Chapter 4: Secrets, Sparks, and a Locked Folder
Narrated by Aanya Kapoor
If someone had told me two weeks ago that I'd be walking through my neighborhood at 9 PM with a paneer kulcha in hand, made by a guy I met through a sandwich delivery gone wrong, I would've said: "Clearly, you've overdosed on startup stress and masala chai."
But here I was.
Kulcha in hand.
Rohan walking beside me, one hand casually brushing mine every now and then—each time sending a traitorous flutter up my spine.
And I was smiling. A stupid, ridiculous, possibly unhinged smile.
We didn't talk much after that kulcha moment. There was something oddly intimate about silence with him. Not awkward. Just easy.
But even as we walked, that thing inside me—my inner skeptic, my mental bodyguard with a clipboard and trust issues—kept tapping my shoulder like, "Hey. Too good. What's the catch?"
And right on cue…
My phone buzzed.
1 New Email: From anonymous@nudge.ai
Subject line:
"Do you really know who you're building with?"
I stopped walking.
"What is it?" Rohan asked, noticing the sudden freeze.
I stared at the screen.
There was no message body. Just a single file attachment.
"R_Anand_Pitch_2019.pdf"
No context.
No sender history.
No signature.
I glanced at him. "Can I ask you something weird?"
"Sure."
"Did you ever go by the name R. Anand?"
He blinked. "Yeah, that's my full name. Rohan Anand."
I hesitated. "And did you ever pitch for a mental health AI app before?"
He stilled. Just for a second. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face.
Then he shrugged. "Long time ago. It didn't go anywhere."
My stomach did a little somersault.
"What was it called?" I asked, testing.
He didn't hesitate. "Clarity. Why?"
I didn't answer.
Because that file name?
It matched a prototype I'd heard about years ago.
A mental health assistant with voice-based sentiment tracking.
One that was eerily similar to what I was building now with Nudge.
And it had disappeared—vanished—right before launch.
I waited until I was alone in my apartment before opening the file.
Simba curled up next to me, purring without judgment.
I clicked.
A slick pitch deck opened. Clean design. Smart branding. Charts. Wireframes. And right there on slide 7, in bold font:
"Emotional nudging and micro-coaching based on vocal tone and phrasing patterns."
My heart sank.
Because that was the exact phrasing I'd used in my own investor pitch last quarter.
Except… I hadn't written it alone.
Ritesh had helped.
And Ritesh? Knew Rohan.
They were batchmates in college.
And suddenly, a dozen little things started to click.
The way Rohan always asked about my user feedback system.
The oddly specific ideas he threw around.
The perfect timing of our meet-cute.
Was it a coincidence?
Or was I being… played?
The next morning, I woke up to a text from Rohan.
Rohan: "You free tonight? I found a place with garlic kulchas and Bollywood trivia night. It's criminal that you haven't seen DDLJ more than once."
I stared at it.
This was supposed to be fun. Flirty. Messy, sure, but honest.
Now there was a question hanging in the air:
Was this real?
Or just a very charming infiltration?
I spent most of the day trying to focus on Nudge dev updates and failed spectacularly.
By 4 PM, I had opened the pitch deck seven times. Simba even tried to sit on the laptop to stop me.
So naturally, when 6:30 rolled around… I said yes.
Because if I was going to get answers, I needed to look him in the eye.
We met at a rooftop cafe decked out in fairy lights and old Bollywood posters. There were tables with QR codes for trivia rounds and kulchas being passed around like hot gossip.
Rohan waved from a corner table, already holding two menus.
"You came," he said, standing as I approached.
"I wanted food," I said. "And answers."
His smile faltered, just a bit. "Uh-oh."
"I got an email," I said, sitting. "From someone anonymous. With your old pitch deck attached."
He didn't move.
"And it looks a lot like Nudge," I added.
Silence.
Then finally, he said, "I knew you'd find it eventually."
The table between us turned to ice.
"You knew?" I asked.
He nodded, slow. "Ritesh told me about Nudge last year. Before your demo. I didn't know it was you back then. But when I delivered that sandwich, and you slammed the door in my face, I remembered."
"Remembered what?"
"That you were the girl from our first-year product showcase. The one who did a machine-learning breakup predictor."
My jaw dropped. "How do you even remember that?"
"Because it predicted my breakup. Accurately."
I blinked.
"I built Clarity after that," he said. "Inspired by your ridiculous app."
"So why not tell me?" I demanded. "Why sneak around? Why flirt your way in like some B-grade villain with good hair?"
He looked genuinely hurt. "I didn't plan any of this. The sandwich thing was real. I just… I didn't know how to bring it up without making it worse."
"And now?"
"Now I'm here, telling you the truth."
I studied him.
He looked nothing like a villain.
But secrets change things.
Even secrets that come with homemade kulchas.
We didn't finish dinner.
Too much tension. Too many questions.
I left early, head buzzing, heart caught between betrayal and understanding.
When I got home, I found another email waiting.
From: anonymous@nudge.ai
Subject: "You're not the only one he's watching."
And attached?
A screenshot.
Rohan's GitHub page.
With a private repo titled: "Nudge 2.0 - Backup."
Password protected.
Locked.
But undeniably real.
Teaser for Chapter 5:
A confrontation.
A confession.
And a line that, once crossed, changes everything