Prakriti

Prakriti exhaled only after the elevator doors closed.

Meetings never made her nervous—but she respected them. She respected spaces where ideas were tested and questioned. Today had been no different.

The man at the head of the table had spoken little.

That surprised her.

He listened without interrupting. When he asked questions, they weren’t meant to challenge her authority but to understand her reasoning. There was no impatience in his tone, no need to dominate the room.

She noticed how he let silence exist.

When others spoke over her, he waited. When she paused, he didn’t rush her. That kind of professionalism was rare. And quietly reassuring.

As she walked out of the building, Prakriti replayed the meeting—not for mistakes, but for clarity. She had been heard. Fully.

She didn’t know much about him beyond his name and position. And she didn’t need to.

Still, as she stepped into the afternoon light, one thought stayed with her longer than expected:

Some people don’t demand respect.
They simply carry it.