23
The afternoon sun hung low over the Dubai skyline, casting its warm, golden light into the apartment when Vaani pushed the door open.
She let out a soft exhale, the kind of tired release one makes after wrapping up an unexpectedly short day.
It had been a week since she took up the new job and everyday was the same—work, work and more work.
She had been at the office since morning, and for once, a meeting had wrapped up earlier than expected.
She slipped out of her shoes by the door, padded across the living room, and quickly changed into her comfortable cotton kurta and soft lounge pants.
Her hair, which had been neatly tied for the office, was now loosened, falling gently around her shoulders.
She thought she'd sit with her laptop for a while, maybe check her brothers' messages, or even get started on dinner prep before anyone else came home.
But then she noticed something strange.
From the slightly open door of one of the side rooms, she heard voices—low, unfamiliar, men's voices, murmuring instructions and moving something heavy. She frowned, curiosity pricking at her. Quietly, she walked over, peeking inside.
There he was.
Dhruv.
Standing tall in his work-casuals, sleeves rolled up, hair just slightly mussed, as he gave quick instructions to a couple of workers. They were shifting furniture, adjusting cables, drilling something into the wall. The air smelled faintly of new wood and dust.
Vaani blinked, confused. "What's this?" she asked, her voice soft but carrying enough for him to hear.
Dhruv turned at once. His expression shifted—serious at first, then easing into something neutral, almost casual. "Vaani," he said, acknowledging her with a small nod. "You're back."
"Yes," she said, still standing near the doorframe, not stepping in. "I finished early today."
He nodded once, as if that explained everything, then glanced at the workers. "Alright, that's all for now. You can leave the rest outside."
The men packed up quickly, dusting their hands and heading past her out the door with polite nods. When they were gone, silence returned to the apartment. Vaani turned back to him, brows knit slightly.
"Is everything okay?" she asked cautiously, stepping inside now.
"Yes," he replied simply, brushing his palms together. Then he jerked his chin toward the center of the room. "Come."
She followed his gesture and took a few steps forward. And then her breath caught.
Against the wall was a brand-new study table.
A sturdy one, wide enough to spread across notebooks and devices without clutter.
On it sat a sleek monitor, connected neatly with cables, its glossy surface reflecting a bit of sunlight.
The chair was ergonomic, supportive, clearly not chosen randomly.
The whole corner had been cleared, arranged, and set up with enough space to move comfortably.
Vaani froze, staring at it. "This..." she whispered.
Dhruv looked at her, his tone matter-of-fact, almost too casual. "Don't juggle between two laptops and ruin your eyes," he said. "Use this monitor and table instead. It's easier."
Her lips parted, but no words came out at first. She blinked at the setup, then back at him. "Wait—what? You... you did this?"
"Yes," he said, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
"You didn't need to," she blurted, voice rushed. "I was fine."
He leaned slightly against the wall, arms crossing loosely, his expression unbothered. "You didn't look fine," he countered. "You looked... busy. So, be comfortable while you're busy."
Vaani stared at him, still stunned. Her chest tightened, a strange cocktail of gratitude and guilt rising at once. She glanced at the chair again, the monitor, the neat wires tucked away, all of it screaming thoughtfulness hidden behind his detached delivery.
"You're saying... this is for me?" she asked, almost hesitant.
"Use this study as your home office," Dhruv said with a simple nod. "It'll help."
She bit her lip, her heart pounding faster than she wanted it to. "But... what about you? Where's yours?"
"I don't need a home office," he said, almost dismissively. "I don't work from home all the time."
That hit her harder than she expected. He had thought of her, set this up for her, made sure she wouldn't be straining or juggling anymore. And yet, she hadn't even thought once about him—not about his space, not about his needs. A sharp pang of guilt pricked her chest.
She looked down at her hands, clasping them together. "You really didn't have to," she murmured, softer this time.
Dhruv shrugged, his eyes flicking briefly to her face and then away again. "It's not a big deal."
But to her, it was. It was a very big deal.
Before she could say anything more, he straightened, checking his watch. "I'm heading out," he said, adjusting his cuff.
She blinked, startled by the sudden shift. "Out?"
"Yeah," he replied casually. "Meeting some friends."
