45
The morning in Cairo had begun in its usual, sharp rhythm—papers spread across polished desks, quiet murmurs of conversations in hallways, the steady shuffle of assistants carrying files.
Dhruv sat in his temporary office on the twelfth floor of the glass-fronted building, a steaming cup of black coffee untouched beside him.
It was 11 a.m. Cairo time. Which meant 12 p.m. in Dubai.
He had checked his watch twice already, though he told himself it was because he was tracking his own deadlines, not the difference in time zones. The truth, however, lingered in the background like a stubborn echo: No message from her today.
The last exchange they'd had was last night—her asking about her friends staying over, it had left him oddly light, going to bed with a faint smile.
But now... nothing.
His phone lay on his desk, screen down. He had deliberately placed it like that, because if he saw the blank, notification-less surface, he knew he'd pick it up every two minutes.
"Focus," he muttered to himself. He pushed the file in front of him open, scanning the neatly typed proposals.
The deal they'd closed yesterday was still on his mind—profitable, significant, one of the biggest achievements in months.
His team would now be looking to him for the next step: building the foundation of trust with these new partners.
He leaned back in his chair, rolling his shoulders. "It's work time, Dhruv. Not... distraction time."
But distraction insisted on showing up anyway.
She usually replies... doesn't she?
He frowned at the thought. No, not always immediately. Sometimes she was caught up in cooking, or on calls with her mother, or maybe just lost in her own world. He had no claim to expect a message, no right to keep glancing at his phone.
And yet, beneath the logic, the restless question repeated itself: Why hasn't she messaged?
He grabbed his coffee, taking a long sip. It was bitter, sharp—exactly how he liked it. It should've snapped him into focus. Instead, his eyes drifted to the corner of the desk where his phone lay like a silent temptation.
His mind staged its own debate.
Don't message. You'll sound clingy. You're not the one who starts conversations.
But another voice countered: It's not about being clingy. It's about being... normal. Married people talk, don't they? A simple 'good morning' or 'how are you' isn't unusual.
He tapped his pen against the desk, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
The longer he stared at the proposal, the less he absorbed. Words blurred into meaningless lines. Numbers refused to hold still. Instead, his mind conjured up images of her—probably still asleep, or maybe out with her friends again, laughing the way she had in that voice note yesterday.
And with that thought came an unexpected twist in his stomach. Maybe she's too busy to think of me today.
He shook his head sharply. "You don't care," he muttered under his breath. "You've never cared about things like this."
But his hand betrayed him, reaching for the phone. He flipped it over. The screen lit up. Blank.
No new messages.
He placed it back down, face down again. Leaned back. Crossed his arms. Tried to convince himself the tightening in his chest was nothing.
The door opened, and Aarav strolled in, sleeves rolled up, sunglasses tucked into his shirt pocket. "You look like a man doing taxes, not like someone who just closed the biggest deal of the year."
Dhruv shot him a dry look. "Working."
"Uh-huh." Aarav dropped into the chair opposite him. "Working on what, exactly? Because from here it looks like you're glaring at your phone like it owes you money."
Dhruv exhaled sharply, looking away. "Don't you have work?"
"Finished it. Efficient, unlike you," Aarav teased, leaning back casually. Then his eyes narrowed in that way only a best friend's could. "You're waiting for a message, aren't you?"
Dhruv didn't answer, but his silence was answer enough.
Aarav grinned. "From the wife, I assume."
Still, Dhruv said nothing. He simply shuffled the papers in front of him, pretending they needed sorting.
Aarav chuckled, shaking his head. "Man, I never thought I'd see the day. Dhruv Deshmukh, distracted by WhatsApp. Should I frame this moment?"
"Shut up," Dhruv muttered, but his tone lacked bite.
Aarav leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "So, what's the issue? She didn't message?"
Dhruv's jaw tightened. "...No."
"And you haven't messaged her?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because..." Dhruv trailed off, unable to frame the reasoning without sounding ridiculous. Because I don't want to sound clingy. Because I've never been this person. Because I don't know if she even expects it from me.
Aarav tilted his head. "You know, not everything has to be a calculation. Sometimes, people just like to hear from the person they're thinking about."
Dhruv gave him a look. "I'm not—"
"Yes, you are," Aarav cut in smoothly, standing up. "Anyway, keep sulking. I'll check in later. Don't burn holes into your phone screen."
The door clicked shut behind him.
Dhruv pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaling slowly. He wasn't going to admit it aloud, but Aarav was right. His focus was fractured, his thoughts drifting too often to Dubai.
