The city was awake. It always was. The soft hum of engines, the distant chatter of pedestrians, the unending rush of vehicles—all the sounds of Mumbai blended into a symphony that I had grown accustomed to, yet never truly belonged to. I watched the world pass by from the backseat of the cab, the glass fogging up from my breath as I leaned against it, feeling the gentle hum of the city's heartbeat.

"Things were never the same after I came here," I thought to myself, staring at the skyscrapers piercing the morning haze. Mumbai—the city of dreams, they call it. For me, it was the city of sacrifices.

Life had its own cruel way of teaching lessons. I once believed that making others happy would eventually lead to my own happiness. So I hurt myself, willingly, without complaint. I killed my dreams every day, one by one, letting them bleed out quietly, hidden beneath the guise of duty and love. I let the world believe that I was happy. But deep inside, the person I used to be slowly withered away. I had become a stranger to myself.

My life revolved around people—around their dreams, their happiness, their ambitions. And what did I get in return? Loneliness, silence, and an overwhelming sense of emptiness. I was no longer myself. My days were painted with expectations and compromises, and every night I would convince myself that things would get better, that love would make everything perfect. I used to think if I had love by my side, then maybe all the broken pieces of my life would somehow fit together again.

But love? Love was the biggest lie of all. A beautiful facade, a mirage that promised everything and gave nothing. I had given my heart away, believing that the person I loved would be my salvation. I thought they were everything to me. But in the end, they were just another reason for the tears that I cried behind closed doors.

The cab slowed to a halt, and I looked up. My destination was in front of me: the BCCI office, a towering building of glass and steel that symbolized power, prestige, and a new beginning. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, feeling a rush of gratitude for Sneha.

"If it weren't for Sneha, I wouldn't be standing here, ready to start a new chapter of my life," I thought. She was more than a friend; she was my guardian angel, my guiding light in the darkness that had consumed me for so long.

As I stepped out of the cab, the events of the past few days flashed before my eyes—a whirlwind of emotions, revelations, and the courage that had brought me here.

Oh!! I forgot to introduce myself, Hi!! I'm Taani, Taani Shekhawat, and this is my story.

FLASHBACK

The scene shifts to a cozy café, where Taani sat across from Sneha. The warmth of the coffee between her hands does little to chase away the chill of the memories she's recounting.She's venting to Sneha, her closest friend, who listens intently. Sneha, dressed impeccably in a formal outfit, exudes the confidence that she lacks.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice filled with concern. "You look like you've been through hell."

And that's when it all came pouring out—the tears, the frustration, the anger. I told her everything. How the people I had trusted the most had let me down, how I was stuck in a cycle of hurt and betrayal, and how every time I tried to stand up for myself, I was pushed back down.

Sneha listened patiently, her eyes never leaving mine. When I finished, there was a moment of silence between us—a silence filled with understanding, pain, and an unspoken bond that had always kept us close.

"I'm shocked you had to go through all this," she finally said, her voice tight with anger and empathy. "You deserve so much better."

"I don't know how much more I can take," I admitted, my voice breaking. "I'm tired, Sneha. I've lost myself."

She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "You're stronger than you think. And you're not alone.You're not disposable."

I nodded, feeling a sliver of hope in her words. But I still felt lost, unsure of what my next step should be. That's when Sneha dropped a bomb.

"And that's why I recommended you for the post."

I looked on, confusion evident in my eyes. "The post? What do you mean?"

"The ICT team," Sneha explains, a small smile playing on her lips. "I've been managing Virat Kohli sir for years now, as you know. And when the BCCI head and chairperson asked the players' managers if they knew anyone qualified for the position of team manager, I thought of you. I've already set up an interview for you tomorrow."

My eyes widen in surprise. "Me? But I couldn't even handle a small D3 team. How am I supposed to manage a squad of classic players?"

Sneha laughs softly, shaking her head. "The ICT team is different. These are grown men who have seen real struggles and pain. They don't need a manager who knows everything—they need someone who understands them, who can lead with confidence.Those D3 teams are just overgrown teenagers with inflated egos. You'll do great. And that's what you need to work on—your self-confidence. If you ever want to handle your family business, you need to start with believing in yourself. Without that, no one will respect you."

*(Sneha's words strike a chord. I felt a flicker of hope but remained unsure. Sneha smiles, determined to boost her friend's morale.)*

She pauses, eyeing the girl's outfit critically. "It's time for a change, starting with how you present yourself. Your professionalism should reflect not just in your work, but also in how you carry yourself. You need to change your dressing sense a little. Come on, let's go shopping for some formal clothes. You've got an interview to ace tomorrow."

*(The flashback ends with the girl, hesitantly nodding, and Sneha dragging her towards the exit.)*

Back to the Present: Interview at BCCI

*I came out of my thoughts to back in the present, now sitting in the waiting area of the BCCI office. She fidgets slightly, adjusting her formal attire—a stark contrast from her usual look. Her phone shows it's 11:55 AM; her interview is scheduled for 12:00 PM.*

Receptionist : "Ma'am, please wait here for a moment while I inform the head that you've arrived."

*(I nodded, taking a deep breath, reflecting on how far I came in just a short span of time. Reminding me of Sneha's words.)*

"This is it. Just take it one step at a time." I exclaimed.

Receptionist: "They're ready for you now. Please follow me."

*( I stood up, smoothing out my outfit—a subtle but notable change reflecting Sneha's influence. I walked down the corridor, each step feeling like a journey toward reclaiming my sense of self. I entered the room where the interview panel waits, a mix of seasoned professionals who command respect.)*

*(The interview unfolds, filled with probing questions about my experience, my approach to management, and my vision for the team. I spoke with a newfound calm, drawing from my past, my failures, and my resilience. There's a vulnerability in my answers, but also a quiet strength. The panel listens intently, occasionally nodding, their expressions unreadable.)*

*As the interview concludes, the head of the panel offers a courteous smile.*

Panel Head: "Thank you for coming. We'll be in touch within the next two days via email."

*I thanked them, stepping out of the room with a mix of relief and anxiety. I don't know what the outcome will be, but for the first time in a long while, I feel like I took control of my narrative.*

*The scene ends with her walking out of the office, Mumbai's skyline in the background—a city full of dreams, challenges, and a chance for new beginnings.*