Nitya's handshake was firm and confident, a slight, knowing smile on her lips. "Nitya Banerjee," she introduced herself. Ayan's eyes roamed over Nitya's features, noting the subtle shifts in her expression and posture. His gaze lingered just a moment too long, catching the soft curve of her cheek and the elegant arch of her brow. He blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. For a brief instant, the professional veneer wavered, his composure slipping as he adjusted to the unexpected revelation that Nitya was a transgender woman.

Nitya’s confident smile remained unshaken. Her warm and knowing eyes met his with a steady gaze, suggesting she was fully aware of the impact of her presence. Ayan cleared his throat and straightened, masking his initial reaction with practiced ease. The moment passed, but the subtle shift in their interaction hung in the air like an unspoken truth.

"Nice to meet you," Ayan replied, his voice steady.

Nitya's eyes twinkled with warmth. "We're taking good care of you, I hope?"

"Yes, very well. Thank you," Ayan responded sincerely.

Nitya’s smile widened. "Is your fiancée enjoying herself here?"

"Yes, everything is amazing," Ayan assured her.

Nitya chuckled softly, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "That's our secret. We kill people with love, haha. What about you? What's your secret?"

Ayan smiled in return, though his eyes remained cautious. "Nothing much," he said.

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. "Your article shook the city. It has the power to change perspectives. Such detailed investigation—there must be a secret to it?"

Ayan’s smile was enigmatic. "Well, I just enjoy the work. I spend most of my time immersed in it."

Nitya’s gaze grew more intense. "How do you feel, knowing that those you write about are often far from the truth you present?"

"It takes some time to get used to," Ayan admitted.

Nitya’s laughter was soft but rich with understanding. "But it pays well, doesn't it?"

"Yes," Ayan agreed, his eyes meeting hers.

Nitya shifted her posture slightly as if preparing for a deeper dive. "I've heard a lot of praise for your work on the Guru’s case report. So, was he not guilty?"

"I didn’t say that," Ayan countered, his voice measured.

"Then what did you say?" Nitya pressed.

"I began writing, trying to think beyond right and wrong," Ayan replied, his gaze steady.

Nitya’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I'm sure there's a secret you're not sharing."

Ayan leaned back slightly, his expression contemplative. "My job is to make people believe in what I believe, to find what I uncover, write about it, and present it. What's right or wrong is for them to decide. I don't need to do anything beyond that."

Ayan cradled the glass of whisky, the rich amber liquid swirling gently as he savored the complex, smoky aroma. His eyes met Nitya’s, a subtle smile playing on his lips. "I love that feeling," Ayan said, his voice steady and reflective. "That feeling of winning. When they believe in what I make them see."

Nitya’s expression softened, a genuine warmth in her eyes. "I love it too. I love the way you think." She gestured to a polished bottle of exclusive whisky, its label catching a sliver of light. "Whisky or brandy?"

"Whisky," Ayan replied, his tone decisive.

Nitya poured a measure of the deep golden liquid into a glass, the gentle clink of the bottle against the crystal punctuating the quiet of the room. She handed him the glass with a fluid, practiced motion. "Do you like it?" she asked, her gaze fixed on him with an expectant curiosity.

Ayan took a sip, the warmth of the whisky spreading through him. "Hmm, good," he said, his appreciation evident in the way he lingered over the taste.

Nitya’s smile widened. "Walk with me," she said, her tone inviting yet commanding.

The terrace stretched out like a gleaming oasis above the bustling cityscape, a reflecting pool stretching right to the edge, its surface perfectly still. A narrow walkway cut through the pool, leading straight to the edge, and the city lay far below, a vast expanse of buildings and streets half-hidden in the hazy glow of midday.

Nitya took a moment to appreciate the view, her gaze sweeping over the expanse of the city below. She sipped from her glass, the liquid glistening in the sunlight. Her voice carried a note of quiet contemplation. "How does it feel? Some people go a little mad the first time they see this."

Ayan stood beside her, the cool breeze brushing against his face. He looked out at the horizon, the city's enormity a breathtaking spectacle. "Beautiful and serene," he replied, his tone reflective.

Nitya smiled, clearly satisfied with his response. "Perfect." She took another sip of her whisky, the glass catching the light as she lowered it.

A pause lingered between them, filled only by the distant hum of the city below. Then, Nitya shifted her focus back to Ayan. "Let's do your interview now. Tell me about your family. What do your parents do?"

Ayan's gaze remained fixed on the view, his expression distant as he began to speak. "I never got the chance to know my mother. She passed away two years after I was born." He continued, his voice steady but tinged with an undercurrent of nostalgia. "My father runs a small café in the hills, serving tea and coffee. It wasn’t an easy journey from working in the fields to opening a café."

Nitya’s eyes followed his face intently. "What’s he like, as a person?"

Ayan's thoughts seemed to wander back to his father’s life. "He’s a tough guy. Moving from farm work to running a café wasn’t easy, but he made it work. On weekends, he volunteers at a local spiritual foundation near the temple. So, he spends his time between those two places."

Nitya nodded thoughtfully. "And you? What about you? Any books, teachings, or temple visits?"

Ayan’s eyes lingered on the horizon, a contemplative silence between them. "I got free from all these ties very early," he said softly.

Nitya’s expression turned thoughtful. "So, no gods, no devotion? Just stories and the power of words?"

Ayan’s lips curled into a faint smile. "Something like that. My father believes in prayers. I believe in perspectives."

Nitya raised her glass in a silent toast, her eyes gleaming with something between admiration and intrigue. "Then let’s see where your perspective takes us."

The city stretched endlessly before them, a silent witness to their conversation. And somewhere in its depths, a storm was waiting to rise.