Arin called Astha into his office that afternoon. She walked in, glancing briefly at the papers on his desk, then at the printed version of her article in his hand.
“You could tighten the conclusion,” he said, sliding it toward her. “It’s strong, but there’s room for refinement.”
Astha barely looked at him. She picked up the document, scanned his suggested revisions, and nodded absentmindedly. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll work on it.”
Arin studied her, noticing how detached she seemed. There was no curiosity, no engagement, just a willingness to get the task done.
A few hours later, he called her back, pointing to another section of the same article. “This could use a more compelling transition,” he noted.
This time, she looked up, frowning slightly. “Didn’t we already go over this?” she asked, her tone controlled but edged with irritation. Still, she did not meet his gaze for more than a second.
“Yes, but on second read, I believe this would make it even sharper.” He leaned back, watching her reaction.
Astha inhaled, reining in whatever annoyance she felt, and nodded curtly. “Fine. I’ll adjust it.”
As she turned to leave, Arin observed her closely. Unlike most employees, she didn’t linger for small talk, didn’t show even a trace of nervousness around him. More importantly, he realized that apart from a handful of people in the office, she barely socialized. She worked efficiently, spoke only when necessary, and retreated into her own world the moment her tasks were complete.
It intrigued him.
Because in a world full of people, Astha Mehra walked alone.
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