43
The faint light of morning filtered through the curtains, pulling Vaani awake.
She turned in bed, the side where Dhruv usually slept untouched, smooth as if waiting for him.
For a few seconds, she blinked at the ceiling, disoriented, before it all came rushing back—his flight last night, the quiet hug by the car, the way he had messaged her from the plane.
She sat up quickly, brushing her hair back, and glanced at the clock. Almost 9:00 a.m. She had fallen asleep after his last message and must have slept straight through.
Habit carried her into the bathroom. A quick shower, hair tied neatly, and a simple kurta later, she padded out to the hall with her phone in her hand.
The silence of the apartment pressed on her immediately.
Normally, by now, she'd hear Dhruv moving around, speaking briefly on calls, or the faint sounds of his laptop keyboard. Instead—nothing.
Unlocking her phone, her heart skipped at the sight of a notification. A message from him.
Reached. In the hotel.
It was time-stamped at 4:10 a.m. She stared at it, smiling softly to herself. He'd landed, gone through all the procedures, and still thought to update her right away. She checked the current time again—9:25. Maybe he was still sleeping; it was a long flight after all.
She typed back: Okay great.
Simple, short. She didn't want to disturb him.
But as she set the phone aside and went into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea, she realized how unusually restless she felt.
The house was spotless—she had cleaned it thoroughly yesterday.
Her work hadn't started yet, so she had no deadlines chasing her.
And Dhruv wasn't around, so there was no one moving about, no one to call from the other room, no one to share the silence with.
She carried her tea to the sofa, curling her legs up beneath her, flipping through channels half-heartedly. News. Music. Random serials. Nothing caught her attention. She sighed, sipping slowly, thinking, Is this how the whole week is going to feel?
Just then, her phone buzzed again. She grabbed it almost immediately.
Going to work.
Her eyes widened. He was already awake? Already moving? She typed back quickly: So early?
His reply came just a minute later. It's 8:30 a.m here.
She blinked, realizing the time difference. Of course. She chuckled lightly to herself, shaking her head. Oh okay. she typed back.
She hesitated for a second, then added: I might go to work too.
The typing dots appeared and disappeared, and then his reply came: Your office doesn't start until next week. You're not going anywhere.
Her lips twitched into a smile, the kind that came unbidden. He remembered. He kept track. She could almost hear the firmness in his tone, as if he were standing in front of her, arms folded, shutting down her halfhearted excuse.
I'm just bored, she typed.
A few seconds later: Open Netflix. Find a good show. Watch that.
She chuckled out loud this time, shaking her head at how matter-of-fact he was. Okay, she replied, even adding a little smiley she would normally hesitate to send.
The ticks turned blue, but there was no reply. She guessed he'd gotten busy, walking into meetings, already buried in work. She set her phone down, but her eyes lingered on it for a moment longer than necessary.
~·~
The conference room in Cairo was sleek, polished, and buzzing with the quiet tension of high-stakes negotiations.
Documents lay spread across the long mahogany table, water bottles aligned neatly, and screens flashing projections of financial graphs and projections.
Dhruv sat at the head of his side, posture straight, voice steady as ever.
"We're proposing a phased rollout," Dhruv said, tapping the laser pointer toward the graph. "This ensures minimal risk to your existing infrastructure while giving you measurable results within the first six months."
Across from him, a middle-aged executive leaned forward. "And if we agree to these terms, what guarantee do we have of your support during unexpected fluctuations?"
Dhruv didn't flinch. "Our firm doesn't operate on half-measures. You'll have a dedicated team, round-the-clock support, and the same level of commitment we've delivered to our European and American partners. Our record speaks for itself."
Next to him, Aarav added smoothly, "And remember, gentlemen, our strategy isn't theoretical. We've already tested these systems in high-pressure environments. What you see here isn't projection—it's precedent."
The executives murmured among themselves. Dhruv folded his hands, waiting, his sharp gaze moving from one face to another.
