34
The faint grey of dawn slipped in through the hotel curtains, casting a muted glow across the room. Dhruv stirred earlier than usual, his mind ticking with the itinerary for the day. Oxford. That was where they were headed.
He rubbed a hand across his face, sat up slowly, and blinked at the clock on the nightstand—6:45 a.m. Still early. The quiet was profound; the kind of quiet where even the hum of the heater seemed distant. He shifted slightly and glanced sideways.
Vaani was still asleep.
She lay curled beneath the covers, her breathing soft and even.
A strand of hair had fallen across her cheek, her face turned toward the pillow.
The faint rise and fall of her chest was almost rhythmic, and something about the sight held him still for longer than he expected.
She looked peaceful—untouched by the weight that seemed to sit on her during the day.
He let her be.
Silently, Dhruv slid out of bed, his steps practiced and light.
He crossed to the small desk where their travel documents were kept.
He gathered the folder, flicking it open to double-check the day's plans.
The tickets were in order. Their train to Oxford was scheduled for 11:00 a.m. He noted the station address again, underlining it mentally so there would be no last-minute scrambling.
A relief washed through him—it was a relaxed day. Not one of those crack-of-dawn tours or mad rushes. They could take their time.
He looked back toward the bed once more. Still fast asleep.
A thought settled in him: she deserved the rest. The last few days had been packed—trains, tours, long walks, awkward silences that had weighed more than the travel itself.
She had done all of it without complaint, but he had noticed the faint shadows under her eyes, the way her posture slumped when she thought no one was watching.
He made a decision. He wouldn't wake her.
Instead, he padded toward the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind him. The sound of the shower filled the small space, hot water streaming down as steam blurred the mirror. Dhruv scrubbed the travel fatigue away, his mind not entirely on the present.
Aria's voice echoed.
"Vaani would always be talking about weddings. She couldn't wait to be married."
He remembered Aria's laughter, her teasing tone, the insistence that Vaani had once been this chatterbox who filled every silence. It sat oddly in his chest.
Because the woman asleep in the next room was not that person. Not here. Not with him.
He frowned slightly, tilting his face under the spray. Why?
Was it because of him?
When he stepped out, towel draped over his shoulders, he caught his reflection in the mirror. Silent. That was the word Aria had used for him too. Silent. He knew it was true—words weren't his comfort. But had his quiet turned hers off too? Had he pressed her into silence without realizing?
He pulled on his clothes—jeans, a crisp shirt, and his jacket—and ruffled his hair dry with the towel before tossing it aside. By the time he returned to the main room, the sun had climbed higher, pale gold streaking in through the curtains.
She still hadn't stirred. Her face remained buried in the pillow, lips parted slightly, one hand resting limply on the blanket's edge.
Dhruv moved carefully, dialing the reception from the room phone. "Breakfast to the room, please. By 9:30. For two."
The thought came unbidden: even if she missed the hotel breakfast downstairs, this way she wouldn't wake up rushed. She could take her time.
It wasn't something he usually thought of—small comforts, tiny adjustments for another person's ease. But now, it had felt instinctive.
He pushed open the sliding door to the balcony, stepping into the cool air.
The city below was beginning to stir, early commuters threading through streets, the distant honk of taxis blending with the morning hum.
He carried his laptop with him, setting it down on the small table.
The familiar comfort of work pulled him in quickly—emails stacked, documents flagged, project updates waiting for approval.
His fingers moved across the keyboard with ease, but his mind wasn't fully tethered to the words on the screen. Between one email and the next, his gaze flickered back toward the bedroom inside, toward her.
Aria's voice threaded back again. She has no mute button. She's not silent at all.
But here she was—quiet. Almost withdrawn. And not in the carefree sense of enjoying a trip quietly. No, it felt heavier. As if something had clipped her wings.
He leaned back in the chair, staring absently at the screen.
Maybe it was her family. Aria had said something about how she was always carrying things, always doing too much.
