21
The lift doors opened to the warm glow of the upper floor, and soon enough, the four of them were stepping into Dhruv's parents' home.
The faint aroma of sandalwood incense lingered in the air, mixed with the comforting smell of dinner being prepared in the kitchen.
The house was familiar in that old, well-lived-in way—framed photographs on the walls, cushions slightly indented from years of use, potted plants at the corners.
"Arre, you've come!" Jaya's voice rang with delight as she walked quickly toward the door. She was dressed in a graceful silk saree, her silver hair tied neatly, and her warm smile instantly eased the slight tension in Vaani's shoulders.
"Namaste," Vaani said softly, bending down instinctively to touch her feet.
Jaya, a little taken aback but deeply touched, placed her hands gently over Vaani's head. "Khush raho, beta. Always be happy."
When Vaani straightened up, she caught the brief flicker in Dhruv's eyes as he watched. He hadn't expected her to do that—it was obvious. Not many people of their generation still observed those rituals so earnestly, but Vaani had.
"Arre, and these two boys have been camping at your place it seems?" Mahesh's teased, his baritone voice warm, came forward.
Vedant and Vihaan stepped up a little shyly, both saying their respectful greetings. Then, as if remembering what they had just seen Vaani do, they bent down too, touching Dhruv's parents' feet one after the other.
"Khush raho, Bohot acche bacche ho," his father said with a pleased smile, placing his hands on their heads in blessing.
From the corner of her eye, Vaani noticed Dhruv again—his hands in his pockets, his face calm as always, but his gaze thoughtful. He wasn't intervening or commenting, but he noticed everything.
Just then, a familiar voice floated in from the inner hall. "Vaani!"
She turned to see her own mother walking in, her father right behind her. Relief and warmth surged through her at the sight of them. She quickly moved forward and hugged her mother before greeting her father with a respectful nod.
"Chalo everyone come in," Jaya greeted them warmly, ushering everyone toward the living room. The space filled quickly with voices, the polite laughter of parents greeting each other, the shuffling of everyone finding a comfortable place to sit.
Vaani sat between her mother and Vedant, while Vihaan took the armchair on the other side. Dhruv's father took the central single-seater, while Dhruv leaned against the wall for a moment before finally sitting down at the edge of the long sofa. He gave a brief smile to Vaani's parents.
"Namaste, Uncle, Aunty," he said, his voice polite and even. "It's good to have you here."
Her father nodded warmly, replying, "Same here, beta. It's been a while since both families sat together like this. It feels good."
Jaya quickly interjected, "It's Aai Baba to you, Dhruv! Shaadi ho gayi hai tumhari!"
Dhruv gave a smile smile and nod, as he settled himself onto his seat.
The conversation started simply enough—her parents asking about the Abu Dhabi project, Dhruv's parents talking about a relative's wedding that had taken place recently, Vedant chiming in with something lighthearted that made both sets of parents laugh.
Vaani found herself quietly watching, her hands folded on her lap, occasionally sipping from the glass of water someone had passed her.
Every so often, her gaze drifted to Dhruv, who wasn't dominating the conversation but also wasn't absent.
He answered questions when addressed, offered small comments, and yet his eyes—every now and then—slid her way.
"So, Vaani," Jaya said suddenly, turning her attention to her. "How is your work going?"
Vaani straightened slightly, caught off guard but smiling softly. "It's going well. We've been working on the new project—I'll be handling a bigger part of the design this time, so... it's exciting."
"That's wonderful," Ramesh said proudly before Jaya could reply. "She's always been like this—dedicated. Even in school, she wouldn't stop until she was satisfied with her work."
Vaani's ears turned slightly pink at the praise, and she ducked her head with a modest smile.
Dhruv shifted just slightly in his seat, his gaze settling on her with that unreadable calmness again. Almost as if he were measuring her words against what he already knew of her.
"And these two?" Mahesh asked, his kind eyes landing on Vedant and Vihaan. "What are their plans?"
Vedant perked up immediately, his grin wide. "I just got into King's, Uncle."
"London?" Dhruv's father asked, impressed.
"Yes," Vedant said proudly, and Vaani's parents both looked pleased.
"And Vihaan?" Jaya asked.
Vihaan shifted slightly in his seat, a small smile pulling at his lips. He glanced at Vaani briefly before saying, "I'll be heading to Columbia."