One of them finally said, "We appreciate the clarity. Let's review internally and reconvene after the lunch break."
Another smiled faintly. "Good job, gentlemen. Very thorough."
Chairs scraped back. Papers were gathered. The air that had been tight with calculation loosened as the men began filing out. Dhruv stood, buttoning his blazer, and exchanged a polite nod with the clients as they exited.
When the last door shut, Aarav clapped him lightly on the back. "Good job, Dhruv. As always, clean, sharp, no nonsense. I think they're leaning in."
"They'll sign," Dhruv said simply, slipping his phone into his pocket. "It's just about tightening the edges."
"Lunch?" Aarav asked, loosening his tie a fraction.
"Yeah," Dhruv said. He was already glancing at his phone. The screen lit up, reflecting faintly in his eyes. Aarav smirked.
As they stepped out into the wide marble-floored lobby, Dhruv's thumbs moved quickly across the keypad. Did you eat? he typed and hit send before he could second-guess himself.
Aarav raised an eyebrow. "Wah. Where is the Dhruv I know? The one who doesn't like telling me what he's up to? The one who doesn't care about anyone's khaana-pina?"
Dhruv locked the phone with a practiced flick, his face neutral. "I'm just being polite."
"Polite?" Aarav chuckled, shaking his head. "Sure. You're just being polite. That's why you're checking your phone mid-lobby like some college kid waiting for a reply."
Dhruv shrugged, his expression unreadable, and pushed open the restaurant door. "Let's eat. We've got another round coming."
Aarav chuckled again but let it drop, following him in.
Back in their apartment, Vaani had just placed her plate in the sink when her phone buzzed. She wiped her hands quickly on a napkin, picked it up, and saw his name on the screen.
Did you eat?
Her lips curved into an involuntary smile. She typed back: Yes, just now. Did you?
It took less than a minute before the reply came. Yes.
She typed: Good.
The conversation ended there, short but enough to leave her chest feeling oddly lighter. She placed the phone back on the counter, humming softly to herself, and went to make chai.
Meanwhile, in the restaurant, Dhruv set his phone face down as the waiter poured them water. Aarav leaned back in his chair, smirking knowingly.
"So. You won't admit it, but I'll say it. You've changed."
Dhruv gave him a side glance. "We've got clients to close. Focus."
"Of course," Aarav said with mock seriousness, opening the menu. "Work first, emotions later. The Dhruv Deshmukh trademark. Except... maybe not anymore."
Dhruv didn't answer, flipping open his own menu, his face calm as ever.
When the waiter came, they ordered quickly—grilled veggies for Dhruv, kebabs for Aarav. As the plates were taken away, the conversation naturally shifted back to work.
"Their hesitation," Aarav said, leaning forward, "is only on the long-term commitment clause. Everything else they're ready for."
"Yes," Dhruv agreed. "We'll draft an alternate clause during the break. Give them flexibility on paper, but ensure our control on execution. They won't resist if they feel the option exists."
"That's why I like working with you," Aarav said with a grin. "You cut through the drama."
Dhruv sipped his water. "Drama wastes time."
They went on like that, dissecting numbers, anticipating objections, refining strategy. By the time the food arrived, their focus was already back in the boardroom.
Neither mentioned Vaani again. But her name, her short replies, lingered quietly in Dhruv's thoughts as he picked up his fork.
~·~
The conference room was buzzing with relief and quiet triumph. The final signatures were inked, the handshakes firm, and the long, tense negotiations concluded. Dhruv leaned back slightly in his chair as the senior client clasped his hand.
"Congratulations, Mr. Deshmukh. It's a pleasure doing business with you."
"Likewise," Dhruv replied, voice calm but steady, the faintest edge of satisfaction lining his tone.
Aarav, standing beside him, broke into an easy grin. "Gentlemen, this is a partnership you won't regret."
