late afternoon by the time I had plucked up the courage to confront Puneet. If I could have avoided the argument altogether, deleted him from my life, I would have. I didn’t want to fight with him; I just wanted what little was left at his apartment and to leave, to forget he ever existed and that he had the power to hurt me as deeply as he had. But I wish I had chosen a different time, perhaps late at night when the buses would be emptier, and the streets would be filled with people who carried as much sorrow as I did in my heart.

I skipped two buses that would have taken me home, preferring to get lost in my phone while I tried to compose myself, occasionally fighting back tears. I considered removing all the photos of Puneet from my social media account while I sat there, but I wasn’t ready for the onslaught of questions my followers would have. Perhaps I should post new pictures as usual, and nobody would notice the old ones disappearing from my feed? It would, at least, buy me some time to heal my heart.