32
The first threads of daylight filtered into the room through the half-drawn curtains, soft and gray, tinged with the drizzle that hadn't stopped since last night. The gentle hum of rain against the glass pulled Vaani from sleep, her eyes fluttering open slowly.
Her gaze fell immediately to the other side of the bed.
Dhruv was still asleep, lying on his back, his breathing steady, features completely relaxed in a way she rarely got to see. In the waking hours, there was always a certain control to him—a composure that never cracked. But here, in the dim morning light, he looked unguarded. Peaceful.
For a moment, Vaani simply watched him. A pang of guilt tugged at her chest. She had dozed off last night waiting for him, despite her best efforts.
She had wanted to talk, even if just briefly, but instead she had surrendered to her own fatigue.
She wished she had fought it harder, that she had stayed awake to at least ask him how the call had gone.
Sighing softly, she slipped out of bed, moving quietly so as not to disturb him. She padded across the room, gathered her things, and stepped into the bathroom.
The shower was warm against the lingering chill of the room, steam rising around her as she closed her eyes and let the water run over her. She tried to let it wash away the small ache she carried—the guilt, the confusion, the quiet heaviness she hadn't been able to name.
By the time she emerged, she was dressed neatly in a black skirt, a full-length cream top tucked in, and stockings underneath.
Her trench coat hung ready on the chair, waiting for when they would step out.
She ran a brush through her hair, letting it fall naturally, and for a moment she studied her reflection in the mirror.
She looked fine. More than fine, actually.
Presentable, polished, someone who belonged in pictures against the streets of Scotland.
And yet, the same doubt lingered, unshakable.
Her phone buzzed just then, and she picked it up to see her mother's name flashing on the screen. Smiling faintly, she answered.
"Hello, Aai."
"Vaani! Good morning, beta," her mother's voice was warm, familiar. "How are you? How is Scotland treating you?"
Vaani walked toward the balcony as she answered, pulling open the door. The cool air brushed against her cheeks, carrying with it the scent of wet earth and the faint freshness of the drizzle. She settled into the chair there.
"It's beautiful here, Aai," she said softly, angling the phone to show the view. "Look at this—the rain hasn't stopped since yesterday. Everything looks so clean, so alive. I love it."
Her mother's delighted exclamation carried through the line. "Ah, it looks wonderful. You've always loved the rain. And what about Dhruv? Where is he?"
Vaani glanced back into the room instinctively, her eyes landing on the bed where he still slept soundly. His form was half-hidden beneath the blankets, utterly still.
"He's asleep," she said, her voice softer now. "He was on a work call late into the night."
Her mother made a sympathetic sound. "Work never leaves him, does it? But that is life, na. At least you both are there together. That's what matters."
Vaani smiled faintly. "Hmm, yeah." She didn't add more.
The conversation drifted into familiar patterns—her mother asking about meals, about whether she was keeping warm, about the places they had visited yesterday.
Vaani told her about Inverness, about the mountains, about the bookstore.
She kept her tone light, weaving her descriptions with laughter, making sure her parents didn't sense the undercurrent she herself carried.
"Bas, khayal rakhna," her mother said eventually. "And take lots of photos. We're waiting to see them all when you return."
"I will, Aai," Vaani promised, before hanging up.
The balcony was quiet again. She set her phone on the table beside her and leaned back in the chair, her gaze drifting out to the streets below.
And then the thoughts she had been pushing aside returned, uninvited.
Last night had left her unsettled in ways she couldn't quite articulate.
Dhruv had told her once—don't kill your excitement when you talk to me.
And she had taken those words to heart, felt warmed by them.
But at the same time, she couldn't help noticing that his own enthusiasm rarely showed.
He didn't volunteer much, didn't add to her excitement with his own words.
He listened, yes. Sometimes he smiled, sometimes even chuckled.
But the silence between those gestures—it was heavy.
Was he just naturally quiet? She had always known him to be reserved. Or was it something more—that he didn't want to be here with her, not in the way she wanted him to?