And the irony wasn't lost on him—he'd spent years avoiding entanglements, keeping life structured and controlled. Now, with a single person's absence of message, he was spiraling into distraction.
He glanced at the phone again. His fingers hovered over it. He could type something simple—Busy? or How's your day? Something neutral.
But his hand pulled back.
No. Not yet. He wouldn't cave. She was probably fine. Probably with her friends, like yesterday. Probably laughing about something silly, not even realizing hours had passed.
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, the faint hum of the office settling around him.
You don't care, he reminded himself again.
But the pen tapping against his desk betrayed him, a restless rhythm in sync with the unspoken truth: deep down, he did.
~·~
The soft light of late morning streamed into the apartment, slanting through the curtains.
Vaani stirred, half-asleep, then rolled over only to find the floor beside her mattress scattered with pillows, blankets, and her three best friends—Ria, Simran, and Naina—sleeping in the most chaotic positions possible.
Ria's arm dangled off the sofa, her mouth slightly open. Simran had cocooned herself completely inside a blanket, only her messy bun visible. Naina had somehow ended up diagonally across two cushions, her legs crossed as if mid-yoga pose.
Vaani chuckled under her breath. They looked ridiculous but oddly peaceful. She sat up slowly, brushing her hair back from her face, and reached for her phone on the nightstand.
The screen lit up. 12:04 p.m.
Her eyes widened. What? 12 already?
Her heart skipped a beat. Oh God. It's noon there too. Did he message? Did I miss something?
She unlocked the phone, her fingers moving almost nervously. WhatsApp opened. Her eyes darted to the top of the chat list, expecting to see his name bolded, unread messages waiting.
But... nothing.
The chat sat there exactly as it had last night, her last line: Nantar kadhi tari. His: Goodnight.
No message today.
Her stomach sank. He didn't text. Not even a good morning.
She stared at the screen for a long second, biting her lip. Is he mad? Maybe he's mad I didn't reply yesterday on time? Or that I went with my friends and didn't tell him immediately?
The more she thought, the faster her heartbeat picked up. He wasn't the type to complain or express irritation. But that made it worse—because if he was upset, he'd probably just go silent.
What if he thinks I don't care? What if he thinks I was ignoring him?
She squeezed her eyes shut, letting out a sigh. "Stop overthinking," she muttered. But the unease sat heavy in her chest.
She threw her blanket aside, stood up, and walked quickly to the bathroom. A shower would help. She needed to wash off this nervous energy before she spiraled deeper into worry.
The hot water calmed her only a little. By the time she stepped out, wrapped in a towel, she had convinced herself of one thing: Maybe he wants space. Maybe he's busy. If he hasn't texted, I shouldn't bother him.
She dressed in a plain oversized tee and comfortable shorts, towel-dried her hair, and padded back into the hall. The sight of her friends sprawled everywhere made her smile again, easing the knot in her chest—just a bit.
Still, her first instinct was to reach for her phone again. She unlocked it quickly, almost desperate.
Nothing.
No message from him.
She let out another sigh, longer this time. The tiny flicker of sadness surprised her. Why am I this bothered? He has work. He told me Egypt would be hectic. Why am I waiting for a message like a teenager?
But she couldn't help it. Somewhere deep inside, she had hoped he'd think of her—even just a small Did you eat? or Good morning. That hope had carried her through the late night when she fell asleep after their goodnight.
She placed the phone face down on the dining table and went to the kitchen. Okay, if he doesn't want to talk, fine. I'll just let it be. Maybe he'll text later. I won't keep checking.
To distract herself, she set about making chai. She filled the pan with water, added tea leaves, sugar, cardamom. The familiar rhythm of brewing chai comforted her—it always did. As the fragrance filled the kitchen, she poured in milk and stirred, the bubbling sound oddly grounding.
Behind her, she heard shuffling. Ria groaned first, stretching. "Ughhh, my back," she mumbled, sitting up. Simran peeked out of her blanket burrito. "What time is it?"
"Too late," Vaani called out from the kitchen.
Naina stumbled in next, hair sticking up, rubbing her eyes. "Vaani, tell me you're making chai."
"Obviously."
Within minutes, all three of them were in the kitchen, perched on stools, still in pajamas, watching her move about with practiced ease.
"Bro, you're the perfect hostess," Simran said, yawning. "Dhruv is lucky."
The mention of his name made Vaani's heart skip again. She hid it behind a small smile and busied herself with pouring chai into mugs. "Stop exaggerating. Here."
