----
Devansh Joshi
"Ma! Papa! Come here right now!"
I stared at my laptop, blinking at the email on the screen.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Nope.
It was still there.
From: pmo.appointments@gov.in
Subject: Interview Invitation - Personal Assistant to the Prime Minister (Private Residence)
"What happened?" Mom rushed into my room, followed closely by Dad. "Why are you yelling like the house is on fire?"
I pointed at the screen.
"Someone's trying to scam me."
Dad adjusted his glasses.
Mom read the email.
Then...
She smiled.
Actually smiled.
"Oh, thank God."
I slowly turned my chair toward her.
"...Ma."
"What did you do?"
She gave me an awkward grin.
"So..."
"You remember that QR code at yesterday's Youth Conclave?"
My eyes narrowed.
"The feedback form?"
"Well..."
She looked anywhere but at me.
"I may have borrowed your phone..."
"...uploaded your updated résumé..."
"...and registered you in their youth talent database."
I stared at her.
Silence.
"MA!"
She flinched.
"I thought they'd maybe keep your profile for future opportunities!"
"You uploaded my résumé to the Prime Minister's Office?"
"I didn't know they'd actually call!"
Dad burst into laughter.
I looked at him in disbelief.
"Papa, this isn't funny."
"I'm twenty-three."
"I resigned from my job three days ago."
"I embarrassed half the country on live television."
"And now the PMO wants to interview me?"
Dad rested a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
"Scammers don't send verified government emails."
"The Prime Minister noticed you yesterday."
"Maybe his office did too."
"What if I completely mess this up?"
He smiled.
"Then you mess it up."
"But you go."
"Now put on your best suit."
"And stop doubting yourself."
Kabir Mehra
"You terminated Mishra?"
Anand stared at the file on my desk.
"Yes."
"He has served your family for five years."
"I know."
"And we're conducting emergency interviews today?"
"Correct."
He hesitated.
"May I ask why?"
I finally looked up.
"No."
Anand understood the dismissal.
He quietly left.
The moment the door shut, I leaned back in my chair.
Mishra hadn't betrayed me.
Not really.
He had merely spoken too freely around my uncle.
That wasn't why I removed him.
The truth was infinitely worse.
Yesterday morning, I hadn't known Devansh Joshi existed.
Today...
I had rearranged my private staff just to create a vacancy.
It was reckless.
Unethical.
Dangerous.
Yet every rational argument dissolved the moment I remembered those fearless dark eyes.
I wanted him close.
Where I could see him.
Protect him.
Know he was safe.
The connecting door opened.
Mother entered.
Kiara followed behind her, casually bouncing a tennis ball.
"Kabir."
Mother folded her hands.
"I heard you're appointing a new residential assistant."
"I've already spoken to the Cabinet Secretary."
"His daughter has an Oxford degree."
"She's highly qualified."
"And politically beneficial."
"Hire her."
I didn't even pretend to consider it.
"No."
Her expression hardened.
"A young woman in this residence would improve your public image."
"It suggests stability."
"It suggests marriage."
"It suggests nothing."
My voice turned cold.
"I hire based on competence."
"Not political convenience."
She stepped closer.
"You need a respectable young woman around you."
Before I could answer, Kiara caught the tennis ball.
Smack.
She stepped between us.
"Actually..."
She smiled innocently.
"I think a boy assistant is much safer."
Mother blinked.
"What?"
"If Papa hires a pretty lady..."
Kiara counted on her fingers.
"People will gossip."
"They'll say she's secretly dating him."
"They'll write dramatic news articles."
She shrugged.
"But if he hires a man..."
"No one cares."
"So obviously that's the smarter choice."
I almost smiled.
Almost.
Mother looked horrified.
"Kiara!"
"Where do you learn these things?"
I stood.
"That's enough."
My voice echoed through the room.
"Leave."
"The interviews are about to begin."
---

Devansh Joshi
I was absolutely out of my league.
The waiting lounge inside the Prime Minister's residence looked more intimidating than my entire college campus.
Every candidate looked ridiculously qualified.
Former diplomats.
Corporate executives.
UPSCtoppers.
Meanwhile...
Me.
Tech guy.
Professional troublemaker.
Occasional emotional disaster.
Fantastic.
A security officer opened the doors.
"Devansh Joshi."
"The Prime Minister will see you now."
I swallowed.
Straightened my blazer.
Walked inside.
His study was enormous.
Books lined every wall.
Yet I barely noticed any of it.
Kabir Mehra sat behind his desk.
Composed.
Powerful.
Completely unreadable.
"Sit."
His deep voice made my heartbeat stumble.
I obeyed.
He studied me for several long seconds.
Without saying a word.
Then-
"Why should I hire a rebel?"
Straight to the point.
No résumé.
No qualifications.
No formalities.
Just...
That.
I leaned back slightly.
"Because rebels tell the truth."
His eyebrow lifted.
I continued.
"When everyone around powerful people starts saying what they want to hear..."
"...someone has to say what they need to hear."
"I'd rather lose my job than lie to your face."
Silence.
His gaze never left mine.
For a split second...
The corners of his mouth moved.
Almost a smile.
Then it disappeared.
"We're done."
I blinked.
"That's it?"
"Yes."
"You may wait outside."
I stood.
Completely confused.
That had either gone spectacularly well...
Or spectacularly badly.
---

Kabir Mehra
The study door closed.
I immediately picked up the intercom.
"Anand."
"Yes, Sir?"
"Cancel the remaining interviews."
A pause.
"...Sir?"
"Complete Devansh Joshi's security clearance."
"He joins tomorrow at eight."
Another pause.
"Understood, Prime Minister."
I ended the call.
There it was again.
That unfamiliar feeling.
Excitement.
For the first time in years...
Something had disrupted the carefully controlled order of my life.
And I had willingly invited it inside.
---

Kiara Mehra
Papa came into the dining room looking exactly the way he always did.
Serious.
Grumpy.
Scary.
I knew better.
He'd hired the olive-shirt boy.
The table was covered with healthy food.
Papa sat opposite me.
"Finish your lunch."
"I checked today's tutoring report."
"You lost focus twice."
"Eat first."
"Lecture later."
I smiled.
Once the staff left, I leaned across the table.
"You hired him."
Papa calmly cut another piece of grilled fish.
"His name is Devansh."
"And yes."
"He was the most suitable candidate."
I tried very hard not to laugh.
"Obviously."
"For operational security."
He looked at me.
"Exactly."
"Mhm."
I nodded dramatically.
"Very professional."
He sighed.
"Why are you encouraging this?"
"You're six."
"You shouldn't even understand these things."
I stopped smiling.
Because this wasn't a joke anymore.
"When Grandmother talks to you..."
"You look empty."
"When Uncle talks to you..."
"You look angry."
"But yesterday..."
I smiled softly.
"You looked happy."
"I haven't seen that face since Mumbai."
I reached across the table and held his hand.
"I don't care if Devansh is a boy."
"I just want my Dadda back."
For a long moment...
Papa didn't speak.
Then he gently squeezed my hand.
His voice returned to its usual calm authority.
"Finish your lunch."
"And then go take your afternoon nap."
"I still have a country to run."
I nodded.
But as I walked toward my room, I couldn't stop smiling.
For the first time in years...
Papa finally had something to look forward to.
----
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