The glass-walled lobby of Apex Cyber-Systems looked more like a spaceship than a corporate office. It was the “Holy Grail” of internships—only one spot was available for the summer, and it came with a stipend that could buy a small car and a guaranteed job offer upon graduation.

Navya Kapoor arrived fifteen minutes early, dressed in a sharp blazer and combat boots, her hair tied in a ponytail so tight it looked painful. She wanted to look Executive Disruptor.

She walked toward the only occupied chair in the waiting area, and her heart sank into her stomach.

Aarav.

He was wearing a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, looking like he’d just stepped out of a tech-noir film. He was leaning back, casually scrolling through a tablet.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Navya groaned, dropping her bag into the chair next to him. “Don’t you have a soul? Go apply at a bank or something. Leave the cutting-edge stuff to people with a pulse.”

Aarav didn’t look up from his tablet. “Apex doesn’t hire ‘personalities,’ Kapoor. They hire architects. I’m here to build their new firewall. You’re probably here to… what? Decorate their UI with glitter?”

“I’ll have you know my last penetration test found a Zero-Day vulnerability in a government database,” she snapped, leaning over to see his screen.

Aarav tilted the tablet away. “And yet, you’re still using a public-facing LinkedIn profile with your birthday and your dog’s name visible in your ‘About Me’ section. If I wanted to hack you, I wouldn’t even need a terminal. I’d just need a guess.”

Navya’s eyes narrowed. She pulled out her own phone, her thumbs becoming a blur.

“Oh, really? Speaking of security, I just looked at your public GitHub. You haven’t updated your two-factor authentication protocols on your main repo since 2024. You’re practically leaving the front door open and putting out a ‘Welcome’ mat for Russian bots.”

“I use a hardware security key, you amateur,” Aarav retorted, finally looking at her. “Digital 2FA is for people who trust their service providers. I trust nothing.”

“Including your own personality, apparently,” she fired back.

The tension was so thick the receptionist stopped typing to stare. They were leaning into each other’s personal space, eyes locked in a silent, digital duel.

“Mr. Malhotra? Ms. Kapoor?” a voice called out.

An HR manager stood at the door, looking mildly overwhelmed. “The committee has decided that since your resumes are… statistically identical and your competitive history is so ‘noted,’ we will be interviewing you simultaneously. Please, come in.”

They both froze.

“A group interview?” Navya whispered, her face pale. “With him?”

“This,” Aarav said, standing up and adjusting his collar, “is going to be a massive waste of my processing power.”

“The feeling is mutual,” she hissed, trying to trip him on the way to the door.

He didn’t stumble.

But he did “accidentally” let the heavy glass door swing back toward her face.

The war had just moved off-campus.