They each grabbed their mugs, sipping gratefully. The kitchen filled with small murmurs of appreciation, half-asleep laughter.
But even in that cozy chaos, Vaani's thoughts drifted back to her phone lying untouched on the table. She knew if she checked it right now, it would still be empty. No new messages. And the dull ache in her chest would return.
Why hasn't he messaged? Doesn't he care if I reply or not?
Her friends started talking about what to do for the rest of the day—movies, malls, maybe another drive.
Their voices swirled around her, pulling her into the conversation.
She laughed at Ria's dramatic complaints about Dubai traffic, teased Naina for her bedhead, but beneath her smile, her thoughts circled the same loop.
Every few minutes, she glanced toward the dining table. Toward her silent phone.
Should I just text him? But... no. Maybe he doesn't want to talk. Maybe he needs space. Maybe he's focused on work.
She gripped her chai tighter, forcing herself to laugh with her friends, to stay in the moment. But somewhere in her heart, the question lingered like a quiet shadow: Why didn't he think to message me, even once?
And though she told herself to let it go, to not care, she couldn't shake off the little sting of disappointment.
The living room smelled of fresh chai and buttered toast. The girls sat around Vaani's coffee table, mugs in hand, laughing as they scribbled rough dance steps on a notepad.
Ria, cheeks flushed with excitement, waved her hands animatedly. "Okay, listen! For the sangeet, I want one big group dance. Simran, you'll lead the cousins, Naina—you handle the boys' side choreography."
Simran groaned. "Excuse me? Do I look like I can control your 12 chaotic cousins?"
Everyone laughed. Naina sipped her chai, smirking. "Please, Simran. You're bossy enough. They'll fall in line."
Vaani laughed too, but her eyes flickered—again—to her phone lying face down on the table. Her hand itched to check it.
She quickly dragged her gaze back to Ria, who was now talking about outfit themes. "And Vaani, you have to dance with me. None of your 'oh, I'll just stand at the side' excuses. I want my best friend center stage."
Vaani forced a smile, nodding. "Of course. I'll dance."
The room erupted in playful arguments about songs—Bollywood medleys, old 90s hits, or trending reels songs. Laughter bounced against the walls. Yet, underneath it all, Vaani's mind wasn't here. Not fully.
Should I message him? It's past noon. Maybe he's wondering what I'm doing. Maybe he's waiting for me to text first.
But then another voice cut in. No. If he cared, he would've texted. Why hasn't he? Not even a single line since last night. Maybe he doesn't think about me.
Her throat tightened. She tried sipping her chai to mask it. She didn't want her friends to notice the storm in her head.
Simran nudged her. "You zoned out. What are you thinking?"
Vaani blinked and smiled faintly. "Nothing. Just... thinking about the dance steps."
But inside, her chest ached. He's my husband. Shouldn't I just text him without overthinking? But if I do... what if I look desperate? What if he doesn't even care?
Her fingers curled around her mug tighter. But I'm his wife — he could have messaged. I guess he doesn't care. If he doesn't care, I won't either. Let him be.
Yet the sadness didn't leave. No matter how much she told herself not to care, her heart betrayed her.
Meanwhile, across the sea in Egypt, Dhruv sat in his office. The conference table was stacked with documents—blueprints, contracts, financial models. He and Aarav had been at it since early morning, working on the foundation structure for the new partnership they'd secured.
Aarav leaned back, tapping his pen against the table. "We'll need to finalize the supplier agreements before next week. Otherwise, everything stalls."
Dhruv nodded, eyes scanning the spreadsheet. He was efficient, sharp, every move calculated. To anyone watching, he seemed completely focused.
But inside, his mind kept drifting.
It was already afternoon here. That meant late afternoon in Dubai. And still... no message from Vaani.
His jaw tightened. She always replies. Even if it's short. Why hasn't she today? What's going on?
He told himself he didn't care. He told himself she was probably busy with her friends, maybe even out shopping or laughing somewhere. Good. She should enjoy. Why should I expect her to sit around waiting for me?
But the silence gnawed at him. He glanced at his phone, lying beside his laptop. Blank. No notifications from her.
He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. "Focus, Dhruv," he muttered. "This deal is more important."
Aarav looked up. "What?"
"Nothing," Dhruv said quickly, returning to the documents.
For another twenty minutes, he forced himself into the numbers, the projections, the strategies. But the irritation only grew.
Finally, with a quiet curse, he picked up his phone. He opened WhatsApp, staring at their chat. Last night's messages stared back at him—warm, almost tender, simple. Goodnight. Goodnight.
