The Storm Behind Glass Walls

The meeting room on the 8th floor of Suryavanshi Enterprises was all glass — transparent walls, polished table, crisp suits, sharp minds.

And at the head of the table sat Veeresh Suryavanshi.

Cold. Calculated. Distant.

His voice cut through the air like a scalpel.

> “Let’s begin the project review.”

Poornima entered — composed, confident… and emotionally shredded inside. She was wearing a navy saree, the same shade she once wore on their anniversary. Maybe he noticed.

Maybe that’s why he snapped.

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📉 The Presentation That Didn’t Matter

Poornima stood and presented the Phase 1 strategy. Her voice was steady, her logic clear. The team was impressed.

Except one man.

Veeresh leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes dark.

> “So we’re applauding mediocrity now?”

Everyone turned.

> “This entire plan is risk-prone and built on assumptions. Do you even understand the word strategy, Ms. Poornima?”

A stunned silence. No one had ever heard him talk to anyone like that.

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💣 The Public Explosion

She didn’t flinch.

So he got crueler.

> “It’s funny how people who are good at walking away always come back pretending to be professionals.”

The air went still.

Poornima’s hands gripped the edge of the table.

He wasn’t just criticizing her work now. He was aiming straight at her soul.

> “Let me remind you,” he said, rising from his chair, “this company doesn’t have time to clean up the mess left behind by people who specialize in disappearing.”

Every eye in the room looked at her.

Some shocked.

Some uncomfortable.

Some pitiful.

But Poornima said nothing.

Not a word.

She didn’t argue. Didn’t justify. Didn’t explain.

Because the last time she explained her heart, it was shattered.

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🥀 Silence — Her Only Armor

Her eyes, though calm, carried oceans of pain Veeresh couldn’t see anymore.

She simply closed the laptop, bowed slightly, and said,

> “Noted, sir. I’ll revise the plan.”

And walked out.

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🕯️ After the Storm

In her cabin, Poornima sat down slowly. Her hands trembled.

She looked at the table — the pen she used was the same one Veeresh gave her on their college placement day.

> “For your first job,” he had said, “and every job after that. We’ll always rise together.”

That same pen had just signed her humiliation.

She didn’t cry.

Not this time.

She just closed her eyes.

And whispered to herself,

> “This isn’t the same Veeresh.

This is the version of him I created when I walked away.

And maybe… I deserve it.”

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