That rang true. He'd seen Vaani glued to her laptop in the first days after the wedding, tackling workload after workload, exhaustion pressed into the lines of her face.
Was she weighed down so much that the spark of her had dimmed? Did her parents even know? Did anyone?
He rubbed his jaw slowly.
It was strange. He'd married her, yet it felt like he was standing at the threshold of her world, not invited inside, not even knocking.
A bird fluttered across the balcony railing, snapping him out of his thoughts. Dhruv sighed, refocusing on his laptop, replying to another urgent message. But his mind strayed again and again, circling back to her, to the contrast Aria had laid bare.
Because one thing was clear: the Vaani people remembered, and the Vaani beside him now, were not the same.
And he couldn't help but wonder—was he the reason?
Inside, she stirred faintly in her sleep, shifting under the covers as if sensing the world around her. He looked in through the glass door, watching.
It was still early. She had time. He'd give her that time.
So he turned back to his laptop, the low hum of work a background rhythm, while thoughts of her—of what she had been, what she was now, and what he didn't yet understand—filled the spaces in between.
~·~
The alarm hadn't rung. Or maybe it had, and she hadn't heard it.
Vaani blinked awake groggily, sunlight spilling through the gap in the curtains. She shifted, stretching her arms above her head, and then turned to the nightstand. The clock read 9:15 a.m.
Her heart jumped.
"Oh god." She sat upright in bed, the blanket pooling around her waist. How did I sleep this late?
She raked her fingers through her hair, glancing toward the balcony where she caught a glimpse of Dhruv, already dressed, his laptop open on the small table.
His posture was straight, his focus unwavering. Work, always.
The sudden weight of guilt hit her chest. She should've been up earlier. She should've showered, dressed, and been ready to plan the day. Instead, she'd overslept on what was supposed to be their honeymoon.
She scrambled out of bed, heading straight to the bathroom. The water was quick and hot, washing away some of the panic, but her mind ran in circles. He must think I'm lazy. Or careless. God, he must've already eaten breakfast without me.
Fifteen minutes later, she emerged with damp hair clinging to her neck, tugging her skirt into place and adjusting her stockings. She glanced at the clock again—9:35. Breakfast hours would be ending soon downstairs. Her stomach knotted with both hunger and embarrassment.
She grabbed her hairbrush, combing it properly and letting it rest as normal, when a sharp knock came at the door.
She froze.
Tentatively, she walked over and pulled it open. A hotel staff member stood outside with a trolley stacked neatly with plates, juice glasses, and a covered tray that smelled faintly of warm croissants.
"Ma'am, your breakfast order."
Her brows furrowed. "Breakfast order? But—"
Before she could finish, a voice came from behind.
"Thank you."
She turned to find Dhruv standing just inside the doorway, hands in his pockets. His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was something softer in his eyes when they met hers. "I asked them to bring it here."
She blinked. "Oh."
"You looked deep asleep," he explained simply. "Didn't want to disturb you."
Something shifted inside her chest. A small, unexpected warmth. She hadn't thought he'd notice—let alone plan around her rest. Words caught in her throat for a moment, and all she managed was a soft, "Thank you."
He gave a slight nod, stepping aside so the staff could roll the trolley in. After the door shut, silence hovered briefly between them before she pulled out a chair.
They sat down across from each other, lifting the lids from plates—omelettes, bread rolls, fruit, and steaming cups of tea. She served herself quietly, still a little stunned by the gesture.
The clinking of cutlery filled the room, unaccompanied by much else.
Dhruv cut into his toast with practiced efficiency, while she nibbled at strawberries, stealing glances at him.
He wasn't one to talk unnecessarily, she knew that by now, but his silence always left her wondering if she should be saying something more.
Finally, he broke it.
"So, Oxford today."
She looked up, surprised, then let a small smile slip across her lips. "Yeah. I can't wait to see it again."
His gaze lingered, curious. "You're going there after how long?"
She tilted her head, thinking. "Two years."
"Long time," he remarked, sipping his tea.
