11
The soft golden light of the Dubai morning filtered into the apartment, spilling across the marble floors and glinting off the glass windows.
Vaani stirred, stretching quietly in bed before slipping off the covers.
The quietness of the home still felt a little foreign-Dhruv's side of the bed was empty, though she figured he'd already gone for a run or was buried in emails somewhere.
She made her way to the bathroom, the cool tiles against her feet grounding her as she began her morning routine.
The shower was warm, a steady rhythm washing away the last traces of sleep.
She tied her hair up loosely in a bun after drying it, wiped the mirror with her palm, and began getting ready for the day.
She chose a simple short kurta in soft powder blue, pairing it with fitted jeans.
Casual, comfortable, and presentable. Her fingers moved automatically as she applied kajal, a few coats of mascara, and a clear pink lip gloss.
Her routine was minimal, but enough to make her feel fresh and put together.
As she stepped back into the room, adjusting the collar of her kurta, her eyes fell on the small black box still on the bedside table-the mangalsutra Dhruv had given her the night before.
She hesitated for a moment.
Then she walked over, opened the box quietly, and gently picked up the necklace. It was delicate, lightweight-nothing flashy-and that's exactly what she liked about it. With a soft sigh, she clasped it around her neck, letting it settle just above her collarbone. It felt... subtle. But significant.
As she turned toward the mirror to give herself a once-over, her gaze caught something else.
A faint streak of sindoor-just a remnant, barely visible now-still nestled in the parting of her hair, a trace from the wedding rituals just days ago. She stared at it for a moment, surprised it was still there.
Without thinking too hard about it, she didn't wipe it away.
Instead, she reached for her perfume, spritzing a bit behind her ears and onto her wrists. She pulled her work bag from the hook near the door, adjusting the strap on her shoulder and checking once more to make sure she had everything she needed-wallet, phone, charger, keys.
Satisfied, she opened the bedroom door and stepped out.
The mangalsutra moved slightly with her stride, catching the light every now and then, and she didn't even realize how many times her fingers found themselves brushing against the little pendant as she made her way to the kitchen.
The apartment was quiet-too quiet, Vaani thought-as she padded into the kitchen, her anklets making the faintest sound against the marble.
The light morning breeze flowed in from the half-open balcony door, carrying the warmth of Dubai's sun with it.
She folded the sleeves of her kurta up to her elbows and switched on the stove.
The comforting sound of water beginning to bubble filled the silence.
She added tea leaves, cardamom, and ginger-her usual blend-and stood beside the stove with her arms folded, waiting for it to brew.
There was something meditative about making chai; it was one of the few things that had stayed constant no matter where she lived.
But even through the familiar rhythm of it, she felt a subtle edge of impatience.
She glanced at the wall clock. 8:35 AM.
He hadn't come out yet. She thought maybe he'd just gone to take a quick shower, or maybe he'd stepped onto the balcony for a call. But now, it had been a while. Her eyes flicked once to the hallway, then back to the bubbling chai. Still no sound of movement.
She had woken up a little early on purpose today, hoping they'd sit for just five minutes. Share a cup of tea like... two people trying to build a home. Nothing dramatic. She didn't expect much. She never did. But maybe just that-something.
She poured the chai into two mugs anyway. The steam curled softly in the air. She placed them gently on the counter, her bangles clinking lightly as she did. Still no sound of footsteps. No door opening. No "Good morning."
She wasn't the kind to sulk or make a scene, and she knew better than to let small things snowball. He was probably just busy. Or caught up with something. It was early days. They were still strangers in too many ways.
She sat at the counter and took a sip of her own chai, staring at the dark, quiet hallway for a second longer than she meant to. It tasted exactly how she liked it. Warm. Spiced. Familiar.
She had to go-she was already cutting it close.
Before she left, she took the second mug of chai and carefully covered it with a small ceramic lid. Then, she reached for a sticky note from the little pad near the fridge, clicked open a pen, and scribbled neatly:
"Your chai. Whenever you're free - Vaani"
She placed the note beside the mug, then glanced at it once, adjusting the edge slightly as if it would make any difference.
Grabbing her tote, she slipped on her block heels, ran a hand through her still-damp hair, and looked back at the counter one last time.
Then, without a sound, she stepped out the door-leaving behind the chai, the note, and a quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, he'd notice.
Vaani stepped into the waiting taxi, her bag slung over one shoulder, her hand lightly gripping the edge of the door as she glanced once back at the building.
