37
The cab ride from Dubai International Airport to their penthouse was quiet.
It was almost midnight by the time the flight landed, and exhaustion clung to both of them like an extra layer.
The city outside glowed with familiar lights, the highways wide and polished, skyscrapers dotting the distance like beacons.
Yet in the backseat of the cab, silence sat heavier than anything else.
Vaani leaned against the window, her trench coat draped over her lap, eyes half-closed but not fully asleep.
Her body ached from the long journey—nearly seven hours in the air followed by the slow shuffle through arrivals.
Her phone remained off until the cab pulled into their neighborhood.
The moment the vehicle turned the corner, her WiFi connected, and the screen lit up like a firework.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
Messages streamed in one after another—her brothers, her parents, her in-laws, relatives back home—all asking the same thing. Did you land? Did you reach safely? How was the flight? How's Dhruv? How are you?
Her thumb moved quickly, answering each one, typing polite reassurances in short, efficient bursts. Yes, we landed. Yes, just reached home. Yes, we're fine.
By the time they stepped into the marble lobby of their building, her shoulders were heavier not from her suitcase but from the weight of those small, constant expectations. Dhruv remained quiet, pulling their luggage, his face set in his usual calm expression.
When they reached the penthouse, Dhruv unlocked the door and stepped aside to let her in first. The familiar scent of their home—the faint woody cologne he used, mixed with the clean smell of polished wood—wrapped around her.
"Well," he said simply, placing the keys on the console table. "This is it. Back home."
Vaani dropped her bag near the sofa and let out a long sigh. "Yeah." Her voice was flat, tired.
She quickly went to her room and changed into comfortable clothing, then walked out. She sank into the cushions, her phone still buzzing intermittently. She sent one last "goodnight" to her brothers before locking the screen. Her head fell back against the sofa, eyes closed for a moment.
Dhruv stood near the doorway after changing his clothes, watching her. "Let's sleep," he said finally.
"Yeah," she agreed, pushing herself up, though her body resisted. She made for the bedroom, but he didn't follow. Instead, he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely, studying her.
That was when he saw it.
A small crease between her brows. Not the tired kind. The worried kind.
"What's wrong?" His voice was steady, but it carried an edge of insistence.
Her head snapped up. "Huh? Nothing. Nothing's wrong."
He tilted his head slightly, eyes not leaving hers. "That's a lie."
Her lips parted, but no words came. She looked away, as if hoping the silence would swallow the question. But Dhruv didn't move. He leaned heavier against the frame, waiting.
Finally, she exhaled, her shoulders slumping. "It's just... I have to get back to work tomorrow. And I still have some things pending."
His eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in quiet concern. "Vaani," he said slowly, "we work to live. Not live to work. You're handling... different positions in your life right now. Why do you need to work this extra hard?"
She froze. Her fingers curled into her coat. How could she tell him? How could she explain the mess of obligations pulling her apart?
"Do you... even want to work?" he asked after a moment.
"Yes!" she said quickly, maybe too quickly. "Yes, of course I do."
His gaze sharpened, quiet but probing. "I didn't mean your job. I meant... the other side gig you've taken up."
Her breath caught. Her eyes flicked to him, startled, then dropped immediately to the floor. That small gesture was enough for him. He had his answer.
Silence stretched between them.
"Vaani," he said finally, his tone gentler now, "there's no point working somewhere if the thought of it doesn't excite you. If it scares you instead."
She pressed her lips together, embarrassed. Her eyes stayed fixed on her lap. "I... I have to work there," she whispered.
"Why?"
The question was direct. Simple. But it sliced through her carefully held composure.
She hesitated. He could see her chest rising and falling faster, her hands tightening in her coat. Words seemed to get stuck in her throat.
He sighed quietly, then pushed away from the door. Crossing the room, he sat down on the edge of the sofa, close enough that his presence was grounding, but not intrusive. He gestured to the cushion beside him.
"Sit."
For a moment she looked like she might resist, but then she sank down slowly, the space between them small but heavy.
Her fingers fidgeted in her lap. She glanced at him once, then away again. He didn't push. He simply waited, his patience steady, the way it always was.
Finally, her voice cracked through the silence. "Because... I don't have a choice."
His eyes flickered, but he said nothing, waiting for her to go on.
"I need the money," she admitted, barely above a whisper. "For... for Vihaan and Vedant."
There it was. The truth, fragile and trembling, but out at last.
Her brothers.
Dhruv sat still, absorbing it. His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes shifted—like a puzzle piece clicking into place.
Vaani pressed her palms together, staring at them. "They're still studying, you know that. And Aai and Baba... they do what they can, but..." Her voice trailed off, heavy with unspoken things. "So I take it on. I have to."
The crease in her brow deepened. "If I don't... who will? I'm their sister. It's my duty."
Dhruv leaned back slightly, letting the words sink in. His mind moved over all the moments from their honeymoon—the silences, her hesitation, her constant checking of messages, her quiet exhaustion. All of it suddenly painted in new colors.