The words hung between them, and for a second she wanted to say something more. About how much she had loved it back then. About how different her life had been. But the heaviness in her chest made her hesitate, and instead she asked, "How long has it been since you left the US?"
He paused, knife poised over his plate. "Maybe four years."
Her eyes widened. "Wow."
He leaned back slightly. "Do you like the US?"
The question caught her off guard. She blinked at him, then gave a small, almost embarrassed shrug. "I don't know."
He frowned faintly. "Why not?"
"Because..." She picked at the edge of her napkin, her voice quiet. "I've never been to the US."
For the first time that morning, genuine surprise flickered across his features. "Never? Not even on holiday?"
She shook her head. "Nope."
He set his cup down, watching her with a kind of quiet disbelief. "Oh wow."
She chuckled weakly, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. The truth was simple, and yet it felt like it exposed more than she wanted to admit—how small her world had been compared to his. How much she had been bound to her family, her duties, her constant cycle of giving without pause.
Silence settled again. Not harsh, but not entirely comfortable either.
They returned to their plates, the sounds of forks against porcelain filling the void. He looked thoughtful, as if replaying her words in his head, and she felt her cheeks warm under the weight of his quiet gaze even when he wasn't directly looking at her.
The moment wasn't dramatic. It wasn't full of confessions or laughter.
But for Vaani, it carried weight. The simple fact that he had ordered breakfast, that he had thought of her sleep, that he was surprised she hadn't seen more of the world—it all wrapped together into a small knot of something she couldn't name.
And for Dhruv, though he didn't say it, the realization sank deeper: there was so much about her he didn't know.
~·~
The station was buzzing when they arrived, suitcase wheels rattling over the tiled floor, announcements echoing overhead.
Vaani held her coat tighter around herself as they made their way to the platform.
The train was already waiting, its sleek silver body gleaming under the grey light of a late English morning.
She stepped up, found their seats, and settled by the window.
Dhruv followed, sliding into the aisle seat beside her, setting his backpack down neatly at his feet.
The hum of conversation around them, the rhythmic clattering of bags in the overhead racks, the shuffle of passengers—it all blended into the familiar prelude of a long train ride.
Vaani pressed her palms to her knees and took a quiet breath, glancing at the view outside.
The countryside would open up soon. She knew the route well enough.
She had taken this journey countless times back in her university days, each trip carrying a different weight: returning from a tiring term, heading back after a holiday, or sometimes simply running away from the city for a breath of space.
Her lips curved faintly.
Dhruv noticed, though he didn't comment.
Instead, he leaned back, unfolding his phone for a moment to check his messages.
A few emails waited, but nothing that required his immediate attention, and for once he resisted the reflex of slipping into work mode.
The train shuddered to life, pulling away from the platform, the world outside beginning to blur into motion.
Vaani's gaze was fixed out the window.
Fields stretched wide, dotted with sheep that looked like tufts of cotton scattered across the grass. The sky hung low, soft and grey, the kind of sky she had grown used to during her time here. Her chest tightened, not with sadness, but with an odd blend of nostalgia and comfort.
Dhruv followed her line of sight for a moment, then studied her expression. There was a brightness in her eyes he hadn't seen in the past few days. Subtle, but there. The corners of her lips kept lifting as if unconsciously, like she couldn't quite contain the feeling of being back.
It softened something in him.
She didn't speak much, but she didn't need to. Her body language told the story clearly: this was her place. A part of her still belonged here, in the winding roads and spired skylines of Oxfordshire.
The train rattled on, cutting through small towns and expanses of countryside.
Vaani sat upright, hands folded in her lap now, her eyes following each turn of the landscape as if she were reacquainting herself with an old friend.
Every now and then, she leaned closer to the glass, and Dhruv noticed the way her breath fogged faintly against the window.
He found himself thinking, When was the last time I looked at a city this way?
Berkeley. Maybe. New York, possibly.
He remembered the feeling of landing back in JFK after months away.