"Oh." Her voice was small, almost unsure. She nodded quickly, trying not to seem affected. "Alright."
He gave one last glance around the room, as if making sure everything was in place, then walked past her toward the door. His cologne lingered faintly in the air, crisp and understated. She turned slightly, watching his retreating figure.
And then he was gone.
The apartment was quiet again.
Vaani stood there for a long moment, staring at the study corner. The monitor gleamed at her, waiting. The chair was pulled out just slightly, like an invitation.
She stepped forward slowly, her hand brushing the smooth surface of the desk. Her throat felt tight, her eyes stinging though she blinked it away quickly. She sank into the chair, swiveling slightly, testing it. It was perfect. Too perfect.
And that's what made it hurt.
Because beneath her gratitude was something heavier—guilt.
He had thought of her. He had seen her struggling, juggling between laptops and notebooks. And without a word, without asking, he had fixed it for her. He had made space for her in his home, quite literally.
And she? She was still drowning in her worries about money, about how to stretch $35,000 for Vihaan, ￡30,000 for Vedant, about her new job, about the reception. She hadn't given a thought to him—not once.
Her fingers traced the edge of the desk again. She pressed her lips together tightly, swallowing the lump that threatened to rise.
The study wasn't just a setup. It was proof—proof that Dhruv noticed her even when he didn't say much, that behind his nonchalance was a quiet kind of care that unnerved her.
And all she could do was sit there, feeling both grateful and upset, wondering why the warmth of his gesture made her chest ache so much.
~·~
The clock on the wall ticked steadily, but Vaani hardly noticed.
She sat at the new study desk, the monitor glowing softly in front of her, her two laptops open on either side. Her phone lay just beside the keyboard, buzzing intermittently with notifications. She had been there for hours, eyes flitting between screens, fingers typing fast and sure.
The silence of the apartment wrapped around her, broken only by the rhythmic sound of keys clicking and the occasional ping of an email notification.
"Okay..." she muttered to herself, pushing her hair back from her face as she scanned the Abu Dhabi blueprint on the monitor. "This section looks off. No, this can't go here." She highlighted a line in red and quickly pulled up her notes from last week.
Her fingers flew over the keyboard. Subject: Revised layout – Abu Dhabi office, Level 3.
Dear Team,
Please cross-check the partition adjustments near the reception desk. The current placement reduces walking space by almost 20%, which isn't ideal for client flow. Sharing my suggested adjustments attached.
Regards,
Vaani.
She hit send and immediately switched to her other laptop. This one had the dashboard from her new company—Farah's office job. A report was half-completed. She frowned, muttering under her breath again. "Why is the dataset incomplete?"
She clicked through tabs, opening a spreadsheet, running quick formulas. "Right... if I don't finish this before Farah's team meeting tomorrow, I'll be dead."
Her phone buzzed. A new email. Abu Dhabi again.
She sighed, reaching for it, eyes narrowing as she read the reply. "Already? Wow." She clicked it open.
Hi Vaani,
Thanks for catching that. Can you confirm if the alternate plan is ready for client review by EOD?
Best,
Karim.
She groaned under her breath. "Of course it has to be today."
Switching screens, she opened the CAD files again, zooming in on the reception area. Her hand moved automatically to grab her sketchpad from the side. She sketched a quick adjustment, murmuring to herself, "Shift the partition here, angle the desk by fifteen degrees... yes, that'll open it up."
She snapped a picture of the sketch, uploaded it, and attached it to the email reply.
Subject: Adjustments – Reception Desk Layout.
Hi Karim,
Sharing a quick draft for approval. Will refine further if the client agrees.
Regards,
Vaani.
Send.
She leaned back for a second, rubbing her eyes.
The clock read 6:45 PM. She'd been at this for almost three hours already.
But before she could even think of taking a break, the other laptop chimed. She turned instantly, eyes narrowing at the notification: Task Reminder – Finance Report (Draft 1 Due Tonight).
"Oh god," she whispered, quickly straightening in her chair.
Her fingers began typing furiously, compiling notes from earlier. Numbers, charts, and data filled the screen. She double-checked formulas, adjusted margins, and typed out a summary.