As the clients filed out, Dhruv's colleagues gathered around him. A few claps on his shoulder, nods of admiration, and words of praise echoed in the room.
"Great job."
"Impeccable handling, Dhruv."
"You sealed it in just two days—that's rare."
Dhruv merely inclined his head, his expression cool, though inside he felt the weight of the deal's success settle—a heavy burden now lifted.
Then, one of the younger colleagues, eyes catching the glint of metal on Dhruv's hand, tilted his head. "Wait a second," he said lightly. "Dhruv... you're married?"
The sudden attention made Aarav smirk, but Dhruv only looked down at the simple band on his finger, his thumb brushing it for the briefest second.
"Yes," he said plainly.
The colleague's grin widened. "Ahhh, that explains it. Maybe it's the Lady Luck that sealed the deal, eh?"
A ripple of laughter passed around the small group. Dhruv didn't bristle, nor did he deny it. Instead, he offered a polite half-smile, voice low. "Maybe it is."
The moment passed, and soon enough the room began emptying. The high-pitched energy faded as people filed out into the corridors, leaving only Dhruv and Aarav behind. Aarav stretched, exhaling loudly.
"That's it. Done. Over. We've got it in writing." He grinned, shaking his head. "Come on, man. You're unbelievable. You know we'd planned for a week here, right? A week. To grind through their doubts. You wrapped it in just two days."
Dhruv slid his papers into his leather folder. "In a way, that's better. Now we have six days to lay down the foundation before we head back."
"True," Aarav admitted. "But also... six days in Egypt, yaar. We're not going to spend all of it working. Let's at least look around a bit. Cairo's not going anywhere."
Dhruv gave a slight nod. "We'll do that."
The two men stepped out into the warm air outside, the afternoon sun gilding the edges of the streets. Cairo bustled around them—streets lined with vendors, cars honking in tight lanes, and the faraway glimmer of the Nile cutting through the horizon.
Aarav pointed toward a tour bus across the street. "I booked something for us tomorrow, actually. Pyramids, museums, local market stops. I thought we'd need to relax after a week of battles in conference rooms. Guess we're ahead of schedule."
"Fine," Dhruv said simply, slipping his sunglasses on. His tone didn't betray it, but somewhere inside, he allowed the thought of six days of balance—work and something new—to settle.
Back in Dubai, the hours stretched slower than usual. Vaani sat cross-legged on the sofa, her half-drunk evening chai cooling on the side table. The silence of the apartment weighed heavier without Dhruv in it—no muted footsteps echoing from the study, no doors shutting, no rustle of papers.
She leaned back, exhaling softly. "So quiet," she murmured to herself.
Her eyes wandered to the clock—7:45 pm. Still early. She had already vacuumed the hall, watered the plants, even rearranged the cushions twice. Picking up the cup, she drained the last sip of chai before standing.
"Wardrobe it is," she said under her breath.
In the bedroom, she flung open the wardrobe doors. Piles of neatly folded clothes stared back at her. She began pulling things out, stacking them, refolding, humming aimlessly. Every now and then, her gaze drifted toward the nightstand—toward the phone lying face down.
Should she call him?
Her fingers paused on a folded kurta. The thought lingered longer this time.
It would just be a short call, she reasoned. Just to ask how his day went, if he ate, how the work was. But then, she thought of his nature—his reserved silences, his measured words. He wasn't much of a talker. Would he even like her calling in the middle of whatever he was doing?
She sighed, shaking her head. "Maybe not," she muttered, sliding the kurta back in place. "He's probably busy. He anyway doesn't... talk much."
The wardrobe slowly took shape again, stacks neatly aligned, the bottom drawers dusted and cleared.
Yet even as she worked, the quiet gnawed at her.
She remembered his voice on the phone two days ago, steady and warm when he'd asked if she had eaten.
A small part of her wanted to hear that again, even for a second.