The words carried a weight—pride mixed with disbelief, as if he still hadn't gotten used to saying them out loud.
"Columbia?" Ramesh repeated, his tone almost disbelieving before softening into awe. "That's— that's huge."
Her mother's eyes were already moist, and she reached out to pat Vihaan's hand affectionately. "Bohot badi baat hai, beta. We're so proud."
Vaani's lips curved into a gentle smile, but she didn't say anything. She just watched Vihaan glow under the approval.
Out of the corner of her eye, though, she saw Dhruv.
He was leaning back now, his hand resting loosely on the sofa arm, his gaze quiet but attentive.
When Vihaan had said "Columbia," she had caught the faintest flicker of a smile on his face.
Not mockery, not surprise, but something like recognition.
"Columbia's a good place," Mahesh said approvingly. "Tough, but good."
"Dhruv knows it well," Jaya added casually. "He still has his things from there."
There was a pause, and Vaani, feeling the quiet ripple, lowered her gaze.
Vedant, oblivious, piped up, "Jiju has already given Vihaan his Columbia hoodie. We had to see him dance around with it yesterday."
Both sets of parents chuckled warmly at that, and the conversation moved on, easing the tension. Still, Vaani found herself tightening her fingers slightly in her lap, not quite sure why.
The time unfolded with laughter, easy exchanges, the clinking of glasses as tea and snacks were passed around. The living room buzzed with a kind of warmth—two families testing the waters, sharing space.
Yet through it all, Vaani couldn't shake the subtle awareness of Dhruv—his eyes catching hers briefly when no one else was watching, his silence in moments when he could have spoken, the way he had noticed her bending to touch his parents' feet, and later, how his gaze had lingered a fraction longer on the black beads of her mangalsutra.
~·~
The clinking of cutlery and soft hum of conversation filled the dining room as Vaani moved gracefully between the kitchen and the table, serving dinner.
She carried the bowls of steaming sabzi and dal with practiced ease, her dupatta neatly pinned back so it wouldn't fall in the way.
Her movements weren't hurried, nor self-conscious—just natural, the way someone did things when they weren't overthinking, when they were comfortable in the space despite it not being their own house.
Every now and then, as he passed her a plate or shifted to make room for her at the table, Dhruv found himself watching her.
Not openly, but enough. He noticed how she checked if her brothers had everything on their plates before even serving herself.
How she leaned slightly to ask his mother, "Maa, little more rice?
" with that soft politeness. How she smiled quickly when his father praised the taste of the sabzi—even though she hadn't cooked it.
She was moving seamlessly, as though she belonged, not once letting awkwardness creep into her posture.
And somewhere in his chest, Dhruv felt a tug of pride. It came without warning, as if some part of him thought: She's handling it well.
But he didn't let it show. Not on his face, not in his body language. He schooled his features into the same neutral attentiveness he always carried at family dinners and turned his focus back to the conversation unfolding at the table.
"So," Jaya said, placing her spoon down after tasting the dal, "we've been thinking... it's been a while now. We should host a reception here, no?"
Sunita immediately smiled, her eyes flickering toward her daughter before nodding. "Yes, Jaya-ji, we were going to bring it up too. A small reception here in Dubai makes sense. Extended family, friends, colleagues—they will want to be part of it."
"Arre, small reception won't work," Mahesh interjected, waving his hand dismissively. "It's our only son's wedding. People will expect us to host properly. We can't do it half-heartedly."
"Mahesh," Jaya said with a patient look, "I didn't mean small-small. I just meant not lavish. Something decent, tasteful."
"Hmm," Ramesh chimed in, "tasteful, yes. But you know how families are. They'll count the arrangements, the food, everything. Better to keep it generous—it keeps everyone's mouths shut."
Sunita nodded in agreement. "He's right. And since both families will be there, it will reflect on all of us."
The conversation flowed easily between the four elders, each voicing ideas, concerns, practicalities.
"We'll need to decide on a date," Jaya said, already pulling a notebook closer. "Something within the next month, otherwise it will clash with wedding season madness."
"Month-end?" Mahesh suggested, looking around. "That way we have a few weeks to prepare."
"Month-end could work," Ramesh agreed. "But we'll need to check availability of venues."
Vaani, who had just set down a fresh basket of rotis, hesitated slightly, then quietly sat back down, unsure if she should ask.