Her phone buzzed again. A WhatsApp message from Vedant.
Tai, are you busy?
She sighed, typing back quickly. Yes Vedant, buried. Can we talk later?
He sent a thumbs-up emoji. She put her phone back down and bent over her work again.
The minutes stretched into hours.
At 7:30, she was deep in editing a presentation for the Abu Dhabi office. Her brows were furrowed, and her lips moved silently as she read the lines on screen.
"...client walkthrough on the 25th... materials to be finalized... okay..." She scribbled notes on a sticky pad.
Then her second laptop pinged again—an email from Farah.
Vaani, can you also prepare the cost-breakdown slide? Need it for the directors' overview.
She exhaled sharply. "Seriously, both at the same time?"
Switching gears, she pulled up a fresh slide deck, formatting numbers and writing: Projected Expenses – Q3.
"Okay... salaries, overhead, additional equipment..." She typed quickly, her fingers barely pausing.
The clock ticked past 8:15. She hadn't moved from the chair.
Her phone buzzed again, this time with a reminder from her own calendar. Call Karim – 8:30 pm (Confirm design updates).
"Right. Call." She set her phone down in front of her, opening Zoom on her main laptop.
At exactly 8:30, the call connected.
"Vaani?" Karim's voice came through.
"Yes, hi Karim," she said quickly, putting on her professional tone. "I sent you the revised sketches earlier. Did you get a chance to see them?"
"Yes," he said. "The partition adjustment makes sense, but the client also wants an alternative with glass dividers instead of wood. Can you mock something up tonight?"
Vaani blinked, biting back a sigh. "Tonight?"
"Yes, if possible," Karim said apologetically. "They're reviewing tomorrow morning."
"Alright," she said quickly, already flipping open a new file. "I'll get it done."
"Thank you, Vaani. You're a lifesaver."
The call ended.
She dropped her head into her hands for a moment, then straightened. "Okay. Glass dividers. Let's go."
She sketched fast, uploaded, adjusted the CAD file, exported, and sent it off again. Her energy felt like a tightly wound spring—tense, sharp, but productive.
Another hour passed.
Now it was 9:30, and her new job laptop chimed again. Farah's team group chat had exploded with messages.
Farah: Guys, we need to finalize the draft of the financial doc tonight, latest by 10:30.
Farah: Vaani, you've got the projections, right?
"Yes, yes, I've got them," Vaani muttered, typing furiously. "Just—give me one second!"
She finalized the last figures, checked the pie chart colors, and exported the file. Attaching it to the group thread, she typed: Sharing the draft now. Please confirm.
Her phone buzzed again almost immediately.
Farah: Perfect, thank you Vaani. Lifesaver.
Vaani leaned back in her chair, letting out a long breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.
The clock read 9:45. Four hours.
She was exhausted but wired, her brain still racing with unfinished lists. There were still emails from Karim, still pending revisions, still notes she wanted to check. She opened another tab, already drafting a new email when her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn't eaten since lunch.
But she ignored it. Her hand moved automatically across the keyboard again.
The apartment door clicked open softly around 10:15 PM.
Dhruv stepped inside, keys jingling faintly as he dropped them into the bowl near the entrance. He had been out with a couple of friends, catching up over dinner, and though his mind had been occupied with work chatter and their usual banter, the moment he entered, the house felt... still.
Except for one sound.
The steady rhythm of typing. Rapid. Relentless.
He walked quietly down the hallway, his jacket slung over one arm, and paused at the open doorway of the study.
There she was.
Vaani sat at the new desk he'd had set up for her, completely absorbed. Her posture was tight, shoulders hunched, one hand balancing her head while the other flew across the keyboard. The monitor glowed against her face, highlighting the slight crease between her brows.
Two laptops were open, both running different windows.
On one, an architectural drawing glared back, highlighted sections and notes all over it.
On the other, a presentation slide deck stood mid-edit.
A notepad lay scribbled with quick sketches.
Her phone buzzed occasionally, and without missing a beat, she reached out, checked it, replied, then went back to her screens.
She looked... lost in another world.
Dhruv leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. His gaze lingered on her, taking in the speed at which she switched between one task and another. An email sent here. A drawing adjustment there. Another message typed out.
