Sometimes later, that evening. St. Mary's college where Sakshi wanted to be. The college buzzed with students and speakers. Career talks, business panels, motivational stories—the usual. But the chief guest was the reason she was here, which she was not supposed to.
" So ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the guest of honor, Mr Roy Shinghania."
Applause filled the hall. Roy walked up, calm and practiced, thanked the faculty, talked about returning to his old college… then started his speech.
"Alright," he said, almost casual. " It's different when you come back to your alma mater after becoming whatever you wanted to become, as a chief guest in their annual function, giving a speech about how I became… whatever you think I am. And how I reach that."
He shrugged.
"The thing is, you can't. Nobody can."
People laughed at first. Then they realized he wasn't joking.
"I'm not joking. You can follow every step I took, you can wake up at the same time I did, read the same books, take the same jobs… you will still not be me. You won't even come close."
He tapped the mic once, thinking.
"And before you assume—no, that's not arrogance. That's math. That's probability. That's reality."
The hall went quiet.
" I run a company that isn't supposed to exist. Not at this scale. Not this fast. We've broken more records than I can count—hiring, assets, transactions, insurance, growth, etc. We manage more money than some countries. There isn't a blueprint for that, there is no blueprint of success. You can't reverse-engineer it."
He paused, looking around the room like he was scanning each face.
"So how did I get here? Simple."
A beat.
"I didn't follow anyone."
He leaned one hand on the podium.
"I had no idols. No role models. No plan to copy. I didn't wait for someone to tell me what the right move was. I made my own route, one decision at a time, even when it made no sense to anyone else."
He smirked a little.
"When I graduated from this college—yes, this same one—I didn't have top grades. I still got seven job offers. Goldman was one of them. Not because of marks. Because I was worth betting on."
Another pause. He let the silence stretch.
"But here's the only thing I'll give you. Three questions. They work in every situation, every mess, every crossroad. 'Why.' 'Who.' 'When.'"
He lifted three fingers.
"Why: the reason you're bleeding for something.
Who: who you're doing it for.
When: how long you think you're willing to keep going."
He folded his fingers back down.
"These aren't rules. They're not advice. They're not some motivational nonsense. I made them for myself. You'll need your own."
He stepped away from the mic, almost done.
"And that's the real point. Don't follow my story. Don't follow anyone's story. Build your own. That's why my company's tagline is what it is."
He gave a small nod.
"Horseman. Make your own."
And he walked off, not waiting for applause—even though the room erupted a second later.
He kept going, the whole room locked onto him. Sakshi recorded parts of it quietly, her new modified camera on one hand, other holding a free drink, sipping it quietly, looking at Roy's leaving figure, calculating his character from her eyes, watching him leave.
After Roy finished—without taking questions—the host scrambled back onto the stage to continue the event. Roy slipped out through the back exit.
Sakshi, emptying her drink, rushed after him. His guards blocked her instantly. She flashed her ID, trying to talk, but they kept pushing her back. Roy spotted the badge and saw a familiar news agency's logo on it. He signaled them to stop and let her through.
She stepped close, flicked on her recorder, gave a fake name, and said she was from Drishyam News. He didn't mind answering.
" Sir, what's the answer for those questions?"
He frowned. " What?"
" I mean when you join Goldman, what were those answers?"
" Are you new?" He asked.
" Yes sir, how do you know?" and waved his hand.
" Just guess, and that's private." He shifted, ready to leave.
" Can you say anything about your life after graduation? Many people know how difficult it is for young people like us."
He eased up a little.
" It was. searching for a job. Before the Goldman stuff, I was a mess, didn't even have a proper roof in my head, and in this time period, I met my three business partners, and it was quite productive."
She didn't let him slide.
" Sir, you never addressed your business partners as friends ever. Even when you know them from your dark times."
He gave her a dry look.
" I don't think it'll be in my wishlist to announce my personal reasons in a newspaper would I."
He started closing his car door.
" Sir, what's your view on the disaster zone?"
He paused.
" It should be left alone."
" And did you hear about the government plans for reusing it as memorabilia. Are you against it or not?"
" No comment."
His guards began to move her aside again.
She tried one last shot.
" Sir, please, what's your view on the water shortage these days?"
He looked at her—and his expression softened into a friendly smile. He waved his guards off.
He opened the car door for her, offering her a seat. She declined. His men tensed, hands drifting to their holsters, but he stopped them with a tiny gesture she didn't catch.
" So miss priya sharma, is that possible you are related to miss supriya, your name sounds familiar, and I heard she has a sister as well."
She lied smoothly. He chuckled.
" Well, we have an eager one."
He leaned slightly, lowering his voice.
" Well, I would like to hear a story, I'm sure you'll have your answers in them. Can I say that?"
She nodded. His security straightened behind him, palms resting on their weapons.
" In Greek mythology, there is a story of a father and son. They were locked in a cell on Mount Olympus surrounded by huge valleys and oceans, the father was a craftsman, and his son's name was Ikaris."
" His father, being a craftsman, crafted two pairs of wings made out of wax from the candles, and gave one pair to his son, so that they could fly away from the cell. He gave his son advice: don't fly above the clouds, and don't fly too high, or the Vax will melt. But the curious son didn't listen, his excitement of getting free, flying and his love and passion to see the sun up close, makes him fly higher. And the higher he flies, the more excited he becomes. But soon, he was close to the sun, and the Wax melted and he fell to the abyss of the ocean. Never to be seen again. And the father, who gave him the wings, regretted his decision ever since. Moral of the story. Don't fly too high, your wings will burn . I hope you understand what I'm trying to say."
"…Moral of the story. Don't fly too high, your wings will burn. I hope you understand what I'm trying to say."
Her shoulders stiffened. She understood perfectly.
She nodded once and walked away.
As soon as she left, Roy looked at his men.
" Follow her, and get everything on her. And if it's too much. You know."
The car rolled out into the night.