THE UNEXPECTED DESTINY

A soft breeze danced through the green paddy fields as birds chirped lazily in the golden morning light. The village of Pothanur, cradled between the arms of two slow-moving rivers, thrived in peaceful rhythms. Farmers tilled their land with steady hands, elders exchanged laughter under the neem trees, and children chased each other down dusty lanes. It was a place where time moved slower - a stark contrast to the bustling cities just hours away.

Anya Kumar stood near the edge of a vast paddy field, her eyes scanning the notes she had scribbled on her clipboard. She brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear as the sunlight glinted off her spectacles. Her salwar-kameez, light blue with small floral patterns, fluttered gently in the breeze. She was the image of serenity - until her brows furrowed in frustration.

"This data makes no sense," she mumbled to herself. "How can they report high yields with such little irrigation?"

The project given by her college had seemed simple on paper: visit a village, interview local farmers, and create a report on agricultural practices. But for Anya - an introvert with no close friends and zero field experience - this was nothing short of a nightmare.

The others in her class had grouped up and wandered off hours ago, snapping selfies and gossiping more than gathering any meaningful data. Anya, preferring to avoid the noise, had chosen a different path, slipping quietly into a more remote part of the village. She hadn't noticed how far she had wandered - not until the sky began to shift from golden to grey.

Her stomach growled, and a dull ache crept into her feet. She glanced around.

"Where is everyone?" she whispered, turning in slow circles.

The only answer came from the rustle of the crops swaying in the wind. Panic stirred in her chest. Her phone - her only source of connection - was in the van she had shared with her classmates. She had left it to avoid distractions. Now she was alone, lost, with dusk creeping in.

---

Meanwhile, in the heart of the village...

A black SUV rolled to a stop near the community hall. From it stepped a tall, sharply dressed man in his late twenties - Abhishek Singh, CEO of SM Company and one of the youngest billionaires in India. Dressed in a crisp white shirt and navy trousers, he radiated an aura of cold control. His watch gleamed with understated luxury, and his eyes - sharp, dark, and calculating - surveyed the area with practiced detachment.

Behind him trailed his assistant, nervously carrying files and murmuring reminders about the business meeting.

"We're already behind schedule," the assistant said. "Should I inform the project lead-?"

"No," Abhishek cut in, his tone sharp. "Let's get this over with."

To the villagers, he was an enigma - rich, powerful, distant. His reputation as a shrewd businessman preceded him. No one dared approach him casually. His mere presence made them straighten up and speak in formal tones. But Abhishek didn't care for attention. He had come to finalize a deal for a farming innovation project that could expand his company's influence in the agricultural sector.

The meeting concluded smoothly, and as evening fell, Abhishek declined his driver's offer to take the wheel. He wasn't drunk - just tired, a little buzzed, and irritated.

"I'll drive. You follow in the backup vehicle," he said, not leaving room for argument.

---

Back near the fields, Anya's feet dragged as she searched desperately for a way out. Her water bottle was empty. Her knees ached. She blinked hard to push back the tears threatening to spill.