Resurgence

Chapter 5

Now
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"Miss Tiwari?"

Suman startles, nearly upending the entire contents of her bag in her haste to shove her phone aside. Keeping her face carefully blank, she wills her nervousness to fade away under the pretense of her cool exterior. "Yes?"

"Mr. Kashyap will be receiving you shortly," The secretary announces, drawing attention from the rest of the candidates.

"Okay," Suman manages, straightening herself to the best of her ability — any sign of lingering distress or anxiety well hidden, behind the lift of her chin and the perfection of her posture.

Her thumb absentmindedly fidgets with the strap watch around her wrist, rolling it over and over again as she studies the rest of the pretenders to the status of members of the bar with tired, but alert, brown eyes.

To her left, a woman sat wearing an expensive suit, the navy color complimenting her skin tone nicely and her long black hair was swept up into an intricate bun. She looked flawless.

In fact, every single person in that room seemed tailor-made for this corporate world with their flawless and shiny suits, razor-sharp tongues and the gleam of impending victory shining in their eyes. The seed of self-consciousness expands in her mind and the branches of insecurity grow heavy, so much, that she finds herself sizing her own suit with critical eyes, for any potential crease or flaw in her appearance.

It almost makes her cower in a corner and keep her eyes glued to her shoes, but fear is another abyss of darkness Suman has taken too many plunges in to get coerced by the pressure of power and privilege. So, she stares right back, doesn't relent to appear harsh and ruthless and defies wordlessly anyone with the intention to defeat her.

Overlapping chatter coming from the associates' room provokes a shift in her attention and she is tempted for a fated moment to hope, to pray that she gets to be a part of that room and one day, maybe, even be at the head of it.

But, Suman Tiwari is not a woman with a strong belief in deities or men, her faith begins and ends on her own accountability.

Neither has she, the habit of tampering her morals to get what she wants nor does she raise her hands in moments of desperation, begging for guidance. She does not let herself hope or pray for things to happen, she wills them to happen.

Suman surveys the offices of some of the lawyers in the firm. The sign outside announces in bold, elegant and black
letters over a golden overlay: 'Kashyap and Associates'

Then, she scans the corporate artwork around her, tastefully framed, ostentatious and reassuringly expensive. She remembers Sham Kashyap, the man they all fondly called Uncle Sham for his enviable flair in interiors and rare taste for expensive wood.

No wonder, Pushkar took after him. His father was a man of great personality.

The memory of the friendships, she has left behind still lodges like a rock in her throat, but swallowing a hard pill without water is something she needs no introduction to.

After leaving, she built herself like a mountain. All those years spent training herself to be solid, rough and covered in sharp cutting edges and yet the mere mention of an incident from half a decade ago or the scent of the flowers, Ramnath Uncle watered every day and it still feels like the unraveling of a Pandora box.

Suddenly, she comes out of her reverie. For sure, she must have subconsciously sensed someone's scrutiny on her.

Shravan Malhotra walks into the office with the confidence of someone entirely in command of his thoughts and actions, certain of his abilities. Heads turn and whispers start to echo as he offers greetings to lawyers and attorneys with firm shakes off his hand and a splendid smile going hands in hands with a wink as he salutes the legal secretaries.