And now? Empty.
Why hasn't she written even once?
Screw it.
He tapped out a short line before he could second-guess himself:
Dhruv: You okay?
The message ticked into delivery. Two grey checks.
But no "typing..." No blue ticks. Nothing.
He stared at it for a moment longer, his patience thinning. Then he exhaled and shoved the phone back down. Whatever. I don't have time for this. She'll reply when she wants to.
He pushed himself into work again, flipping through the documents with renewed intensity. But every so often, his eyes darted back to that phone—waiting, despite himself.
At the same time, in Dubai, Vaani was laughing with her friends about who had two left feet when it came to dancing. She didn't know that her phone—lying just a few feet away—had just received the very message she'd been aching for.
But she hadn't seen it yet.
And Dhruv, in his office miles away, sat pretending not to care... while care was the only thing gnawing at him.
~·~
The chatter in the living room had mellowed down.
Ria had sprawled across one side of the sofa, sipping the last of her chai, while Simran and Naina were scrolling through Pinterest for sangeet outfit inspirations.
The excitement of planning had left the air warm and cozy, laughter still echoing faintly in the background.
Vaani, carrying the empty mugs to the kitchen, finally took her phone from the counter where it had been lying unnoticed for over an hour. She tapped the screen, and her heart stuttered.
There it was. A notification. WhatsApp. One new message.
She unlocked the phone, fingers a little too quick, and saw his name.
Dhruv: You okay?
Her chest softened. That one simple line carried more weight than any paragraph. He had messaged first. He had asked. He did care.
A small smile crept onto her lips as she quickly typed back, trying not to sound too eager.
Vaani: Yes, all okay.
She hesitated a moment, thumb hovering over the send button, then pressed it before she could second-guess herself.
Back in Egypt, Dhruv was in the middle of pointing out a correction in a contract draft when his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, and for a fraction of a second, his stern expression broke.
Vaani: Yes, all okay.
He exhaled through his nose, leaning back slightly. That tight knot in his chest loosened. He hadn't realized how much he'd been waiting for that tiny confirmation until he saw it.
He quickly typed back:
Dhruv: That's good.
Then, as if catching himself, he put the phone back down, his face sliding back into its neutral mask. He acted nonchalant, even in his own head. It's fine. She's fine. That's all that matters.
But deep inside, he felt lighter. Almost... relaxed.
For Vaani, when her phone buzzed again, she didn't even care what her friends were laughing about across the room. She read his reply—short, simple, just two words. But her lips curved upward anyway.
She tucked the phone closer to her and smiled quietly to herself. He had replied. He wasn't angry. Maybe he wasn't ignoring her like she feared. Maybe... maybe he was just being Dhruv—reserved, quiet, not one for too many words.
And somehow, even that felt enough.
Her mood lifted, the unease of the morning replaced with a soft glow.
By evening, the girls were starting to gather their things. Simran stretched her arms above her head, groaning. "Uff, my back. I can't sit cross-legged on the carpet this long anymore."
Naina laughed, stuffing her charger into her bag. "You sound like you're sixty."
"Maybe I am," Simran shot back with a grin.
Ria slipped on her sandals and looked at Vaani. "We'll get going now. Tomorrow's Monday, and I've got back-to-back client calls. Better not look like a panda at work."
Naina nodded in agreement. "Same here. I want an early night."
Vaani nodded, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. "Okay, sure. It was really fun today. Thank you for coming."
"Arey," Ria leaned in, hugging her tightly, "thank you for hosting us. Your house is so cozy. Honestly, it's got such a nice vibe. We'll be back soon, don't worry."
Simran and Naina joined the hug, making it a tangle of arms and laughter. "Don't miss us too much!" Naina teased.
"I will," Vaani admitted softly, and they all laughed.
One by one, they picked up their bags. She walked them to the door, opened it, and waved them off as they went down the hallway, still chattering among themselves. The sound of their voices faded with every step until the door closed behind them with a gentle click.
And then, silence.
The house, which only minutes ago was filled with laughter, chai clinks, and teasing, now sat still and quiet. Too quiet.
Vaani leaned back against the door, looking at the empty space. For a moment, she let the silence press against her. She hadn't realized how much her friends had distracted her—filled the void Dhruv's absence had created. Now, with them gone, the emptiness returned sharper than before.
She exhaled slowly and walked into the hall, picking up the mugs and plates they'd left behind. The act of cleaning steadied her, gave her hands something to do. But her eyes kept flickering toward the phone lying on the table.
He won't message again, she thought. He already said what he wanted. "That's good." He's probably busy now.