The city was already waking up-honking, humming, alive.
The morning sun filtered through the glassy skyline of Dubai, bathing everything in a quiet golden haze.
She exhaled slowly as she pulled the door shut. The driver asked, "Internet City, madam?" and she nodded, "Yes, please." Her voice was soft, almost absentminded. Her gaze drifted out the window as the taxi pulled away from the curb.
And just seconds later, Dhruv turned the corner of the complex, sweat lining his brow, headphones around his neck, T-shirt sticking slightly to his back.
He had gone for a run earlier that morning, wanting to clear his mind before the workday truly began.
There was something about the silence of early mornings that steadied him.
But as he jogged the last few meters toward their apartment building, he caught a glimpse of a familiar silhouette getting into a taxi.
He slowed his pace.
It was her.
Vaani. Dressed neatly, hair falling over one shoulder, sliding into the backseat of the taxi just as it pulled away. She didn't see him-her eyes were already focused out the window, her mind elsewhere.
Dhruv stood still for a moment, watching the car disappear into the stream of morning traffic. A small crease formed between his brows. He hadn't meant to be gone so long. He figured he'd be back before she even woke up. But now... he had clearly missed something.
He took the lift up, tugging off his running shoes once he stepped inside their apartment. The moment the door swung open, he noticed it.
The house... smelled different.
Warm cardamom. A little ginger. Faint notes of perfume and something floral, lingering like her presence even after she'd gone.
He walked into the kitchen and noticed the mug on the counter-steam no longer rising, but carefully covered with a ceramic lid. Beside it, a pale yellow sticky note with her neat handwriting:
"Your chai. Whenever you're free - Vaani"
His chest felt oddly warm at the small gesture.
He removed the lid and inhaled the now-cooled chai. He hesitated for a second, then smiled faintly and walked over to the microwave. Once it was warm again, he leaned against the counter, sipping from the mug, letting the taste settle in. It was... really good.
Better than the usual overly strong coffee he gulped down most mornings. It wasn't just the taste. It was the thought.
She had waited. She had made something for him. She didn't leave in silence. She left a piece of the morning behind.
After finishing, he rinsed the mug, placed it in the drying rack, and walked toward the bedroom.
He took a quick shower, steam filling the bathroom, and changed into a crisp shirt and trousers.
His watch clasped onto his wrist with a familiar click, and he spritzed on his cologne before grabbing his laptop bag.
The apartment, once quiet and unfamiliar, now held tiny signs of someone else's rhythm blending into his.
Before locking the door behind him, he glanced once more at the empty kitchen.
She wasn't just here now.
She was part of here now.
~·~
At his desk, Dhruv stared at the screen, the blue light reflecting off his glasses.
The cursor blinked steadily in the middle of a financial report, but his eyes had glazed over it several times now.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard, paused midway through a reply that had nothing to do with what was really distracting him.
Still nothing from her.
No ping, no message, no check-in.
And he hadn't messaged her either.
He leaned back in his chair, glanced at the time.
Nearly noon. It wasn't like he had to message her.
They hadn't really set any precedent for it.
But the silence was... louder today. Probably because of that little note she'd left.
The chai. The way she'd quietly offered something, and he'd appreciated it.
And then let the moment slip by without saying anything.
He rubbed his jaw, forcing his attention back to the screen.
Work was easier.
Predictable. Clean-cut.
Unlike trying to figure out how to be in a marriage with someone who was practically still a stranger.
Across the city, in her office, Vaani sat at her own desk, her hand gripping her mouse more tightly than necessary.
Her inbox was overflowing, her project timeline needed reshuffling, and she had two meetings back-to-back in the afternoon.
Still, her eyes darted once toward her phone every few minutes.
Nothing.
No "Hey, did you reach okay?"
No "How's your day?"
Not even a neutral emoji.
It's fine, she told herself.
He wasn't the type to hover.
And she had told herself she didn't expect anything either.
But still... after everything - the wedding, the apartment, the shared chai - she thought maybe, just maybe, he'd say something today. A small message. Something that would make her feel less like two polite flatmates sharing a legal commitment.
She turned her phone screen off again, slid it into the drawer, and took a sharp breath.
Focus, Vaani. Work now. Sort your emotions later.
And just like that, she pulled up the client file and began typing furiously.
Back at Dhruv's office, he clicked through a spreadsheet with unnecessary force. He knew what this was. It wasn't anger. It wasn't frustration. It was just... the unspoken weight of figuring out a rhythm with someone who didn't know where to begin either.