She folded her arms around herself, staring at the wet pavement shining under the rain.
Maybe, she thought, this marriage really was just duty to him.
A responsibility he had accepted, like everything else in his life—calmly, quietly, without fuss.
And she was the talkative one, the one who filled the space with her excitement, with her words.
Perhaps she was just... too much.
You only see the quiet ones fall for the loud ones in movies, she thought, this isn't a movie. This is real life.
Her throat tightened.
She scrolled through her phone absentmindedly, opening Instagram.
The photos from yesterday stared back at her—the mountains, the bookstores, the rainy streets.
All framed in her careful way, all neatly edited, all aesthetic.
To anyone watching, her stories told a picture-perfect narrative of a woman traveling through Scotland.
She tapped to add another story, a shot of the rainy balcony view. The irony wasn't lost on her—that her feed looked like joy, but her chest felt like confusion.
Maybe this was just how it was going to be, she thought. She had always known she would need to shoulder a lot—work, responsibilities, supporting Vedant and Vihaan. Maybe expecting more—conversation, excitement, shared joy—from Dhruv was unfair.
Maybe silence was his way of being there.
She swallowed the feeling down, pressing her lips together as she added a simple caption to the photo before posting it.
Then she set the phone aside, folded her legs onto the chair, and sat there in the cool morning air, trying to let the drizzle wash over her without letting her own thoughts drown her.
She smiled faintly for the camera when she checked the story again, but inside she couldn't shake the small, gnawing ache.
And so she sat, still and quiet, telling herself that this was enough. That she shouldn't expect more.
~·~
The rain had not let up.
It came in thin sheets now, not the heavy downpour of the night, but steady enough to blur the city outside their hotel window into shifting strokes of gray and green. The muffled rhythm of it was the first thing Dhruv noticed when he stirred awake. The second thing was the absence.
He turned slightly, his hand brushing the cool, empty space beside him.
Vaani's side of the bed was untouched since morning—blanket folded neatly back, pillows undisturbed.
She had been up for a while. He pushed himself upright, rubbing the back of his neck, and glanced toward the balcony.
The faint sound of the sliding door creaking open and shut on occasion told him she was there. Again.
Something in his chest shifted—he didn't let himself dwell on it. Instead, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and moved into the bathroom.
The shower was brisk, the water cool against his skin, dragging away the heaviness of the previous night.
He dressed in dark jeans, a muted gray full-sleeve shirt, and shrugged into his jacket.
When he checked the mirror, his reflection looked presentable, unassuming.
He smoothed his damp hair back and let out a quiet breath before stepping out.
The balcony door was half open. He could see her through it, her figure curled into the chair with her phone tilted at just the right angle, adjusting frames, moving filters, adding captions.
A soft glow from her screen lit her face.
There was focus in her posture, the kind of meticulous care she always poured into her photos.
Something about the sight tugged at him—she looked entirely absorbed, yet there was a faint stiffness in her shoulders, as though her thoughts ran deeper than the simple act of posting a story.
He raised his hand and tapped lightly on the glass.
She startled, her phone nearly slipping from her grip before she caught it. Turning quickly, her eyes met his, wide for a moment before softening. "Oh—hi."
"Good morning," he said, his voice steady.
"Good morning," she returned, with a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
For a moment, silence hung between them, fragile as the mist outside. Dhruv opened his mouth—he had been meaning to say something about yesterday, to explain the call, the time, the way he had come back to find her asleep on the couch.
But before he could speak, she looked at him, her eyes sliding briefly to his jacket. "You seem ready?" she asked lightly, her tone careful, almost rehearsed.
"Yeah..." he hesitated, then gave a faint nod. "I am."
She pushed herself to her feet, brushing invisible creases off her skirt. "Let's go for breakfast then?"
For a heartbeat, he just studied her. There was something in her expression he couldn't read, something deliberately smoothed over. But he said nothing—just gave a quiet nod.
They walked side by side through the hallway, the sound of their footsteps and the faint hum of the hotel's ventilation system filling the silence between them.
