CHAPTER 4
A week later, Yamini stood in front of the chief minister’s office building.
“Yamini Dhar,” she said.
A guard checked her appointment email against a printed list. Another checked her ID and equipment bag before letting her inside.
As soon as she reached the second checkpoint, a woman in a charcoal blazer approached her.
“Miss Dhar?” she asked, eyes sweeping over Yamini.
Yamini was once again dressed in a cotton kurta set and practical shoes. Her wavy hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, her face bare except for a tinted lip balm. She wore minimal accessories with just a watch and earrings. The camera bag was slung over her shoulder.
“Yes, I’m Yamini Dhar.”
The woman looked relieved. “I’m Aditi from the PR team. I’m glad you are on time. Please follow me.”
Aditi led her down a wide corridor. Everything smelled faintly of polished wood and air conditioning. At the far end, six more security staff stood outside a set of glass doors.
Aditi turned. “Just a quick briefing before we go in.”
They stopped by a small seating area. Aditi opened a slim folder and spoke in a low, efficient voice.
“This is a closed meeting. No press. No live updates. Official photos only. Our priority is to capture formal moments like handshakes, seated discussions, signing, and any announcements. You will stay to the right side of the room behind the marked line. No flash.”
Yamini nodded. “Understood.”
Aditi led her toward the glass doors.
A guard checked Yamini’s bag. Another ran a scanner over her camera body before they opened the door and waved her through.
The conference room was large, bright, and intimidating in the way official spaces always were. Long table. Microphones. Name placards. A national emblem on the far wall. Two flags in the corner. Men and women in formal clothing sat in tight clusters, murmuring quietly.
At the center of the table sat the gray-haired chief minister she had seen at the event a week earlier.
He spoke in low tones to the man beside him, then paused to glance at his watch.
Seated beside him was Tina, the chief minister’s daughter.
Unlike at the event, Tina was now dressed in a professional cream suit with pearl earrings. She was gripping a folder tightly.
Yamini moved to the right side of the room, where a thin strip of tape marked the boundary.
A couple of other press photographers were already stationed there.
Nodding in acknowledgment, she stood next to them.
She took out her camera and adjusted the settings.
She took a few test frames of the room, capturing the minister’s profile, a couple of senior officials, and a woman in a cream sari who appeared to be an advisor.
Just as she wondered if the lighting would dim when the meeting began, she felt a shift in the room.
People quietened and sat up straighter before looking toward the entrance.
Yamini lowered her camera slightly and turned.
The door opened wider, and she saw two more guards taking positions.
A moment later, she saw him.
Bharat Singh Jogra.
Yamini’s breath caught.
Oh my God. Why is he here!
He was once again in a dark suit and sunglasses. And he walked into the room like he owned every inch of the building.
Yamini swallowed hard and lifted the camera automatically, the way her hands always moved when her brain tried to panic.
She clicked pictures while his entourage followed—two assistants, four security men, all scanning the room with sharp focus. They spread out like a shield without anyone giving an obvious command.
She noticed that Bharat Jogra didn’t glance around like a man arriving at a meeting. He moved with purpose straight toward the main table.
Everyone in the room rose.
The chief minister stood as well, smoothing his jacket as if this wasn’t his office anymore.
Bharat stopped near the minister and extended his hand.
The minister shook it with a bright smile. “Your Highness. Thank you for coming.”
Yamini’s stomach dropped as realization dawned.
The heightened security was for him.
The chief minister gestured toward the seat beside him. “Please,” he said, deferential. “Shall we begin?”
Bharat inclined his head once and took his place at the table. Papers were passed. Chairs scraped softly. Conversation resumed in measured tones.
Yamini lowered her camera slightly, her fingers stiff.
Why is he here?
Her mind scrambled for logic, clinging to it. Bharat was a steel magnate. Environmental clearances, sustainability optics, and ministry approvals were a part of his world. She was the one who didn’t belong in places like this.
You are here for a job.
She was a photographer. People didn’t pay attention to photographers.
And the man who ignored even the most important people wouldn’t bother looking at the photographer.
Exhaling slowly, she forced her shoulders to relax.
She lifted the camera again, retreating into the familiar safety of her lens.
Through the viewfinder, Bharat Jogra was just another subject. Another assignment she would finish and walk away from.
Still, her heartbeat refused to slow.
Her pulse remained uncomfortably high as she moved along the edge of the room, camera raised, her instincts taking over even as her nerves refused to settle.
She adjusted angles, framed faces, captured gestures, and the practiced rhythm of her work anchored her when her thoughts threatened to spiral.
Don’t think about him. Just do your job.
Just like in the previous event, he seemed utterly indifferent to the people around. His sunglasses were on the table, but his attention remained fixed on the document in his hand. His posture was straight, and he looked commanding without effort.
The meeting moved forward.
“The protests outside your plants are unfortunate,” the chief minister said, his tone smooth and reassuring. “But we recognize the immense contribution your steel industries have made. Development. Infrastructure. Employment for thousands of families.”
Several heads nodded around the table.
Bharat listened in silence, his hands folded neatly on the polished surface, expression unreadable as he reviewed the document.
“We are keen to work with you,” the minister continued eagerly.
“A qualified environmental team from the government can collaborate closely with your organization. Together, we can create a comprehensive report, address concerns, reassure the public, and silence unnecessary opposition. My daughter Tina will lead the team.”
Tina, the minister’s daughter, was an environmental consultant.
Yamini glanced briefly toward the minister’s side of the table, where Tina sat composed and attentive, but frequently glancing at Bharat. It wasn’t subtle. The setup hovered in the air, thinly disguised as policy.
Her gaze slid back to Bharat.
If he noticed, he gave no sign. No shift in posture. No flicker of expression. He responded only with a short, precise acknowledgment. “My teams have been directed to cooperate.”
He sounded cold and formal.
The disappointment on Tina’s face was fleeting but unmistakable. She most likely expected Bharat Jogra to be personally involved. “Of course, Your Highness. But… we will need your cooperation too in getting a few pictures for the PR campaign.”
Yamini’s fingers tightened around her camera.
Environmental team. PR campaign. Collaborate.
Realization hit her hard.
Oh my God.
She realized that the six-month PR project she had recently signed was for Bharat Jogra’s steel industries.
She had read through the contract, but the client’s name wasn’t mentioned. She hadn’t cared because all she could see was the huge amount she was to be paid for the job.
And now, all her plans to rent a studio and begin all over seemed like a dream slipping away from her.
Her hands trembled as she continued to take photos. The meeting continued with more discussion, but her mind raced with implications.
Maybe it will be okay.
He won’t be around during the project. His team will take care of things.
And no one in his team or the outside world knew about what happened between them.
Hope grew inside her.
The meeting wrapped up in exactly an hour. Chairs scraped back as everyone rose, instinctively waiting.
Bharat stood.
She waited for him to put on his sunglasses and leave.
He held the sunglasses in his hand, but his gaze lifted.
Intense golden-brown eyes locked onto hers across the room.
Yamini froze.
Her heart slammed hard against her ribs.
She forgot to breathe. She stood frozen, her fingers numb around the camera strap.
For a long, suspended second, he simply looked at her.
Then, without a word, he turned away.
He reached up, slid his sunglasses back into place, and walked out of the conference room with security and assistants falling into step behind him.
The door closed softly behind him.
Only then did Yamini release the breath she’d been holding, her lungs burning as reality rushed back in.
She stared at the space he’d occupied, her heart still racing.
Did he recognize me?