So instead of texting her - instead of breaking the awkward silence - they both did what they knew best:
They buried themselves in work.
Safe. Quiet. Detached.
But maybe, just maybe...
Both wishing the other would make the first move.
~·~
Dhruv unlocked the apartment door and stepped inside, exhaling slowly as the cool air wrapped around him.
The place was quiet, lights dim except for the soft golden hue seeping through the sheer curtains.
His eyes instinctively scanned the space - no shoes by the door, no bag on the couch, no soft humming from the kitchen.
She wasn't back yet.
He glanced at the clock on the wall. Nearly 6:30.
He didn't worry - she was likely stuck at work or in traffic. But something tugged faintly inside him. An urge to make the evening... less quiet, maybe. Less transactional. They were still learning, after all. Still adjusting.
He tossed his keys into the bowl by the entrance, loosened the top button of his shirt, and headed to his room. A quick shower later, he emerged in a simple grey T-shirt and black pyjama pants, hair slightly damp, phone in one hand. Still no message. He didn't text either.
Instead, he made his way to the kitchen.
He wasn't some expert cook, but he wasn't hopeless either. After glancing through the pantry and fridge, he settled on something simple - vegetable pulao and cucumber raita. Easy, comforting, no-frills. He didn't know what she liked yet, but it was neutral enough.
As he cooked, the sizzle of ghee and cumin seeds filled the kitchen, replacing the apartment's earlier stillness with something warmer.
He plated it neatly - two bowls, two spoons, the raita in a separate katori - and covered one plate for her.
He left hers on the counter, the same way she'd done with chai that morning.
A quiet give-and-take.
No words.
But thoughtful enough to be noticed.
Dinner made, he padded over to the living room and plopped down onto the couch, remote in hand.
He flipped through the channels until he found the match - a T20 game between India and South Africa.
Just in time for the last innings. He kicked his feet up on the table, slouched deeper into the cushions, letting the commentary fill the space.
He watched, absently chewing on a bite of pulao, occasionally reaching for the water bottle beside him. His mind drifted in and out of the game - to work, to tomorrow, and occasionally... to the door.
Half-hoping it would open soon.
And the quiet would shift again.
The clock blinked 7:30 PM when the front door creaked open.
Vaani stepped inside, her shoulders heavy with exhaustion, the weight of the day pressing down from every angle.
Her bag slipped from her shoulder with a quiet thud as she leaned back against the closed door, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.
She barely registered the TV until the voice of the cricket commentator filtered into her awareness - followed by the low sound of someone shifting on the couch.
Her eyes opened slowly, and there he was - Dhruv, in a grey tee and pyjamas, remote in hand, eyes now drifting from the screen to her.
He gave a brief, slightly unsure smile. "Oh... hi."
She pushed a tired smile onto her face and nodded. "Hi."
That was it.
No "How was your day?"
No "You're late."
Just that single word, hovering in the air like an umbrella that never fully opened.
She padded quietly to the bedroom, her steps slow and muted. Inside, she changed into simple home clothes - soft cotton pants and a worn-out top - tied her hair up in a messy bun, washed her face. When she emerged a few minutes later, she felt marginally more human.
She walked toward the kitchen with muscle memory guiding her - ready to make a quick dinner, maybe dal or upma or whatever was fastest - when she stopped mid-step.
There were two plates on the counter. One covered, one half-empty. A bowl of cucumber raita beside them. Still warm.
She blinked.
And then, without turning, said softly, "You didn't need to cook."
Dhruv's voice came from the couch, casually but not cold. "I was home early. Didn't know when you'd be back."
She stood there for a beat, then just nodded. No smile, no thank-you - not because she wasn't grateful, but because everything still felt tight. Still unfamiliar. Still... something in between.
She grabbed a plate, served herself quietly, and walked over to the living room. Instead of sitting beside him, she lowered herself onto the opposite couch. The TV flickered between shots of cheering crowds and players warming up. The commentator rambled on about strike rates and pitch conditions.
And silence hung between the two of them like a thread neither could snip nor tie.
She took a bite. The pulao was good - warm, balanced, comforting - and maybe it tasted even better because she hadn't had to make it.
He shifted slightly, watching the screen, but stealing glances at her.
She kept her eyes on her plate, but she felt it.
The awkwardness sat between them like an uninvited guest.
Not tense. Not hostile.
Just... unfamiliar.