Sunita, oblivious to this, added on, "Do we want it in a hall or... would home arrangements work?"
Vaani sat quietly. Dhruv noticed. He caught that little dip in her eyes. He caught everything. The hesitation to ask.
"A hall will be better," Mahesh replied firmly, not catching her hesitation. "At home it becomes chaotic. Plus, we won't manage numbers. With a hall, catering, decoration, everything is smoother."
"True," Sunita said thoughtfully. "And these days, even smaller halls have beautiful arrangements."
Vedant, who had been quietly munching beside Vihaan, suddenly piped up, "Can we have live music at the reception? Like a band?"
Everyone chuckled, and Vihaan nudged him. "Bro, it's not your college fest."
"Arre, let him talk," Jaya said indulgently. "Live music is a good idea. Something elegant, though—not DJs blaring loud songs."
"Agreed," Sunita added. "It should feel celebratory but also graceful."
Vaani smiled faintly at the exchange, her gaze softening when she saw Vihaan laughing under his breath.
She turned to top up her father's plate quietly, but when she glanced sideways, she caught Dhruv's eyes for the briefest second.
He wasn't smiling, but his gaze had that steady weight again—like he was watching, observing, processing more than the conversation at hand.
"So catering," Mahesh said, steering the conversation back, "we should decide early. We can book our usual people—they do weddings, they'll handle a reception easily."
"That's fine," Mahesh agreed, though with less enthusiasm. "And about food, let's make sure the spread is wide—North Indian, South Indian, maybe one counter for international dishes. People like variety."
"Venue, catering, décor..." Jaya ticked them off on her fingers. "We'll need to assign tasks. Ramesh-ji, you handle invitations? Mahesh and I will check venues. Sunita-ji, if you can handle clothes and arrangements for Vaani?"
Sunita nodded, smiling warmly at her daughter. "Of course. Vaani, beta, we'll go shopping soon."
Vaani smiled back, but her hands stilled on her lap for just a moment. The idea of more shopping, more spending—it pressed on her already heavy thoughts. Still, she nodded softly, not voicing a thing.
"And Dhruv?" Mahesh said, looking at his son. "You'll have to check catering menus and music options. You know what works best."
Dhruv inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Fine. I'll handle it." His tone was steady, clipped, but not dismissive. Just efficient.
As the conversation deepened, talk of guest lists and budgets weaving around the table, Dhruv's gaze found its way back to Vaani once more.
She was sitting with her hands folded, listening quietly, speaking only when spoken to.
She wasn't tense, wasn't uncomfortable—but she was thoughtful, as though her mind was already racing ahead of the planning, calculating, worrying.
He didn't say anything. But inside, the pride from earlier mingled with something else, quieter, harder to name.
The dinner wrapped up slowly, with the kind of comfortable chaos that only families can create.
Plates were being cleared, elders were still in mid-discussion about venues and menus, and Vedant was sneaking a last gulab jamun while Vihaan scrolled distractedly on his phone.
Vaani had stood to help Jaya clear the table, but was immediately waved off with a warm, "No, no beta, you sit.
You've already been running around enough. "
She gave a polite smile and slipped back into her chair, smoothing her dupatta over her lap.
Dhruv, who had been half-listening to his father's banter with Ramesh about caterers, noticed the way she simply folded her hands and sat quietly, her eyes dipping toward her brothers.
There was something in her stillness—a quietness that wasn't passivity, but restraint.
Like she carried words she wasn't letting out.
Soon after, the elders began wrapping up the conversation, exchanging nods and promises to meet again soon for the next round of planning. Sunita, stood and said firmly, "Chalo, it's getting late. We should head out now. Boys, let's go home."
Vedant, who had been half-rising, blurted, "But Aai, can we stay with Tai? Just one more night—"
Vihaan immediately added, "Yeah, Aai, please? I can do my assignment from there tomorrow too."
Before Vaani could even react, Sunita's brows drew together. "Have you decided to settle there permanently or what?" Her tone wasn't harsh, but it had that maternal firmness that brooked no argument. "Every day you want to stay at your Tai's place. Enough now. Come home."
Ramesh let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. "Come on boys. She's right. Let's not intrude."
Jaya chuckled, "Oh you're more than welcome to visit them anytime! And while you're at it, visit us too! We'd love to listen to Vedant's entertaining stories more!"
