Episode 3: The Hidden Empire

The car cruised silently through the heart of Mumbai, tinted windows hiding the girl who the world believed was missing. Smiksha sat with her dark sunglasses on, a silk scarf wrapped neatly around her head, lips pressed in a line, but her eyes—hidden as they were—carried storms. Her phone buzzed with news alerts and messages, but she ignored them all. Only one thought echoed in her heart: I need to breathe.

Dora, her secretary, was sitting beside her in complete silence. She knew better than to ask anything right now. She had been with Smiksha long enough to know when to stay quiet. Smiksha wasn’t just her boss. She was a secret—a living mystery known to the world as "Twinkle," a billionaire singer whose identity had never been revealed. Her voice was loved in every corner of the world, but her face was a ghost in fame’s castle.

Today, however, Smiksha wasn't thinking about her stardom. She was thinking about him. The boy at the airport. The one who played the violin like he was speaking to her soul. The one who said, “Tumhari aawaz mein kuch hai… kuch aisa jo duniya ko hilaa sakta hai.”

“Dora…” she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dora turned, instantly attentive. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Us ladke ka pata chala?”

Dora shook her head slowly. “Airport authorities denied access to the security footage. But I found one small clue. He had a ticket under the name ‘Ali B.’ No surname. No ID match.”

“Ali…” Smiksha whispered the name like it was a secret meant only for her ears. Her heart skipped a beat. She clenched her hands in her lap. Could it be just a coincidence?

The car came to a slow halt in front of a towering glass building—25 floors of power, wealth, and absolute secrecy. This was the heart of her empire. TENNO Corporation—an AI-tech and media firm that partnered with the biggest governments, artists, and companies worldwide. And yet, not a single soul in the media knew who owned it.

Smiksha stepped out. The security guards bowed silently, and the biometric doors slid open. She walked with the elegance of a queen, but inside her chest, her heart was pounding.

The elevator ride to Level Z was quiet except for the faint hum of technology. This was a level accessible only to her and Dora. It housed her music lab, her innovation room, her sanctuary. As the doors opened, she took a deep breath. The smell of lavender and cedarwood welcomed her.

Dora followed her inside and placed a thick, black folder on the central table.

“This is the Dragon Corporation file, and this,” Dora tapped the cover, “is about Mr. Ali Burnwal.”

Smiksha stared at the folder. For a moment, her hand trembled before she picked it up. Inside was a blurred photograph—back-facing, a young man in a crisp black suit, holding a violin.

Her breath caught.

“It’s him.”

Dora nodded. “We double-checked the flight manifest. He boarded your flight. He sat just two seats away. The same boy.”

Smiksha sat down slowly. Her past 24 hours had been an emotional rollercoaster. First, the airport washroom breakdown after overhearing her arranged marriage plan. Then that encounter with the violin boy. And now this—realizing that the same stranger was the CEO of Dragon Corporation, the most mysterious and fastest-growing rival company in Asia. A company that, just two days ago, had approached TENNO for a historic collaboration.

“Get me everything,” she said firmly. “His history, his vision, his team, his music background, everything. And prepare for a meeting.”

Dora looked hesitant. “You want to meet him as a Twinkle?”

“No.” Smiksha stood up, her chin lifted. “I’ll meet him as me. As Smiksha.”

“Understood,” Dora replied.

As she left the room, Smiksha paused in front of a grand wall of glass that overlooked the Arabian Sea. Her reflection stared back. She pulled off her glasses. The girl in the reflection had tired eyes, a cracked heart, and yet… an unbreakable will.

That night, Smiksha couldn’t sleep. The city lights blinked outside her window, but her thoughts were in the past. Why did that boy feel so familiar? Why did his words feel like they had been written in the deepest part of her diary?

In a flash of emotion, she got out of bed and walked to her rooftop garden. It was midnight, the air was cool and salty. Here, surrounded by night-blooming flowers and her favorite wind chimes, she felt safe.

She picked up her old notebook. The one where she wrote her first lyrics. Flipping through it, her eyes landed on an old poem:

“One day a melody will meet its match, A storm in silence, a violin’s catch.”

She stared at the words. She had written this when she was fifteen.

Was this fate?

The next morning, Dora walked into her chamber with urgency.

“Ma’am, Dragon Corporation has responded. Mr. Ali Burnwal will be in Mumbai tomorrow. He has accepted the meeting. 11 AM sharp.”

Smiksha nodded.

She got up, walked to her closet—not the one filled with glittery costumes, but the one with sharp suits, designer elegance, and quiet power. Today, she wouldn’t dress as the girl people sang for. Today, she would dress as the girl who built an empire in silence.

And as she looked into the mirror one last time, she whispered to herself:

“You are not just a voice. You are the storm behind the silence.”

The next day, as she waited in the grand conference room of TENNO, heart racing, the clock struck eleven.

The door opened.

And there he stood.

Mr. Ali Burnwal. Young. Calm. Charismatic. Eyes that held galaxies. And in his hand… again… was the violin case.

For a moment, time froze. Both of them just stared.

He smiled.

“So we meet again... Miss...?”

Smiksha extended her hand.

“Smiksha. Just Smiksha.”

He took it.