Still, she checked. Still, she hoped.
No new notifications.
Vaani sighed, shaking her head at herself. She switched on the TV for background noise, some random channel playing, and sat on the sofa. For a few minutes, she just stared at the screen without really watching.
Her mind drifted to Dhruv. Was he having dinner by now? Was he still at work? Did he think of her at all, or was she the only one sitting in a quiet house, missing him more than she wanted to admit?
She curled her legs under herself, pulling the throw pillow closer. He'll be back in a week, she reminded herself. Just a few more days. You can handle that.
But tonight, the silence felt heavy.
Meanwhile, in his hotel room, Dhruv returned late after wrapping up meetings. He loosened his tie, tossed it on the chair, and checked his phone almost out of habit.
No new messages.
He nodded once to himself, pretending it didn't matter, but the relief of her earlier reply still lingered. That one message—Yes, all okay—had been enough to silence his restless thoughts. Enough to let him focus on work without the constant weight of wondering.
He set the phone down, went to freshen up, and poured himself a glass of water. The city lights twinkled outside his window, Cairo alive with its own rhythm.
And somewhere in Dubai, he knew she was probably winding down too. He didn't know she was sitting in silence, missing him just as much as he missed her.
~·~
The hotel room was quiet except for the faint hum of the air-conditioning.
Dhruv lay sprawled across the king-sized bed, the glow from his phone the only light in the otherwise dark space.
The day had been long—back-to-back meetings, negotiations, paperwork, and then dinner with some of the executives.
His body was tired, but his mind was still buzzing, running through numbers, projections, and strategies like a never-ending reel.
He turned to one side, elbow bent, phone in his hand. He scrolled aimlessly, not really reading the emails piling up, not really engaging with the updates Aarav had been sending in the group chat about the next steps of their project.
And then his screen lit up with a new message.
Aarav: Bro, all is done. We can head back to Dubai.
Dhruv blinked at the message. He stared at it longer than he needed to, as if reading it once wasn't enough. All done. Done. No more waiting around, no dragging the deal through days of persuasion, no more pretending to enjoy the Cairo streets when his mind was somewhere else.
His thumb moved almost automatically.
Dhruv: Sure, book it.
He hit send without a second thought. Normally, he would've taken at least a few minutes to weigh things—whether it was worth staying a little longer, maybe setting up extra groundwork, maybe smoothing out the upcoming logistics face-to-face.
But this time, his instinct overrode his discipline. Sure, book it.
As soon as the message went through, a strange calmness washed over him. He set his phone down on the nightstand, leaned back against the pillows, and stared at the ceiling. His jaw unclenched. His shoulders felt lighter.
He reached over and switched off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness, save for the faint city glow creeping in through the curtains. He lay there, still as stone, and let his body sink into the mattress.
For the first time in days, he wasn't running through his to-do list in his head. He wasn't calculating numbers. He wasn't replaying the deal's key moments. His mind... was quiet.
And yet, he couldn't place why.
Why did saying yes so quickly feel like relief? Why did the thought of heading back suddenly make the air in his lungs feel lighter?
He turned onto his side, facing the faint outline of the curtains against the night sky.
His phone was still within reach, and for a brief moment he considered picking it back up—messaging Aarav to ask about flight timings, sending his assistant an update, maybe even drafting a message to his father about wrapping things up earlier than planned.
But he didn't.
Instead, he stayed there, lying in the dark, strangely... relaxed. His lips even tugged upward into the barest of smiles, though he didn't realize it.
Somewhere deep inside, he knew why. But Dhruv being Dhruv, he didn't put it into words. He didn't acknowledge it. He didn't even let the thought fully form.
All he knew was this: the deal was done, the work was secure, and soon enough, he'd be heading back to Dubai. Back to his life. Back to the quiet house that—oddly—didn't feel so quiet anymore.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, Vaani was also lying in bed.
Her hair was damp from her shower, her phone clutched loosely in her hand, the blue glow reflecting in her eyes as she scrolled aimlessly through Instagram.
Her friends had gone, the laughter of the day had faded, and the silence pressed in again.
She flicked her screen off and set it aside, curling up under the covers. For a brief moment, she thought about messaging him. Just something simple—Goodnight—maybe even an emoji. But she hesitated. He hadn't messaged since the afternoon, and she didn't want to come across as needy.
She sighed, closing her eyes, telling herself she'd sleep. She didn't know that across continents, he too had settled into his bed, a faint smile tugging at his lips for no reason he cared to admit.
??