He didn't answer immediately. He didn't rush to fill the silence with reassurances or solutions. That wasn't him. Instead, he sat there, his gaze steady, giving her space to breathe after letting go of what she had kept buried.
She looked up at him finally, her eyes searching his face for judgment, for anger, for disappointment. But he gave her none of those. Only calm attention.
And that, somehow, unsettled her more.
Vaani sat on the edge of the sofa, her fingers twisting into the fabric of her trench coat.
The words had already escaped her lips—I need the money for Vihaan and Vedant.
But now, as Dhruv's calm gaze stayed fixed on her, something in her chest loosened.
It was as if the dam she'd been holding inside for months finally cracked open.
He looked at her, giving her his undivided attention. Not talking, but his eyes gave her the confidence to go on. It was as if he said, go on, I'm listening.
Her throat felt dry, but she pushed herself to speak.
"Vihaan..." she started, her voice low, "Vihaan really wanted to go to Columbia, or to any Ivy.
He worked so hard for it. Every day he'd call me about his essays, his applications, his dreams. And when the acceptance letter came, I.
.. I was terrified. I should have been happy, but his acceptance scared me — because I knew rejecting him would crush him. "
Dhruv tilted his head, just slightly, the way he did when he was processing. His silence wasn't heavy—it was patient, waiting.
"When his acceptance came, I knew we couldn't afford it.
Columbia's tuition, the living expenses, the endless costs—it was too much.
But I also knew what it meant to him. So I called them, every single day, for weeks.
I pushed for scholarships, I begged them to reconsider his aid package.
And somehow—miraculously—it came through.
" Her lips trembled, remembering that night.
"The same night, Vihaan and Vedant were at home.
Vihaan had tears in his eyes when he told us.
He was so happy. So full of dreams. And in that moment. .. how could I tell him no?"
Her eyes stung, but she blinked them clear. "So I agreed. I told him he should go. And that's why I took this job. I thought—whatever it takes, I'll manage. I'll make sure both of them get to study where they want. They deserve that."
Dhruv's hands were folded loosely, resting against his knees. He didn't interrupt her once.
She swallowed hard, words pouring now without pause.
"Throughout my university time, I got the benefit of full freedom to study where I wanted.
Aai Baba never held me back, even when I insisted to come back to Dubai for masters, they urged me to study abroad — infact they said I should try in the US. "
He looked at her, as she continued.
"I got to live my dream. But I didn't realize until I was already at Oxford just how much Aai and Baba were hiding from me.
The fees, the crunch, the sacrifices—they never told me.
They smiled every time I called home, even when things were tight.
I thought... I thought we were fine. But we weren't."
Her gaze dropped to her lap. "I don't want Vihaan or Vedant to go through that.
I don't want them to feel guilty for choosing their dreams. Vihaan's already going to the States.
Vedant's applying to Russell Group universities.
Both of them deserve it. If money is the only obstacle, then I'll break it down.
Money comes and goes. But this chance? This can change their entire lives. "
She exhaled shakily, her voice breaking into something smaller. "So I said yes. And now I... now I can't stop. Not yet."
The room was silent except for the low hum of the air conditioning. Vaani sat hunched, shoulders trembling just faintly as she pressed her hands together.
Dhruv finally spoke, his tone calm but carrying weight. "How long did you plan to keep this work up?"
Her head lifted, her eyes meeting his briefly before darting away again. The question cut deeper than she wanted to admit.
"I... I don't know." She forced the words out. "Two years, at least."
A sigh escaped him, long and quiet. He leaned back, his eyes drifting briefly to the ceiling as if weighing everything she had just said. Vaani sat frozen, embarrassment flooding her chest. She felt raw, exposed, as though she had confessed some terrible weakness.
He ran a hand over his jaw, then finally looked at her again. His face was unreadable, his silence louder than anything.
Her heart sank. He must be embarrassed. He must think I'm dragging my family into this marriage, making it heavier than it should be.
But all Dhruv said, in the same calm tone, was, "Okay. It's late. Let's sleep. We'll figure it out tomorrow."
She blinked, caught off guard. "Oh."
He stood, smoothing down his shirt, his movements steady. "You're working from home tomorrow?"
She nodded quickly, her voice faint. "Yeah."
"Good." He gave the smallest of nods, then extended a hand as if to tell her to get up. "Come on. Let's sleep."
She followed him into the bedroom quietly.
The lights dimmed, and the two of them slid under the sheets.
Vaani lay with her back turned slightly, her eyes wide open in the dark.
Her mind spiraled—Is he embarrassed of me?
Does he think I'm weak? That I'm carrying baggage into his life?
Her chest hurt with the weight of it.
She had shared everything, and yet the silence afterward was harder than she imagined.
Beside her, Dhruv lay still, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.
He replayed her words, the fragments of her truth.
Calling Columbia every day. Watching her brothers dream bigger than their circumstances.
Working herself raw to keep them afloat.
Suddenly, the silences on their honeymoon, the exhaustion in her eyes, the way she never truly laughed the way her friends remembered—it all made sense.