The jolt of recognition when yellow cabs streamed past, the sound of traffic thick and endless, the skyline rising like an old rhythm he carried in his bones.
He hadn't called it happiness back then, but maybe it was.
Maybe it was the same feeling she carried now, this quiet joy of belonging.
The difference, he realized, was that he had buried it. Work, ambition, schedules—all of it had dulled the edges of nostalgia. He had trained himself not to dwell. Watching her now, he wondered if he'd forgotten what it meant to simply miss a place.
Vaani shifted slightly, crossing her legs, the heel of her shoe tapping lightly against the floor as if in restless energy. She glanced at him once, caught his eye, then smiled briefly before looking back out again.
That smile stayed with him longer than he expected.
An attendant passed through the carriage offering tea and biscuits.
Dhruv shook his head, but Vaani accepted a small paper cup.
She cradled it between her palms, inhaling the steam before taking a sip.
Something about the gesture—simple, familiar—added to the picture of her as someone entirely at ease in this moment.
Dhruv studied his hands, then the window again.
His reflection stared back faintly, his features layered over the blur of countryside.
The thought tugged again: Would I smile like that if I went back to Berkeley?
Would I look that content if I saw the Bay, or the streets near campus, or the coffee shops where I spent entire nights working?
The answer wasn't clear.
He remembered Berkeley's warmth, the lazy California afternoons.
He remembered New York's rush, the endless drive of it.
But would he light up the way she did? He wasn't sure.
His connection to places had always been practical—what they gave him, how they shaped him, not necessarily how they comforted him.
Perhaps that was the difference.
The train slowed as it neared a small stop, then picked up again.
A couple near the front laughed quietly together, and further back someone was speaking rapidly into a phone.
Amid the noise, Vaani remained in her own world, eyes flicking quickly over each landmark that came into view.
She was cataloguing, remembering, holding on.
He realized he was watching her more than the scenery.
After nearly two hours, the outlines of Oxford began to emerge—the soft rise of spires, the clustered stone buildings, the pale streets weaving into a pattern she knew by heart. Vaani leaned forward slightly, her breath catching just enough to show her excitement.
"There," she whispered almost to herself, pointing out a rooftop she recognized.
Dhruv followed her gesture, and though he couldn't place the significance, he saw the way her entire posture shifted. It was like she had been waiting to exhale and finally could.
The smile that spread across her face then was different. Not polite. Not forced. Genuine, bright, almost childlike in its ease.
He let out a slow breath and—unexpectedly—smiled too.
It wasn't wide, not something she would catch if she didn't turn, but it was there. A small curve at the corner of his mouth, a reaction to her happiness rather than his own.
And in that moment, he thought—not about spreadsheets or projects or deals—but about her. About how little he understood of her world, how much he wanted to uncover, and whether he could be part of the things that made her light up like this.
The train slowed again, entering Oxford station, the brakes squealing faintly. Passengers stood, gathering bags, coats, and scarves. Vaani glanced at him finally, her eyes bright.
"We're here," she said, almost unnecessarily, but her voice carried a thrill she didn't bother to hide.
He nodded, his gaze lingering on her expression for a beat too long before he rose to pull down their luggage.
"Yes," he said quietly, more to himself than to her. "We're here."
The cab dropped them off near the cobbled lane leading toward the hotel.
The air was lighter in Oxford, brisk and almost academic, as if even the wind carried old lessons with it.
Vaani tugged her coat tighter around herself as she walked beside Dhruv, her eyes already darting across the familiar streets.
It had been two years, but the place still felt like a piece of herself—quiet, sturdy, welcoming.
They checked into their hotel, the process quick and efficient, and soon they were inside their room.
As soon as the bellboy left, Vaani's first instinct was to walk straight to the balcony.
She pushed the glass door open and stepped outside, her breath catching.
From there, in the distance, she could see the spires, the neat stone pathways, and a faint silhouette of one of the colleges.
Her lips curved into a soft smile. "It feels the same," she whispered to herself, almost reverently.