He frowned.
How much work does she even have?
This wasn't the occasional late night he was used to in corporate life. He himself had spent nights buried in projects, but even then, there was a cycle—intense weeks followed by calmer ones. This? This looked never-ending.
He tilted his head slightly, studying her. One project, maybe. Two? But he'd seen enough screens in his life to know these weren't all from the same company. The formatting, the portals, the dashboard she had open—it was a jumble of different worlds, stitched together on one desk.
And she was just... carrying all of it. Alone.
She didn't even notice him there. Didn't sense his presence. Her world was the blue glow of the monitor and the hum of endless deadlines.
Something inside him shifted.
He cleared his throat lightly.
Nothing.
Her fingers kept typing.
He took a few steps into the room, the sound of his shoes against the floor finally catching her attention. She blinked, startled, looking up suddenly as though waking from a trance.
"Dhruv," she said quickly, almost guiltily, like she'd been caught. She reached instinctively for the side of the laptop, as though to close it.
He raised an eyebrow. "Relax. I wasn't sneaking up on you." His voice was calm, low.
"Oh... right." She exhaled, straightening slightly. Her eyes darted between her screens, almost itching to return to them.
He glanced at the setup—emails half-written, slides mid-edit, CAD files open. Then back at her. "How long have you been sitting here?"
She hesitated, biting her lip. "...Since evening."
"Evening?" His brows drew together. "Vaani, it's past ten."
"I know," she said quickly, almost defensive. "It's just—there's a lot to finish."
Dhruv's gaze sharpened, but he didn't say anything for a moment. He walked around to the other side of the desk, looking at the screens more closely. His years in management had trained his eye; he could immediately tell this wasn't one company's portal.
"That—" he pointed at the drawing on the monitor "—is your Abu Dhabi project, right?"
She nodded cautiously. "Yes."
"And this—" he gestured toward the other laptop "—this isn't."
Her throat tightened, but she didn't answer right away. Instead, she busied herself by aligning the mouse to the side, pretending to check something.
He watched her, expression unreadable. "So how many things are you working on right now?"
The question hung heavy in the air.
Vaani finally looked up, caught between honesty and the instinct to deflect. Her lips parted, then closed. "...It's complicated," she murmured.
Dhruv leaned against the edge of the desk, folding his arms. His tone wasn't sharp, but there was a steady weight to it. "Complicated usually means more than one."
She pressed her lips together, lowering her gaze back to the screen. "It's... just necessary."
"Necessary," he repeated softly, almost to himself. He tilted his head, still watching her. "And is this even... allowed?"
Her fingers froze mid-typing. She looked up at him, startled. "What do you mean?"
"Working like this," he clarified, his voice calm but laced with quiet disbelief. "Handling two... maybe three jobs at once. One full-time, one new role, plus freelancing your designs. Is that even manageable—forget allowed?"
Vaani's jaw tightened, her eyes darting to the laptop as if it might save her from the conversation. "It doesn't matter if it's manageable. It has to be managed."
Dhruv's gaze softened, though his confusion didn't fade. He studied her—the exhaustion in her eyes, the restless energy in her fingers, the way she seemed to carry every task as if dropping even one would collapse her entire world.
He wanted to ask why.
Why she was pushing herself this way. Why she looked like she was holding up a mountain with bare hands.
But he didn't. Not yet.
Instead, he simply let out a quiet breath and said, "You're going to burn yourself out."
Vaani gave a tiny smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Burnout is a luxury."
That answer made something twist in his chest.
He stayed there another few seconds, then pushed off from the desk, straightening. "Don't stay up all night." His tone was softer now, but there was an edge of concern he didn't hide.
She just nodded, already half-turning back to her screen.
Dhruv lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, his eyes tracing her figure hunched under the cold light of the monitor.
What are you carrying, Vaani? he wondered silently.
With that thought heavy in his mind, he finally walked away, leaving her alone again with her glowing screens and endless lists.
~·~
The house was quiet.
Dhruv stirred faintly at the sound of footsteps padding softly across the floor. His eyes flickered open against the faint glow of the digital clock on his nightstand.
1:07 AM.