And in that quiet, between spoonfuls and the hum of the TV, the two of them shared their first proper meal together - across couches, across spaces - figuring out what it meant to exist beside one another without saying too much.
After dinner, Vaani quietly picked up her plate, washed it with a practiced hand, and returned it to the rack. Dhruv was still watching the match, though his focus had waned, his body slowly sinking into the couch in that end-of-the-day fatigue.
She didn't say anything-neither did he.
She slipped into their bedroom, pulled out her laptop bag from the corner, and stepped into the smaller room they'd decided would be the study.
She hadn't really used it yet, but tonight she needed to.
There were pending edits and a half-finished presentation that was expected on her desk by morning.
The door closed with a gentle click behind her. She tossed her hair into a bun again and sat down, flipping her laptop open as the screen lit up the room.
An hour passed. And then another.
Around 10:45, Dhruv noticed the house had gone quiet. The TV was off, the lights dimmed, and he stretched his arms with a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. He stood, peeked into the bedroom expecting to see her, but the bed was empty, pillows still puffed up and undisturbed.
He frowned a little, then padded softly down the hallway, barefoot, toward the study.
The light was still on.
He opened the door - and stopped.
The floor was a patchwork of white paper, all scattered in uneven layers across the carpet.
Pages covered in sketches, some half-shaded, some crossed out entirely in red pen.
Scribbled notes in margins, a few crumpled pages near the desk, and her laptop blinking quietly in sleep mode.
A mechanical pencil rolled gently under the table with the air from the AC vent.
It was clear she had been at it for a while - designing, reworking, discarding.
The chaos was clearly a result of her process, but to him, it was still chaos.
Dhruv's eyes scanned the room with a faint crease in his brow.
His instinct was to start picking things up, to straighten the edges, to put things in neat piles.
He hated disarray - especially on the floor.
But he didn't move.
Instead, he sighed and rested his hand against the doorframe, muttering under his breath, "God, that's a lot of paper..."
Still, he didn't say anything. Didn't touch a thing.
Instead, he turned and walked back to the bedroom, flicking off the hallway light on his way. He pulled back the blanket, crawled into bed, and within minutes - body heavy, head clouded from the day - he was fast asleep.
Vaani returned sometime later. Her eyes were tired, her mind still racing with drafts and details, but as she peeked into the bedroom and saw him curled on his side, already deep in sleep, she softened.
She didn't say anything.
She just quietly got ready for bed, turned off the last light, and slipped beneath the covers.
Vaani lay on her side, facing away from Dhruv, who was already fast asleep. The room was dim, save for the soft glow of the city lights filtering in through the sheer curtains. The blanket felt heavier than usual, and not because of its weight - but because of the quiet between them.
She wasn't disappointed, not exactly. There was no expectation she'd had of how things were supposed to be. They barely knew each other - two strangers wearing the labels of husband and wife, sharing a home and a last name, but not yet much else.
Still, the silence... it lingered. Awkward in places. Familiar in others.
She turned slightly, glancing at him. He looked peaceful in sleep - arms folded near his chest, brow still faintly furrowed like he carried the weight of something even in rest. There was nothing unkind about him, she knew that.
If anything, Dhruv had been polite, thoughtful in the ways he knew how to be.
He had made dinner. He had given her space.
He had even bought her a simpler mangalsutra so she could wear it daily if she wished.
She appreciated those things.
But appreciation didn't always translate into comfort.
And right now, she didn't know what to do with this - with them.
There was no guidebook for how to build a marriage from scratch.
No template for how to live with someone who didn't speak unless spoken to.
No map for navigating the shared silence between meals and commutes and evenings where both of them were tired, but for different reasons.
Maybe this was how it started. Maybe some people took longer. Maybe it would come later - the ease, the laughter, the belonging. She wasn't in a rush. But still, she wished she knew what came next.
With a quiet sigh, Vaani turned onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Her mind began drifting back to her unfinished designs, the deadlines tomorrow, the chai she had made in the morning - and how he hadn't said a word about it.
But then again, she hadn't asked either.
She closed her eyes, forcing her thoughts to slow.
She wasn't disappointed.
Just... uncertain.
Uncertain how to bridge the distance.
Uncertain whether she should try now, or give it time.
Uncertain how long it would take for this apartment to start feeling like theirs, and not like just another beautiful space with two polite people trying not to step on each other's shadows.
But for tonight, that uncertainty would have to do.
She pulled the blanket up to her shoulders and let the silence lull her to sleep.
??