The lift arrived with a muted ding, its doors sliding open.
Inside, they stood with the quiet tension of two people who had things unsaid but weren't ready to voice them yet.
Vaani shifted slightly, her hands clasped in front of her, her gaze fixed on the floor's glowing numbers as the lift descended.
Dhruv kept his eyes on the door, jaw set but not tight.
The dining area was warm, filled with the low hum of conversations and the clinking of cutlery against porcelain.
A light scent of fresh bread and coffee drifted through the air.
They moved in unison toward the buffet, picking plates, serving themselves quietly.
Vaani reached for fruit and toast, her movements neat and unhurried.
Dhruv opted for coffee, and a slice of bread, his choices as minimal as his manner.
When they finally sat down at their small table by the window, the silence followed them there too. The rain streaked down the glass beside them, a backdrop that seemed to echo their wordlessness.
For several minutes, the only sounds between them were the quiet scrape of fork against plate, the soft sip of coffee, the rustle of napkins.
Vaani's eyes flickered occasionally toward him, but she quickly dropped them back to her plate whenever he shifted.
She forced herself to smile faintly once or twice, though it never lingered.
Dhruv, however, couldn't ignore the tightness in his chest anymore. He set down his fork slowly, glanced at her, and finally broke the silence.
"I'm sorry about yesterday," he said, his voice low but clear. "The call went on for too long."
Vaani's head lifted slightly, her gaze meeting his for a moment. There was something unreadable in her eyes, something that almost gave away her fatigue, her sadness—but she smoothed it over quickly. Her lips curved into a small smile, polite, careful.
"It's alright," she said softly. "I understand."
Her tone was kind, but there was an undercurrent beneath it that he couldn't quite name.
He wanted to say more—to explain how important that call had been, how it wasn't just an ordinary office update but a confidential matter he couldn't delegate, one that required his full attention.
He wanted to tell her that he had felt guilty, that he had noticed her asleep with the TV still running and felt something twist inside him.
But the words stalled in his throat.
Instead, he simply nodded faintly, picked his fork back up, and let the silence stretch again.
Vaani gave him one last small smile, one that was more effort than ease, and turned her attention back to her plate. She ate slowly, deliberately, as though reminding herself that this was enough—that his apology, however brief, was enough. That her understanding had to be enough.
Outside, the rain continued, soft and unrelenting.
At that table, they sat together, sharing the same space, sharing the same meal, yet caught in the quiet gulf of words unspoken.
The breakfast plates were cleared away quietly. Neither Dhruv nor Vaani lingered long at the table—they both moved with the group rhythm, finishing their coffee and setting cutlery neatly down, as though some unspoken agreement had passed between them not to stretch the silence further.
By the time they stepped back into the lobby, the group for the day's excursion was already gathering. Their tour guide—a cheerful woman in her late forties, with a rainproof jacket the color of moss and a clipboard in hand—clapped lightly to draw attention.
"Alright, everyone for the Isle of Skye, this way please!" she called, her accent rolling over the words with a lilting energy. "It's a long journey today, so make sure you've got everything you need before we board."
The announcement buzzed through the crowd like a spark.
People shuffled, adjusted their coats, checked bags.
Vaani and Dhruv fell in line, their suitcases left behind at the hotel since this was only a day trip.
She clutched her trench coat tighter against her, the faint drizzle of rain kissing her hair as they stepped outside.
The train station was alive with the familiar symphony of travel—footsteps clattering against concrete, voices echoing, announcements cutting through the air. A faint smell of coffee and wet stone clung to the air.
As they boarded, Vaani glanced once at Dhruv.
He carried himself with that same calm steadiness, guiding her through the crowd without a word, his hand brushing against her elbow to gently direct her when the line thinned.
There was no warmth in it, but there was no harshness either—just his quiet, pragmatic presence.
They found their seats by the window, a two-seater facing forward.
Vaani slid into the seat nearest the glass, pulling her coat tighter and tucking her hair behind her ear as she leaned lightly on the armrest. Outside, the tracks shimmered wet in the drizzle.