Mahesh quickly added, "I agree. This man is quite interesting!" He teased, patting Vedant's back.
Both boys chuckled, and then let out a silent groan in unison, exchanging a glance that said 'we tried' to Vaani, before reluctantly gathering their things. They gave Dhruv a quick hug, muttered quick "goodnight"s, and then hugged Vaani a little tighter before trailing after their parents.
"Bye beta, we'll call tomorrow," Ramesh told her warmly, and Jaya clasped her hand for a second before letting go. Soon, goodbyes were exchanged, cars started, and the house began to quieten.
Dhruv and Vaani made their way to his car in silence, the night air heavy with the faint scent of jasmine and distant traffic.
He unlocked the doors, waited for her to settle, and then slid into the driver's seat himself.
The engine hummed to life, headlights cutting across the driveway as they pulled away.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The city outside rolled past in blurred lights and familiar streets, and inside the car there was only the sound of the engine and the occasional sigh of the AC.
Dhruv's hands rested loosely on the steering wheel, but his gaze, when it wasn't on the road, flickered toward her.
She was sitting with her back straight, dupatta carefully draped, her eyes turned toward the window but unfocused.
He noticed the faint smudge of sindoor in her parting, the mangalsutra gleaming under the soft glow of the dashboard lights, and the slight tension in her jaw.
She carries so much to herself, he thought.
Not once during dinner had she let on that she was tired, or anxious, or overwhelmed.
She had smiled at the right times, served food, spoken when asked, laughed softly when her brothers joked.
To everyone else, she looked steady, composed.
But to him—watching closely, silently—it was clear she was holding things tight, as if the weight of them couldn't be shared.
And it unsettled him. Why am I so curious about her?
he wondered, a little frustrated with himself.
He prided himself on being disciplined, measured.
But with her, he caught himself noticing too much—her pauses, her silences, the way her eyes clouded when money came up, the way she didn't speak unless she had to.
He tightened his grip on the wheel for a second, pushing the thought away, focusing on the traffic signal ahead.
Meanwhile, Vaani's mind was miles away. She leaned against the window, watching the city blur past, her reflection ghostlike in the glass.
Her mother's words at the table—shopping, clothes, preparations—echoed faintly in her mind, tangled with Mahesh uncle's insistence on a hall, the talk of catering, décor, invitations.
Reception. Another event, another expense.
Her heart sank a little. She had said yes to Vihaan's deposit only yesterday.
That alone was $1,000 out of her pocket, with $35,000 more looming like a shadow over her shoulders.
Vedant's fees—￡30,000—were waiting too, an unspoken storm on the horizon.
And now, a reception. Even if the parents covered most of it, she knew there would be expenses expected of her too—clothes, gifts, contributions here and there.
She pressed her lips together, mind running in circles.
What more can I do? She was already working full-time.
She had her freelance designs, the odd projects she picked up on weekends.
But even then, numbers weren't matching.
She could feel the math clawing at her chest, the restlessness of not knowing where more money could come from.
For a moment, she glanced at Dhruv from the corner of her eye.
He was steady, composed, his profile sharp against the night.
He looked like someone who didn't have to think about money, who never had to calculate before saying yes.
A pang went through her, but she quickly turned her gaze back to the window, not letting it show.
"Seatbelt okay?" Dhruv's voice broke the silence suddenly, low but casual.
She startled slightly, then nodded. "Yes."
He hummed in acknowledgment, his eyes flickering to her for just a second before returning to the road.
Silence settled again. Only this time, Dhruv's thoughts spun in quiet loops. She looks calm, but she's not. She's planning, calculating, carrying something she won't share. Why won't she? He felt that same frustration rising—not at her, but at himself for caring so much about the answer.
By the time they reached the quiet stretch near their building, Vaani had sunk deeper into her thoughts, mentally listing potential clients, side projects, anything that could bring in more money.
Dhruv, meanwhile, parked the car and sat for a second longer than needed, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel.
Both of them got out together, the silence between them heavy but strangely charged. Neither spoke, but both carried their thoughts with them up the steps: his, restless curiosity; hers, the relentless weight of numbers.
They came home quietly, the kind of silence that follows a long family evening where so much had been said, so many plans had been made, and yet inside their own minds, both carried more weight than words could fill.
The flat felt still when they walked in.
Vaani immediately went to her room to change into something more comfortable—cotton palazzo pants and a soft kurta, her hair tied loosely at the nape of her neck.
