ARIS
“Helloo Miss Laurent! Are we ready for the talk panel or are we still boycotting good speeches?”
“You know you’re insufferable, Miss Michela. Just because you find something motivating and I don’t doesn’t mean it goes the same for everyone. I, for one, am thrilled to attend this panel. There is going to be good exposure for our careers.”
“Finally, she has spoken and shown emotion for something that could be incredibly boring — unless there is a hottie on the panel! You know that could make our lectures so much better!”
“Ha! Ha! Ha! Very funny,” I said with a sarcastic grin. “Could you, for once, be serious about where we’re going and just remember why you chose this career in the first place? Life doesn’t always have to be about love, life partners, boyfriends, relationships, and cringiness. Now, my lady, if you could do the honours of calling us a cab?”
“Yes, yes! I got it.”
The panel was taking place in a fancy hotel, which was unlikely for tech people. I know it’s not justified to feel that something would be good just because it’s in a five-star hotel. But I don’t know — I had a good feeling about it.
As soon as we reached there, we both couldn’t shut our mouths. It felt like our college had reached a different level because when I saw the board, I was shocked. It was clear that the panelists were from all over the world. Just looking at the ambience — people in suits, robots everywhere, people experimenting and experiencing them, code languages printing — I just couldn’t believe my eyes.
At that moment, I felt my dream come true for just a second.
Our professor said, “Girls, stop lurking around and take your seats. The panel is about to start!”
There was a fifteen-minute waste of time by the host to introduce the panelists as though they were Hollywood celebrities. That did bug me a little, but I shoved that feeling inside because it was about to start.
As they announced the names, Michela had a lot of disappointment on her face. She looked at them and made a grinchy face as though she was left-swiping in her head.
But then entered, Mr. Kabir Mehta.
Light brown, slightly wavy hair. Sharp eyebrows. Long lashes resting over hazel eyes protected by his glasses. A chiseled jawline and well-shaped lips. He walked in as though the red carpet was just for him. His confidence shone through his body language — subtle, but not arrogant.
I was snapped out of it by Michela saying, “Could he be more like a hot shot brownie?”
She looked at me with a sparkle in her eye. “Yes, my manifestation came true. This conference is going to be interesting.”
I knew her. That look of admiration wasn’t something she could hide from me, and well, I was slightly grossed out just seeing that.
I looked ahead at the panel, but for the first time, I felt a little distracted. Then my brain hit me with reality, and I regenerated my focus to the original motive I came for.
There were four panelists, all of them well-renowned and known for changing the tech world. But I was just jealous of one — Mr. Mehta. He was about our age and had done so much innovation in robo-dynamics that it made my stomach turn.
Why haven’t I achieved this yet?
But then again, his father, Mr. Aarav Mehta, had done so much for the industry. Heck, I was a huge fan of his work. Of course he had done so much. When your last name opens doors before you even knock, innovation comes easier. Or at least that’s what I told myself.
The panel was very informative. It gave me a few hard checks on where I need to focus. Then it was time for the last speaker — Mr. Kabir Mehta.
He introduced himself and his work in the tech world, and while listening to him, I just had one thought:
Man, he knew his shit.
He was sweet enough to engage with the audience, and I was intrigued by the question he asked:
“If prediction becomes accurate enough, do we risk designing behavior instead of observing it?”
When he asked that, I was about to get up and answer, but was stopped by my supportive friend. The good thing was — he noticed my look and clearly knew that I disagreed.
There was a long silence, followed by applause because the host probably thought that this controversial question would turn into a war in the world of techies.
Later, we all dispersed and connected with the panelists and possible colleagues in the networking area with food and drinks.
I took a sip of my drink, and then the question popped behind me.
“You disagreed.”
I turned back and found those hazel eyes matching mine.
“Mr. Mehta, how are you this fine evening?” I greeted him professionally.
“I’m good, thank you for asking. Out of curiosity, may I ask why you disagreed?”
“Well, I… I disagreed with the framing,” I said, a little hesitantly.
“Pretty sure it’s the same thing, Miss…?”
“Aris. My name is Aris.”
“Right.”
We just stood there holding eye contact, maybe for more than a few seconds, and he gave me a slight smirk. Not sure if it was a smile or a smirk, but it felt like he was taking notes on the conversation.
Michela came next to me, practically screaming, and asked for details.
“OMG, what did you guys talk about? Whatever it was, I’m jealous.”
I gave her an annoyed look. She understood.
We enjoyed the rest of the evening speaking to people and exploring, and by the time I reached home, I was exhausted. But my brain wasn’t.
It kept replaying the panel. The question. The eye contact. I told myself I wasn’t thinking about him.
I brushed my teeth.
I changed.
I lay in bed.
And at exactly 12:00 a.m., I opened my laptop.
That’s when I found it.
A website where I could type in information about a person, and it would respond with compatibility, spark probability, and emotional impact.
Structured. Quantifiable. Controlled.
I loved the idea.
The adrenaline in my blood pumped, and there was a perfect prospect for this entry.
I stared at it for two minutes. Then shut the laptop.
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