Dhruv came up behind her, hands in his pockets, following her gaze.
He didn't say anything at first, simply observing how her face lit up.
He hadn't seen her look like this the whole trip—not in Glasgow, not even in Inverness.
It struck him, quietly, that this place carried something he didn't yet understand.
"Do you want to have lunch?" he asked eventually, voice low, almost careful not to break the moment.
She turned, excitement in her eyes. "Oh—I know just where to go."
He raised his brows, half a smile tugging at him. "Lead the way then."
So they set out again, the streets echoing with their footfalls.
For the first few minutes, they walked in silence, the kind that wasn't heavy but wasn't particularly light either.
Vaani's eyes were busy soaking everything in—the bookstores she had once ducked into, the narrow cafés tucked between stone arches, the bicycles whizzing past. Dhruv noticed the way her steps slowed whenever they passed a familiar spot, how her eyes softened.
"You're very quiet," he remarked after a while, glancing at her. "For someone who just entered a city she loves."
She smiled faintly, almost embarrassed. "No, I just... I don't know."
"You don't know?" he pressed, curious.
"Maybe it's because I feel like if I start talking, I won't stop," she said with a little shrug, looking down.
Dhruv shook his head slightly, his lips twitching. "Show me around, then. Tell me."
She looked at him, surprised. "Really?"
He nodded casually, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "You know this place. I don't. So, guide."
Her heart warmed unexpectedly at his words. "Okay then. Come."
They turned down a street lined with honey-colored stone walls and she pointed to a tall, ornate building.
"That's the Bodleian Library. I can't tell you how many times I got lost in there.
There's this smell, you know—old pages, wood polish.
I used to sit by the window upstairs and just..
. stare outside when I got tired of studying. "
Dhruv followed her gaze, eyes landing on the grand architecture. "Looks... intense."
She laughed softly. "It is. But it also felt like a sanctuary sometimes. I'd go in thinking I'll study for an hour and come out after five."
They walked on, the pace steady, the world bustling around them. She pointed at another lane. "That bookstore—Blackwell's—I used to spend entire weekends there. They have this underground floor with endless shelves. It's like a maze, honestly."
"You sound like you lived there," he said, a small smile tugging at him again.
"Almost did," she admitted sheepishly. "Once I even fell asleep on the couch in one corner. The staff didn't even wake me up, they just left me there."
He chuckled under his breath, the sound surprising even him. "I can imagine that."
They kept walking, and she gestured to a tiny café with plants spilling over the entrance. "That's Vaults & Garden Café. I used to come here with my friends, grab soup and bread. It's always packed, but worth it."
Dhruv glanced at it, then at her. "Soup and bread doesn't sound like a full meal."
She laughed again, shaking her head. "It doesn't, but somehow it always felt filling. Maybe because the soup was warm and the bread fresh, and because we'd sit there talking for hours."
He didn't reply, but he was listening—really listening.
They crossed another street and she slowed down at a gate leading into a college quad. "This was my college," she said softly. "Worcester. The gardens are the best part. I used to go sit by the pond whenever I needed to think. You'd always find ducks wandering around."
"Did you talk to them too?" Dhruv asked, his tone light.
She glanced at him quickly, then laughed. "Maybe once or twice. When no one was around."
His lips curved but he didn't tease further.
Instead, he let her guide them through the streets, her voice weaving stories.
Sometimes it was a funny memory about rushing to lectures late, sometimes about winters that bit through her gloves, sometimes about how she and Aria would spend hours just walking and dreaming about the future.
He listened quietly, and she realized he wasn't dismissing any of it. He wasn't filling in the silence with his own stories, but he was there—his silence attentive instead of indifferent.
Finally, they reached a small side street where an old inn-like restaurant sat. She paused, pointing at it. "Here. This is where I thought we could eat. They serve the best pastas."
Dhruv looked at her, then at the place. "Lead the way," he said again, his tone softer this time.