But she decided against it. She pressed the wardrobe door shut, dusted her hands, and forced a small smile.
"Fine. Distraction. Just distraction."
She turned off the bedroom light, walking back into the hall. The apartment was spotless, every surface gleaming, every cushion aligned. But the silence remained, thick and unyielding.
Vaani reached for her phone, then hesitated, her thumb hovering over the screen. No call. No message. She set it back down and instead went to make herself another cup of chai, hoping the warmth would fill the space Dhruv's absence had left.
Meanwhile, in Egypt, Dhruv and Aarav walked along the Nile promenade, their conversation already back on strategy. But in the back of his mind, Dhruv's thoughts flickered for a brief second to his phone, wondering if there would be a message waiting later.
And in Dubai, Vaani curled up on the sofa, cup in hand, distracting herself with an old movie—but her eyes kept straying toward the phone on the table, the one she wouldn't pick up to call.
~·~
The Cairo night was quieter than Dhruv expected when he stepped back into his hotel room. He tossed his blazer onto the chair, loosened his tie, and checked the clock on the bedside table. Almost 10pm local time.
That meant... he mentally calculated. 11pm in Dubai.
His gaze lingered on his phone for a moment.
Had she gone to sleep already? Maybe she was still awake.
A part of him wondered if he should call, but then the thought hit—what if she was sleeping?
He didn't want to disturb her. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaled, and typed instead.
In the hotel, going to sleep now.
He hit send. The tick marks stayed grey. No reply.
Placing the phone on the table, he walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The warm water cascaded over him, easing the stiffness of the day. By the time he stepped out, towel draped around his neck, he checked the screen again. Still no reply.
He scrolled past the unopened chat, pretending not to care. He was Dhruv Deshmukh—he didn't wait around for replies. At least, that's what he told himself. And yet, somewhere under that composed exterior, a restless little knot tightened.
Fine. He'd pass the time. He lay down on the bed, picked up the remote, and flicked through the hotel's movie selections. An action thriller caught his eye, and he settled into it, phone within reach.
Barely fifteen minutes in, the phone buzzed. Dhruv sat up quickly, grabbed it, and unlocked it.
Dad.
Good job on the deal, son. Proud of you.
His jaw relaxed. He typed back swiftly: Thanks, Dad.
He dropped the phone back on the table, but his eyes flickered back to the screen, to the unread chat. Still no reply from her. He clenched his jaw once, exhaled, and forced himself back to the movie.
Four minutes later, the phone buzzed again.
This time, her name lit up the screen.
That's nice, sleep well.
His lips curved before he realized. He opened the chat instantly.
Were you asleep? he typed back.
The reply came almost at once. No I... I was just taking a shower.
He read it twice, almost amused at how she'd rushed to explain herself. He typed: Hmm.
The dots appeared again, then her message: Papa told me you got the deal, congrats.
His brows lifted. So Dad had called her. Somehow, knowing she already knew made him feel... oddly content. Amused too.
Thank you, he sent.
On her side of the screen, Vaani hesitated. She sat cross-legged on her bed in Dubai, phone clutched in her hand. What could she say now? Ask about his day? Say goodnight? But before she could type, another message popped up.
Sleep now, Vaani.
Her lips curved faintly. She typed back quickly: I'm already in bed.
Good, his reply came, simple, steady.
She chewed her lip, then typed: Tumhi pan lavkar zopunza. (You also sleep early).
He stared at the message, the Marathi flowing naturally from her, and felt something tug inside him. He typed back: Yea I will. Sleeping now.
Her reply came almost instantly: Me too. Goodnight.
He paused just long enough to take in the words before sending his own. Goodnight.
The lights dimmed in Cairo as he finally set the phone aside. His eyes drifted shut, her last message still on his mind.
In Dubai, she placed her phone down beside her pillow, smiling faintly in the quiet before closing her eyes.
Two cities apart, but both asleep with the same conversation lingering between them.
??