She let out a slow breath, telling herself that maybe today would be better—that the Isle of Skye, with its dramatic cliffs and skies, might create a moment of shared wonder.
But as soon as Dhruv sat down, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
The screen lit up, one notification after another.
A steady stream of work messages—emails, group chats, updates.
His jaw tightened slightly as his eyes flickered across them.
Almost automatically, his thumbs began moving, typing, replying, forwarding.
His posture leaned slightly inward, absorbed fully.
Vaani noticed instantly.
She turned her face back toward the glass, but the weight pressed down on her chest. That quiet ache again—the same one she had felt last night when he stayed outside on the call, when she had waited and tried to keep awake for him.
Now, here they were, beginning another long day of travel together, and his first instinct was to bury himself into work.
Her thoughts churned, restless.
Maybe I should have brought my laptop too, she thought, her eyes tracing the blurred shapes of trees and buildings rushing past. At least then, I'd be earning on the way.
She thought of the pile of files waiting back home—the never-ending meetings, the deadlines stacked one over the other, the never-satisfied bosses who trusted her because she never said no.
The work that had eaten up most of her time since their wedding.
The work that made her believe, at times, that she wasn't doing enough for this marriage.
Maybe he doesn't talk because he thinks I'm too absent, too busy. Maybe he doesn't even expect me to make space for him anymore.
The thought burned in her chest, twisting with guilt.
But then came another wave—because what choice did she really have?
The money wasn't just hers. It wasn't just about her career.
It was for Vedant's dreams, for Vihaan's future.
Every hour she worked was an hour of security for them, an hour closer to their independence. How could she walk away from that?
Her throat felt tight.
She closed her eyes against the view, against the flicker of light that rolled through the carriage as the train slipped past tunnels and trees. She tried to steady her breathing, tried to remind herself she was here—on a trip she had wanted, with a husband she was still trying to know.
But all she could feel was the distance.
The steady sound of Dhruv typing on his phone filled the quiet between them. Quick taps, brief pauses, the faint buzz of incoming replies. It was a rhythm she could not escape, a reminder of where his mind was—elsewhere, somewhere she couldn't reach.
Slowly, almost without realizing, Vaani let herself lean more heavily against the window. The motion of the train rocked gently, like a lullaby she hadn't asked for. Fatigue from the past two days—the endless walking, the rain, the sleepless tug of worry—settled into her bones.
Her eyelids drooped, heavy.
She tried, just for a moment, to hold on, to keep her eyes open and her thoughts steady. But the effort was too much. Quietly, without words, she let herself drift into sleep, her head tilted slightly against the glass, her hand loose in her lap.
Beside her, Dhruv remained as he was—phone in hand, absorbed in work. The world blurred past outside, a landscape of green hills and gray skies rushing toward the Isle of Skye.
Two people, side by side, yet caught in two entirely different worlds.
~·~
The train hissed as it slowed to a halt, the brakes screeching faintly against the rails.
After three hours of motion, the jolt of stillness made Vaani blink awake.
She stirred against the window, her neck stiff from leaning too long on the glass.
A soft groan escaped her lips as she straightened her back, stretching her arms overhead with a yawn.
The cool air that swept in as the train doors opened felt like a sudden shock—sharp, fresh, carrying the tang of rain and sea salt.
Vaani stood, slipping her coat tighter around herself, and followed the cluster of people onto the platform.
Dhruv stepped down beside her, putting his phone in his pocket at last, his eyes scanning the surroundings calmly.
Their tour guide stood near the exit, clapping her hands to gather attention again.
"Alright, everyone! You've got the whole day to explore. Meet back here at six sharp—don't be late. The train won't wait, and neither will I!" she said with a teasing grin.
The crowd chuckled lightly and then dispersed, groups peeling away toward the narrow streets and open paths ahead.
Vaani instinctively checked her watch. 10 a.m. The realization made her pause.
Eight hours until they had to be back. That's.
.. a long time. She pressed her lips together, trying to picture how the day might unfold.
