My vision tunneled. It couldn't be. The arrogant jerk who had publicly humiliated me, who called me a “scared cat,” was now the gatekeeper to my most important academic opportunity. He had the power to sabotage my project, deny my submission, and ultimately, stifle my father's dream.

  I closed my eyes for a brief moment, the rage from the football field returning with a hundred times the intensity. This wasn't bad luck; it felt like a deliberate cosmic joke. I had tried to run from him, and now the entire weight of my future was resting in the hands of the very man who wanted nothing to do with me.

  I gripped the paper until my knuckles were white, staring at the name that now stood between me and success. I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the core, that this was going to be the hardest fight of my life.

  I immediately went to find Jenny, the paper crumpled tightly in my fist. Jenny’s initial response, after staring at the slip, was pure outrage.

  “This is rigged! It has to be!” she fumed, pushing her spectacles up. “We’ll go to the Dean’s office first thing tomorrow. You can’t be forced to work with someone who publicly insulted you. We’ll demand a change!”

  The idea of confrontation, of demanding a solution from an impartial authority, provided a temporary surge of hope. That hope, however, was quickly extinguished when we cornered Meera late that evening outside the library.

  Meera, usually so cheerful and encouraging, looked genuinely troubled when she saw the name.

  “You’re going to ask the administration to replace Aditya?” Meera asked, her voice low with concern.

  She shook her head slowly. “Shrishti, I need to be honest with you. It’s not that easy. They won’t replace him, not unless he personally agrees to step down.”

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  “But why?” I asked, the desperation audible in my voice. “He’s arrogant, he doesn’t want the job, and he’s already shown he’s uncooperative. Can’t I just say I have a conflict?”

  Meera stepped closer, speaking in a near-whisper. “Because he’s not some random senior doing this for extra credit. He’s the topper of his batch, and he’s the best mind in the institute for business strategy and corporate finance. More importantly, his family—Singhania Industries—is one of the largest corporate donors to MIM. A huge amount of the college’s funding, including the executive presentation panel, is tied to his father’s company.”

  The reality of her words crashed down on me like a physical blow. This wasn't just a college mentor; he was royalty, untouchable and indispensable to the administration. My innocent request would be seen as a minor inconvenience at best, or a sign of my inability to adapt at worst. The system was rigged, not by malice, but by money and power.

  My small-town hope of bureaucratic fairness vanished. My two years of freedom suddenly felt very fragile, constantly at the mercy of powerful men—my Dadu in Jodhpur, and now Aditya Singhania in Mumbai.

  “So… I’m stuck with him,” I concluded, the statement tasting bitter and inevitable.

  Meera laid a comforting hand on my arm. “Look, I know he’s difficult. But trust me, he is brilliant. You have a massive project; you need a brilliant reviewer. Just… be professional. Don’t take his attitude personally. Finish your part of the project flawlessly, present it to him, and get the signature.”

  I stared at the slip of paper, then at the title of my meticulously planned project: Revitalization Strategy for the Heritage Handloom Sector. I had put so much of my heart and knowledge into this idea. I would not let fear, or an arrogant, handsome bully, sabotage my work.

  “You’re right,” I said, looking up, my voice infused with a quiet resolve. “I will work on my project. It will be so good, so perfectly researched and presented, that he won’t have a single legitimate reason to fail it.”

  I folded the paper and slipped it into my notebook, right next to the project outline. I decided to ignore Aditya until the very last moment. I would build my fortress of research and numbers, and then, only then, would I face the gatekeeper.

  I would do my part, and leave the rest to fate.