She washed her face, removing the faint traces of makeup, and looked at her reflection for a moment.
She looked tired but not defeated; she had become used to holding herself like that.
Outside, Dhruv had changed too, into a plain T-shirt and track pants. He left his watch on the bedside table and rubbed his neck as he walked back toward the living room. For a second, he paused, unsure why he was hesitating, then muttered to himself, Stop overthinking.
"Vaani," he called out as she stepped out of her room.
She stopped mid-step, glancing at him curiously. "Haan?"
He cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how casual it sounded. "I was going to make coffee for myself... do you want some?"
There was the briefest pause. Her brows arched just a little, as if the offer surprised her. But then she gave a soft nod. "Sure... I'd like that."
Something in her tone, quiet and almost hesitant, made him linger for a second longer before he turned toward the kitchen. "Okay."
The sound of cupboards opening, mugs being set down, the faint hiss of the kettle—filled the air.
Vaani walked over slowly, settling herself on one of the kitchen chairs, her arms folding loosely on the table.
She sat there, eyes unfocused, her mind already slipping back to the spirals of finances and planning.
From the counter, Dhruv glanced over his shoulder at her. She wasn't looking at him—she was staring through the tiled wall as though her thoughts were somewhere far away. The crease between her brows was faint but there, the telltale sign of someone thinking harder than they wanted to admit.
"Is there anything on your mind?" His voice was calm, even, but he meant it.
She blinked, a little startled, and looked up at him. For a moment, her lips parted like she might say it all—but then she pressed them together and shook her head lightly. "Oh, nothing. Just... work stuff."
"Hmm," he murmured, not convinced, but he didn't push. He stirred the sugar into the cups, the spoon clinking softly.
She shifted in her seat, feeling his gaze linger. It was strange—how someone so reserved could make silence feel like a question.
And then, after a pause, he spoke again. "You know," he said, not looking at her this time, "you can tell me if there's anything that's bothering you."
Her eyes softened, and she let out a small breath. There was no judgement in his voice, no insistence—just an opening, quiet and steady. She managed a faint smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes but carried sincerity. "Thank you," she said softly.
He only nodded, finishing with the coffee. A few seconds later, he brought two mugs over, setting one in front of her before taking his own and leaning against the counter for a moment.
She wrapped her fingers around the cup, savoring the warmth before taking a small sip. "This is good," she said, almost absently, as though grateful for the simple comfort.
He shrugged lightly. "Old habit. Late nights, coffee keeps me sane."
They left the kitchen together, walking to the hall where the soft glow of a lamp lit the space. Vaani curled into the corner of the sofa, tucking one leg beneath her, her mug resting between her hands. Dhruv sat at the other end, stretching slightly before leaning back.
The television sat dark, the room quiet except for the occasional clink of their mugs. Outside, the city hummed faintly through the closed windows, a distant backdrop to their silence.
Vaani let herself exhale slowly, her shoulders easing against the cushion. She wasn't used to this—quiet that wasn't demanding, silence that didn't need to be filled. She stole a glance at him—he was sipping his coffee calmly, his gaze unfocused as though he was lost in his own thoughts.
Dhruv, meanwhile, was more aware than he let on. He could feel her presence at the edge of his vision, the soft curve of her posture, the way she was drinking slowly as though stretching the moment. He didn't know why he cared so much that she looked less burdened, even for a second.
For a long stretch, they just sat like that—two people sharing coffee, silence, and unspoken thoughts. It wasn't loud, it wasn't intimate. But it was something. A quiet pause in the middle of everything else.
When her cup was nearly empty, Vaani placed it gently on the table and leaned back into the sofa. Her eyelids felt heavy, exhaustion finally catching up with her. She told herself she'd just sit for a moment before going to bed.
Dhruv noticed but didn't comment. Instead, he finished his coffee, set the cup down beside hers, and leaned back too, his arms folding across his chest.
Neither said anything, but somehow, it didn't feel awkward anymore.
It was strange, Dhruv thought. He'd never been one for unnecessary words. But sitting across from her, he found himself wishing she would talk—not because he needed it, but because he wanted to know what she wasn't saying.
And Vaani, though she didn't say it aloud, felt something similar. That maybe, in this quiet, she wasn't entirely carrying things alone.
The clock ticked softly in the background, and the night stretched on.
??