He turned his head slightly, watching her profile in the dark. She looked so small in that moment, curled on her side, pretending to sleep. The weight she carried wasn't visible, but it was there, stitched into her shoulders, her silence, her sighs.
So this is it, he thought. This is what's been eating her alive. Not me. Not us. But everything she's been hiding from everyone, even her own family.
The thought stayed with him, heavy but clarifying. He didn't know how to fix it yet. But now, at least, he knew where to start.
Eventually, their breaths fell into rhythm. She, lost in restless worry. He, lost in thought. Both drifted into uneasy sleep.
~·~
The soft light of morning crept into the penthouse, a golden haze that barely touched the curtains. Dhruv stirred first. He lay still for a few moments, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint hum of the city waking below them.
Vaani was still asleep, curled to one side, her breathing slow and deep. He glanced at her once before slipping out of bed, careful not to disturb her.
The shower was quick, brisk, the water washing off the remnants of last night's conversations. He dressed simply—dark track pants, a clean teeshirt with sleeves rolled to his forearms.
In the kitchen, he busied himself quietly. The fridge door opened with a low hum, and he scanned its contents before deciding what to do. Bread. A few fruits. And, of course, tea leaves.
He wasn't used to cooking much; hotel breakfasts and restaurants had always been easier.
But there was something grounding in chopping onions, cracking eggs, whisking them into a soft scramble.
The kettle hissed, filling the air with steam.
He dropped tea leaves into boiling water, added milk, sugar, cardamom. A rich, earthy aroma filled the room.
By the time everything was ready, the clock had just turned eight. He plated two portions, poured chai into two mugs, and carried his own to the dining table. The other plate he left covered, the steam trapped inside, waiting for her.
Dhruv sat down, phone in hand, laptop open beside him. He sipped his chai slowly, eyes scanning through emails. But his thoughts drifted back to the night before.
Her voice—tired, trembling—echoed in his head.
"Vihaan really wanted to go to Columbia... Vedant's applying to Russell Group universities... money comes and goes, Dhruv, but this chance will change their entire lives."
He rubbed his thumb over the mug's handle.
He had no siblings. No one to fight for, to protect, to sacrifice for.
His childhood hadn't carried the same financial strain—his family had been comfortable, his path straightforward.
College abroad, jobs, business ventures.
He had never had to think in the terms she described: scholarships, sacrifices, making sure others got their dream before you even thought of your own.
It was alien. And yet, last night, she had said it with such conviction that he couldn't dismiss it.
He thought of her brothers—two young men whose lives were still unfolding, their dreams big and wild. And her—wedged between being their sister and their shield, carrying a burden her parents hadn't even asked her to.
She's different from me, he admitted silently. Her choices aren't about herself. They're about everyone around her.
He took another sip of chai, set the mug down, and shifted his laptop closer. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating. Then, slowly, he began typing.
He pulled up financial reports, investment portfolios, a few spreadsheets. His brows furrowed as he worked, lines of numbers filling the screen. It wasn't that he didn't have money—he did. But this wasn't about throwing money at the problem. He needed to understand her perspective, her priorities.
He tapped his fingers against the desk, restless.
At 8:45, he glanced at the clock again. His phone buzzed with a reminder for a call scheduled at nine. He took one last sip of chai, pushed the empty mug aside, and hit the call button.
The screen lit up. After two rings, a familiar voice came through.
"Dhruv. Good morning. You're back?"
"Morning, Mark," Dhruv replied, his voice calm but carrying its usual edge of authority. "Yes, landed late last night."
"Long trip?"
"Mm. Productive," Dhruv said, leaning back slightly. His eyes flickered toward the closed bedroom door where Vaani still slept. "But I need to talk to you."
His tone was sharper now, precise. "Something different. Not work. Personal."
There was a pause on the other end before Mark spoke again. "Alright. What's going on?"
Dhruv exhaled slowly, his gaze steady on the laptop screen though his thoughts were elsewhere. "I'll explain. But I'll need your input."
His fingers began moving across the keyboard again, pulling up documents as he spoke into the call. The conversation stretched, quiet but firm, his voice lowering occasionally as though careful not to disturb the sleeping figure in the next room.
For the first time, his mind wasn't only on quarterly reports, markets, or business expansions.
It was on a sister who'd sacrificed her peace of mind for two brothers' futures.
On a woman who smiled less than she should because she was too busy carrying weight no one asked her to.
On a marriage that, until last night, he hadn't realized came with more than just vows—it came with invisible battles she fought silently.
The chai beside him had grown cold. His call carried on. The day had just begun.
And Dhruv, for once, wasn't only a businessman. He was a husband trying to understand how to steady the woman who'd been holding too much for far too long.
As he turned and looked outside to the Dubai skyline, his hand went on his phone again — dialing a familiar number. The call answered in 2 rings.
"Hello, Dhruv. How are you?" The caller said.
"I'm good, Steven. Listen — I called you regarding some work. Is now a good time to talk?" Dhruv replied.
"Go ahead Dhruv."
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