He blinked once, then twice, adjusting his eyes to the dim light seeping in from the crack of the door.
Vaani.
She walked into the room, her hair pulled back in a messy knot, her steps heavy, her posture slumped in a way she would never allow during the day. There was no grace now, no careful effort to hold herself together. Just exhaustion, raw and unfiltered.
Dhruv's jaw tightened imperceptibly as he lay still, watching. She set her phone down on the bedside table, barely bothering to check if the charger was plugged in properly. Her movements were sluggish, almost mechanical.
Without a word, she slipped under the covers, turning onto her side. Within seconds, her breathing shifted—slow, steady, the rhythm of someone who had surrendered completely to fatigue.
She was out like a light.
Dhruv stayed on his back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.
1 AM. Again.
He exhaled slowly, his brows furrowing. This isn't normal. Not sustainable. No one should be working like this.
He thought back to the image of her at the desk—the dual screens glowing, her hands moving without pause, her face tight with concentration. She hadn't even noticed the time passing, hadn't noticed the toll it was taking.
And this wasn't just about "being busy." He knew busy. He lived it, too. He had worked 70-hour weeks, survived brutal deadlines, managed clients across three time zones. But even in the thick of it, there were cycles. Peaks and troughs. Rest days carved out like oxygen.
With her, though... it felt different. Relentless. Like she was chasing something—or maybe running from something.
His gut twisted, a strange heaviness pressing against his chest.
This can't just be her job.
No, this was something else. Something deeper. The way she had almost hidden her screen from him earlier, the way she smiled tightly whenever he asked about her work... it wasn't just about passion or ambition. There was pressure there. A weight she wasn't sharing.
His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to her brothers. Vihaan and Vedant. The way her eyes softened every time they spoke, the way she carried herself around them—firm, protective, almost parental.
He remembered the night at his parents' house, how easily she managed everyone at the table, how she didn't let even a flicker of strain show. He remembered her laughter with her mother, the quiet affection in her father's tone.
She's carrying more than herself, he realized suddenly. She's carrying all of them.
The thought made his chest tighten.
And yet, she never asked. Never leaned. Not on him. Not on anyone. She seemed determined to shoulder it all alone.
Dhruv turned his head slightly, watching her sleep. Her face in the dim light looked younger, softer, but still marked with faint lines of stress that no one her age should have. One hand was curled close to her chest, her breathing even now.
She looked peaceful. But he couldn't shake the image of her earlier—hunched, exhausted, drowning in work she refused to explain.
He shut his eyes, trying to force himself to think of something else. He had his own deadlines, his own responsibilities. He wasn't the type to get involved in someone else's burdens unless invited.
But still.
Her image wouldn't leave his mind.
Why won't she just say what's going on? Why won't she let anyone in?
His gut told him this was bigger than a demanding project. He didn't know for sure. And he hated not knowing.
Not because he was nosy. Not because he needed control. But because for reasons he couldn't name, it unsettled him to see her wearing herself down like this—silently, stubbornly.
He shifted onto his side, forcing his eyes closed.
Stop thinking about it. It's not your business. She'll handle it.
But even as he willed his thoughts elsewhere, the image of her collapsing into bed at one in the morning—burnt out but unbroken—stayed with him.
The kind of image that made sleep refuse to come easily.
Still, after a long stretch of staring into the dark, exhaustion finally pulled him under. His last thought, just before drifting off, was not of work, not of his own schedule—
—but of her.
And the gnawing question of just how much she was sacrificing to keep everything standing.
~·~
The morning sunlight streamed into the living room, catching the faint steam rising from Dhruv's cup of chai. He sat at the dining table, scrolling absently through the news on his phone, his hair still damp from the shower. The apartment was quiet, the hum of the AC the only steady sound.
A door creaked open.
Vaani walked out briskly, her dupatta thrown hurriedly around her shoulders, her handbag already in her hand. Her hair was still slightly damp from her shower, pulled back in a loose braid. Her steps were quick, rushed, her eyes darting toward the wall clock.
Dhruv raised an eyebrow, setting his phone down.
"Vaani," he said evenly, "is everything okay?"
She startled slightly, turning toward him. "Huh? Oh—yeah, yeah. It's just—I don't know how I slept in, I'm already really late for work."