And as they stepped inside, Vaani couldn't help but feel something shift slightly in her chest. For the first time in a while, it didn't feel like she was dragging him along her memories—it felt like he was walking into them with her.
~·~
They returned to the hotel late evening, the streets quieter now compared to the lunchtime rush.
Vaani walked a few steps ahead, her scarf fluttering behind her, still carrying that subtle spark in her face that Oxford always seemed to bring out.
Dhruv trailed a little behind, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, watching her as though she was half a puzzle he was still piecing together.
Back in the hotel, their room felt warmer after the chill of the streets.
Vaani moved toward the balcony again, automatically pulling the curtains aside, as if she couldn't quite get enough of the view of the spires and rooftops.
Dhruv set his phone and wallet on the desk and loosened his jacket, stretching slightly before asking, "You want to rest a bit? "
She turned, hair falling loose over her shoulders. "Yeah... maybe. Lunch was heavier than I thought."
He gave a small nod, unbuttoned his shirt cuffs, and began changing into something more comfortable.
She disappeared into the bathroom, and soon the faint sound of running water filled the room.
By the time she came out in a soft t-shirt and pants, her hair tied back, Dhruv had already changed into a plain t-shirt and track pants.
The casualness of it all almost felt like a break from the polite distance that usually lingered between them.
She walked to her side of the bed, sat down, and pulled her knees up, gazing out of the window absently. Dhruv glanced at her once before he spoke, his voice breaking the silence.
"So... where to tomorrow?"
Vaani blinked, turning to him. "Tomorrow?"
He leaned against the headboard, arms loosely crossed. "Yeah. What's the plan?"
Her lips curved into a hesitant smile. "I don't know. I thought we had an itinerary."
"Till Scotland," he said evenly, almost with a shrug. "In Oxford, you know this place well, so the reins are with you. You decide."
For a moment, she just looked at him, a little surprised that he had left the reins in her hands so easily. "You're sure?"
"Mm-hmm."
She tilted her head, considering. "I guess... I can take you around."
"Okay," he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "Then where are we going?"
She fiddled with the hem of her t-shirt, thinking. "Do you... want to see the university?"
His brow lifted slightly. "Can we go in?"
"I..." She hesitated, chewing her lip.
He narrowed his gaze. "What?"
Her eyes dropped for a second before she said, "I still have my student ID."
That piqued his curiosity. "And that works?"
She gave a small, uncertain laugh. "I don't know. Maybe. They might let me in seeing my ID. Sometimes they're strict, sometimes they don't care. Depends on who's on duty at the gate."
He nodded slowly, as though mentally filing that away. "Then let's see."
Her shoulders relaxed at his casual acceptance, and she nodded too. "Okay."
For a while after that, the room grew quiet again.
She busied herself with rearranging a few things in her suitcase, folding and tucking them neatly, while Dhruv picked up his laptop and skimmed through a few emails.
The quiet wasn't heavy—just the sound of two people occupying the same space, still not used to filling it with words.
Eventually, she slid under the covers, tugging the blanket up to her chin. Dhruv closed his laptop and set it aside before turning off the lamp on his side.
The faint glow of the city seeped in from the curtains, painting their faces in soft outlines.
She lay on her side facing away from him, eyes half-open but not really seeing the room, her mind looping back to old memories of walking through the university quads, the laughter of her friends, the constant chatter of her past self.
She wondered if he noticed how different she was now.
On his side, Dhruv stared at the ceiling for a while, her words from earlier—I still have my student ID—lingering in his head.
Something about the way she had said it, almost hesitant, almost guilty, stirred something in him.
He thought again of what Aria had said, about how Vaani used to never stop talking, about how she carried her family constantly.
He wondered if this quiet, careful Vaani was the same girl Aria had known, or if something had shifted in her life that silenced her without anyone noticing.
He exhaled softly, turned onto his side, and closed his eyes.
The city outside hummed gently, and soon, both of them drifted into sleep—two people still orbiting each other carefully, yet slowly, almost imperceptibly, beginning to trace each other's rhythms.
??