Part of her wanted to fill it with chatter, photographs, and small discoveries.
But a quick glance at Dhruv reminded her of the silence that had sat between them all morning.
He caught her glance for a second. His eyes softened just a little, as if searching for something—maybe a clue to her quietness.
But then, perhaps deciding not to overthink it, he shrugged it away internally.
Maybe she's just tired, he reasoned, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets. Maybe it's one of those days.
Vaani, already a few steps ahead, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and began walking.
The path stretched forward, damp cobblestones shining under the thin mist, the smell of peat and earth mingling with the breeze.
Dhruv's long stride naturally caught up to hers, and he moved beside her in silence, adjusting his pace to match.
And then—
"Vaani!"
The voice came sharp, carried with familiarity across the space.
Both of them turned. Vaani's eyes widened instantly, her breath catching as recognition set in. A woman with a bright smile, her hair curled loosely around her shoulders, was hurrying toward her. Next to her walked a tall man, his arm brushing against hers in easy intimacy.
"Oh my god—Aria!" Vaani exclaimed, her lips breaking into the widest grin she'd worn in days. She stepped forward, and the two women collided in a warm hug, laughter spilling out of them like they were back in their college corridors.
"Long time, Vans!" Aria said, holding her arms for a moment before stepping back. "How are you? Look at you—you haven't changed one bit!"
Vaani's cheeks flushed with excitement. "I'm good, I'm good! This is insane. What are you doing here?!"
Aria's smile turned mischievous as she raised her left hand, wiggling her fingers. A ring caught the light, gleaming proudly. "Well... this," she said, giggling. "I'm on my honeymoon. I got married!"
Vaani gasped, clutching her friend's hand. "No way! Ariaaa! That's huge! Congratulations!"
Just then, the man beside Aria stepped forward. He had an easy, confident stance, his expression kind. "I'm Aditya," he said warmly.
Vaani nodded, smiling brightly. "Very nice to meet you."
Aria's grin only grew. "But what about you, Vans? What brings you here?"
Before Vaani could reply, Dhruv stepped closer, his quiet presence filling the space beside her. She glanced at him, then back at Aria. "I'm also on my honeymoon," she said politely, her voice softer this time.
Aria's eyes went round. "Wait—what? You got married?!"
Vaani nodded, laughing lightly at her friend's shock. "Yeah... I did." Her hand gestured toward Dhruv. "This is Dhruv, my husband."
"Hi," Dhruv offered a polite nod, his smile small but courteous, extending his hand. Both Aria and Aditya shook it in turn, their friendliness met by his calm civility.
"This is so exciting," Aria gushed. "Two honeymoons crossing paths in Scotland! What are the chances?"
"How long are you here for?" Vaani asked.
"Just landed yesterday," Aria replied, eyes shining. "We're starting with this—Isle of Skye as day one!"
Vaani's smile dimmed a little. "Oh... today's actually our last day here."
"That's a shame," Aria pouted, then suddenly lit up again. "Wait. I've got a killer idea. If Dhruv and Aditya don't mind—why don't we spend today together? It'll be fun! Catching up, exploring... honeymoon couples double-date style!"
Her energy was infectious, spilling into the air. Vaani felt a flicker of hesitation. She glanced at Dhruv, searching his face for a clue, some hint of whether he'd rather it just be the two of them.
But Dhruv's expression was unreadable—calm, measured, neither leaning into excitement nor dismissing the idea. Aditya, meanwhile, clapped his hands lightly together. "I don't mind. Sounds fun!" he said, looking genuinely open to the suggestion.
Aria beamed, waiting.
Dhruv finally gave a small nod, his voice steady. "Sure, why not."
Vaani's heart shifted in her chest. Would he rather spend the day with a group than alone with me? The thought stung, though she quickly buried it, not wanting her face to give anything away.
Instead, she stretched her lips into a bright smile and turned back to Aria. "Let's go then!"
Aria squealed lightly, looping her arm with Vaani's as the four of them began walking together, the misty morning swallowing their laughter into the highland air.
??