Her words tumbled out in a rush as she adjusted her bag strap, her forehead creased in panic.
Dhruv looked at her for a long moment, then leaned back in his chair, his tone calm but firm.
"Vaani," he said, "it's Saturday."
She froze mid-step, blinking at him. "What?"
"It's Saturday," he repeated, sipping his chai. "No office today."
There was a beat of silence before it sank in. Her shoulders slumped, her bag slipping down to her elbow.
"Oh..." she muttered, staring at the clock as if it had betrayed her. "Oh right... yeah. Saturday."
The embarrassment on her face was almost endearing. She pressed her lips together, exhaling sharply, then set her bag down on the couch.
"I feel so dumb," she admitted quietly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
Dhruv smirked faintly, though his eyes softened. "At least you're not standing outside your office on a weekend."
That earned a small laugh from her, though it was sheepish.
"Come," he said, gesturing toward the table. "You can still have chai."
She nodded and disappeared back into her room, emerging a few minutes later in soft home clothes—a simple kurta and leggings, her hair loose and towel-dried now. She carried her laptop under her arm, a notepad in her hand.
Dhruv watched as she settled onto the opposite chair, setting her cup of chai beside her while immediately opening her device.
Her phone buzzed once, twice, and she picked it up, replying quickly before balancing it beside her laptop.
Then, almost mechanically, she flipped open her notepad and started jotting something down—small lists, arrows, underlined reminders.
Her chai sat untouched.
He raised an eyebrow, watching her pen scratch across the paper. The way she worked even in her supposed downtime unsettled him.
Finally, he asked, casually but deliberately, "When are your paid vacations?"
Her head snapped up, startled. "What?"
"Your paid leaves," he clarified, his tone light. "When are they? Did you already use them up?"
She blinked, processing the question. "Uh... I used one week earlier for our wedding. I still have two left. Why?"
He tilted his head, taking another slow sip of chai. "Just asking."
Her eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. "Is everything okay?"
He shrugged, nonchalant. "Yep. All good."
She studied him for a moment, but when he offered nothing else, she simply nodded and returned to her laptop, her fingers tapping rapidly on the keys.
Dhruv leaned back in his chair, his gaze lingering on her for a beat longer before he shifted back to his own phone. Still, he couldn't help noticing that she hadn't taken even a sip of her tea.
Her phone buzzed again, this time with a familiar contact name flashing on the screen. She answered quickly, her tone shifting instantly—warmer, softer.
"Haan, Aai, bol," she said, her voice carrying just a hint of guilt.
Dhruv's eyes flicked up again.
From the other end, her mother's voice filtered through faintly, her Marathi sharp but affectionate, tinged with exasperation. "Vaani, kiti busy ahes re? Tula velach nahi aahe ga aamchya sathi. Ajibat bolat nahi tu. Yhuda kai kaam asta tula?"
("Vaani, how busy are you? You don't even have time for us anymore. You don't talk to us at all. What heavy work do you have?")
Vaani winced slightly, lowering her gaze. "Aai ga, I'm sorry," she murmured softly. "I've been caught up. But I'll try to do your work today, don't worry."
Her voice was tender, apologetic, as if she already knew this complaint by heart.
Dhruv set his cup down quietly, his eyes narrowing in thought.
She barely had time to sleep. Barely had time for herself. And now—her own mother saying she had no time to even talk.
What struck him most was the way Vaani didn't argue, didn't defend herself. She simply absorbed the scolding, the disappointment, and promised to do more.
Always more.
When the call ended, she sat in silence for a moment, her phone still in her hand. Then she exhaled softly, set it aside, and picked up her pen again as if nothing had happened.
But Dhruv kept watching her.
His thoughts flickered, circling back to last night. To the way she had collapsed into bed without a word. To the dual laptops, the endless notes, the exhaustion she tried to mask behind neat braids and pressed kurtas.
She wasn't just busy. She was drowning. And yet she still had space to tell her mother she'd take on more.
He shook his head faintly, trying to refocus on his own phone, but his mind wouldn't quiet.
How much is she handling on her own? And why?
The untouched chai between them steamed gently, growing cold.
??