The vivid reds in wedding symbols of celebration , Happiness and Joy . But what will happen if the same red colour change into the colour of blood betrayal and the symphony of despair.
Meera sweet little innocent girl end up being the pawn in the d...
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The room was thick with tension. The overhead lights cast a harsh glare on the boardroom table, illuminating the anxious faces of my team. My eyes, however, were fixed on the presentation unfolding in front of me. The words on the screen were a blur of mediocrity, the numbers meaningless, and the proposals uninspired.
Pathetic.
I leaned back in my chair, my fingers tapping rhythmically on the polished wood of the table. Each tap seemed to echo in the deathly silence of the room, a reminder to everyone present that their time was running out. My patience had worn thin.
The presenter-a senior employee who should have known better-was fumbling through his slides, his voice shaking ever so slightly. He had tried to maintain eye contact with me earlier, but after meeting my cold gaze, he quickly looked away, now addressing the floor as if it held the answers he so desperately needed.
"Mr. Rajvansh," he stammered, "we believe this proposal will meet the quarterly targets and-"
"Enough."
My voice sliced through the air, cutting him off mid-sentence. The employee froze, his mouth hanging open, unsure of what to say next. The rest of the room shifted uncomfortably in their seats, the weight of my displeasure hanging over them like a guillotine waiting to drop.
I rose from my chair slowly, deliberately, and walked towards the projector screen. Every step I took was measured, the sound of my polished shoes against the floor echoing through the room. No one dared to breathe too loudly, let alone speak. They knew better.
I stood before the screen, glancing at the figures that flashed before me. It was an insult to my expectations-an insult to everything I had worked for. Mediocrity. That's all they had to offer me.
I turned, letting my gaze sweep across the room. Each person I looked at stiffened in their seat, their expressions growing more fearful by the second. My anger simmered beneath the surface, cold and controlled. Rage, when tempered, had more impact than mindless fury. They needed to feel the ice in my veins, not the fire.
"I asked for perfection," I said quietly, my voice so low that everyone had to strain to hear. "Yet here I am, looking at this... waste of time."
I heard a nervous cough from someone in the back. My eyes flicked towards them for a brief moment before returning to the presenter, whose face had turned a sickly shade of pale. He was trembling slightly, the papers in his hand rustling as his grip faltered.
"You've had weeks to prepare," I continued, walking closer to him. "And this... this is what you bring to me? Is this your idea of excellence?"
He opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. His eyes darted towards his colleagues, desperate for support, but they were all avoiding his gaze. No one dared to meet my eyes. No one dared to intervene.
"I..." he finally choked out. "I-I can revise it. I can make the necessary changes, Mr. Rajvansh."
"Revisions?" I scoffed, stepping even closer. "What makes you think I will tolerate such incompetence a second time?"
