Anvitha got herself ready in the morning to go for an interview. She wore a beautiful white cotton saree with pink floral patterns, neatly tied her hair back, applied just enough makeup to highlight her eyes, and wore a subtle shade of lipstick.
Standing in front of the mirror, she felt she looked beautiful. Her wide expressive eyes, lashes like fans, perfectly arched eyebrows, a graceful figure, and glowing complexion—all made her feel confident.
"If Chaitanya sees me like this, he'll definitely think I'm Aadhira," she thought. Aadhira always wore cotton sarees. But unlike her, Anvitha preferred salwars. Thinking about this, she finished getting ready, took little Athvaith to playschool, and dropped him off.
The child didn't cry and cheerfully waved goodbye. She had packed his food, so he wouldn't trouble anyone until evening. She looked around the school and noticed it was filled with lots of toys—something Athvaith loved. Assured that he would be fine, she left the place.
Anvitha took an auto to the hospital where her interview was scheduled. She told the driver the name of the hospital, and he dropped her off in front. Paying him and sending the auto away, she stood looking at the building.
Chaitanya Hospital—one of the most famous hospitals in Chennai. The hospital looked grand. She walked in.
There was a constant movement of patients in and out. She checked her watch—it showed ten o'clock. Slowly walking in and observing everything, she noticed separate entrances for outpatients and admitted patients.
There were designated parking areas for cars and two-wheelers, and security guards posted everywhere. She went to the receptionist and gave her details.
"Oh, you're here for the interview? Today's interview is only for you. So please wait for a bit; the senior person is running late. In the meantime, some doctors will come to interview you," said the receptionist, showing her to a large sofa.
Anvitha sat down, scanning the surroundings. It didn't feel like a hospital at all—it was so luxurious. Inside the hall, they had even set up a decorative waterfall. It looked beautiful. As she admired the setting, her eyes landed on a golden nameplate that shocked her.
It read Athvaith Group of Companies.
So Aadhira had deliberately named her son Athvaith. Could it be a family name? she wondered. Just then, the receptionist called her.
"Anvitha, please come. Let's go for the interview." She followed the receptionist to a room.
"This is the room. You may go in," said the woman, stepping aside.
Anvitha pushed the door open—and froze in shock.
Inside were about fifteen people, all seemingly senior doctors, and most of them quite elderly. They asked her to sit.
One by one, they asked her numerous questions, and Anvitha answered each one calmly, patiently, and confidently. The doctors exchanged approving glances. Most of the questions were related to orthopedics, she noted.
While answering, she couldn't help but wonder—Isn't Chaitanya here? Isn't he going to come?
After a while, one of the female doctors said, "Miss Anvitha, we really liked your answers. Before we talk more about the hospital, you should meet our senior-most member. He'll be here in an hour. Once you speak to him, you can decide if you want to join."
So, have I gotten the job? her face betrayed the thought.
The doctor smiled. "Yes, Anvitha, you've got the job. But there are some conditions. We can't tell you those—our senior will explain everything. After that, it's your decision."
Salary or not, that doesn't matter. What matters now is getting into the same place where Chaitanya works, she thought, thanking them and stepping out to the sofa again.
She waited nervously for almost an hour. Everyone kept referring to "the senior." Who was this senior? she wondered. Who could it be? But then, she reassured herself—I'll find out soon enough.
Right on time, the receptionist returned. "Miss Anvitha, the senior has arrived. Please come with me."
They went up to the seventh floor in the elevator—the hospital had seven floors. The receptionist said, "That room right there—it's his office. He's waiting for you. I have to go back to work. We'll meet later."
Suddenly a thought hit Anvitha—Could the senior be Chaitanya himself? The idea made her break into a sweat inside the air-conditioned lift. The receptionist noticed.
"Are you okay, ma'am? Want some water?"
"No, no, I'm fine," she replied, wiping her neck with the edge of her saree. Whatever happens, it will feel like a deer walking into a lion's den, she thought, hoping it wasn't Chaitanya.
She chuckled to herself—Came all the way to get revenge on Chaitanya and now I'm hoping not to see him! What is this? She couldn't understand her own feelings.
When the elevator door opened, they stepped out onto the seventh floor. The receptionist pointed to a room. "That's his office. Go ahead, he's waiting for you."
Her legs trembled. What if it really is Chaitanya? She thought of what he would do if he mistook her for Aadhira. Does he know Aadhira had a sister? What if he finds out she has a child? Thoughts raced through her mind as she walked toward the room.
She stood in front of the door and knocked softly.
"Yes, come in," came a majestic voice. As soon as she heard it, she opened the door—and froze again.
The room was massive. A U-shaped table took up most of the space, with chairs all around it. In the center sat a large chair, and in it, a stately old man. There was a nameplate in front of him.
Anvitha read it and was stunned. It said Athvaith.
She looked again. Is he Athvaith? Is he the owner of the Athvaith Group of Companies? His hair was completely white. He looked to be at least 65 years old, but sat upright, regal, and composed. The room was cool with central AC.
But Anvitha was sweating. She looked around again—the walls were covered with photographs. All of them showed someone participating in car races. In one, the man sat in a race car, lifting a trophy and kissing a medal. All the photos were large and prominent. But in none of them could she see the face clearly—the racer wore a helmet.
Who could it be? she wondered, still standing there.
The old man noticed. "What is it, Anvitha? You're just standing there? Come in," he said.
Startled by his voice, she walked in.
"Please sit," he said, pointing to a chair. She took one next to the round table.
For a while, he said nothing. He checked her certificates that were already on the table.
Then slowly looked up and asked her a question that hit her like a thunderbolt.
"Athvaith is my grandson. How is he doing, dear?"