47
Vaani's breath was stuck somewhere between her chest and her throat. Her eyes were wide, refusing to blink as she stared at him, still clutching the plastic bag of Maggi packets like her life depended on it.
"Dhruv??" her voice finally broke through, high-pitched and incredulous.
He leaned casually against the doorway, arms folded, an amused look tugging at the corners of his mouth. Watching her flustered state seemed to delight him more than he'd ever admit out loud.
She blinked again, shaking her head, as though trying to process reality. "But you... you were supposed to come later. You said next week!"
His lips curved into the faintest smile. "Meeting ended early. So..." he shrugged, effortless. "I flew back."
Her mouth opened, then closed again. "But I..." she stammered, unable to finish the thought.
"Surprise," he said smoothly, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
That's when his eyes dropped to her hands—and the bulging bag she was holding. His brow arched, mischief sparking in his otherwise calm, serious gaze. "Were you... planning to feed the whole building Maggi?"
Her cheeks flushed crimson. She looked down instantly, wishing the floor would just swallow her. "I... I vo... I..."
"Mhmm," he hummed, entirely unconvinced but enjoying her discomfort far too much. Then he straightened up, his tone softening. "Go get changed. We'll talk after."
She nodded quickly, almost too quickly, before darting toward the bedroom.
Inside, as she changed into a simple top and soft shorts, she couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face.
Her hands trembled slightly as she pulled her hair loose.
He was back. Just like that, without warning.
A part of her still couldn't believe it—she had been dragging herself through lonely days, staring at her silent phone, and suddenly he was here, sitting in their living room.
By the time she stepped out, her heart was thudding in quiet happiness.
Dhruv was settled on the couch, phone discarded on the coffee table, his posture relaxed in a way she rarely saw.
The moment his eyes lifted to her, something softened in them—an almost imperceptible ease as though just seeing her there, comfortable, made something inside him unclench.
"What's with the flowers?" he asked, his voice calm but edged with curiosity as his gaze flicked to the two simple blooms she had placed absentmindedly in a small vase.
"Oh... I..." She hesitated, fumbling with her words. "I just thought... it would look good for the apartment."
He tilted his head slightly, watching her closely. "Hmm. Really?"
Her lips parted, but no excuse followed. She couldn't look him in the eye. He didn't push, though—just leaned back, smirking faintly. "Get bigger ones next time.... For the apartment."
She exhaled softly, biting her lip, relieved that he didn't press further.
Then his voice cut in again, steady as ever. "Come sit."
She stepped closer, fiddling with the hem of her top. "I... I didn't know you were coming back today. So I didn't think—" She trailed off before rushing ahead, "But I'll make food. What do you want to eat? Dal-rice, pav bhaji, roti? Tell me, I'll make anything."
Her hands automatically went up to tie her hair into a bun, her feet already carrying her toward the kitchen.
Dhruv's chuckle followed her. The sound was low, rare, and it pulled her to a stop before she could reach the counter.
"Vaani," he said.
She froze, turning back. "Yes?"
His eyes held hers, steady and unflinching. "If I hadn't come back today... what would you have eaten for dinner?"
Her cheeks burned. She glanced away, fidgeting with her fingers, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. "...Cheese Maggi."
The corner of his mouth tugged up. "Then we're eating cheese Maggi."
Her head snapped up, eyes wide. "What?"
He pushed off the kitchen cabinet he was leaning against, and walked towards her. He leaned just slightly, close enough that she felt the weight of his gaze more than his words. "Am I allowed to share your Maggi with you, ma'am?"
Her breath hitched. She blinked at him, momentarily caught between shyness and warmth. "Yes," she whispered, almost embarrassed by how softly it came out.
"Settled then," he said, with the certainty of a man who rarely asked twice.
Before she could say anything more, he brushed past her and walked into the kitchen. Rolling his sleeves, he opened the bag and pulled out two packets of Maggi.
"Arre, I'll do it," she blurted, following him quickly.
He glanced at her once, lips twitching upward, then shook his head. "Tu bas. Mi karto." (You sit. I'll do it.)
And just like that, he stood at the stove, boiling water, opening the packet, and moving with the easy confidence of someone who'd done this before.
Vaani stood at the doorway, watching him in quiet awe. There was something strangely grounding in the sight of Dhruv—her ever-serious, work-consumed husband—making cheese Maggi in their kitchen as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Her lips curved into a smile she couldn't stop even if she tried.
The steam rising from the pot filled the kitchen with a familiar, homely smell. Dhruv stirred one last time before turning off the flame, then reached for the ladle. He glanced over at Vaani, who had been hovering near the counter like she wasn't sure if she should help or stay out of the way.
"Soupy or dry?" he asked, lifting the ladle with a casual ease.
"Soupy," she replied instantly, a little sheepish but with no hesitation.
His brow arched, and he smirked faintly. "Why am I not surprised?"
She laughed softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Do you prefer dry?"
Instead of answering, he showed her his plate, where the noodles sat just thick enough to hold their shape, almost no extra soup. "Yep."
She grinned and took her plate from him, watching as he ladled more broth into hers. "Balanced household," she joked lightly.
"Apparently," he muttered, amused.
They carried their plates to the dining table.
Vaani sat down and instantly reached for the small packet of mozzarella cheese she had grabbed earlier from the grocery bag.
She tore it open and sprinkled a generous amount over her Maggi, the hot steam quickly melting the cheese into gooey strands. She stirred it in happily.
Dhruv raised a brow, silently watching her ritual.
"Do you want some?" she asked, pausing mid-stir, the fork dangling from her hand.
He considered for a moment. He didn't like it. But then — she is asking.... Nicely, he told himself. She's being polite, I should be polite back. And so, he gave a small nod. "Sure."
She poured some onto his plate, careful not to overload, then smiled faintly when he didn't complain.
They started eating, the clink of forks and the quiet hum of the air conditioner filling the silence. For a few minutes, neither spoke—they simply enjoyed the comfort of hot food after a long day.
But Vaani couldn't keep quiet for long. She swallowed a bite, then glanced at him. "How are you back so early?"
Her own words registered a beat too late, and she quickly shook her head, fumbling.
"I didn't mean it like that. I meant... I was just surprised.
I thought four more days! And I didn't even, you know, tidy the place properly.
And I just—" She set her fork down, her words tumbling over themselves, "—but I'm happy to see you. "
Dhruv leaned back slightly in his chair, watching her with an expression that was equal parts amusement and something softer, quieter. He let her speak without interrupting, though her nervous rambling tugged at something unexpected in his chest.
By the time her last sentence — I'm happy to see you — slipped out, he felt a strange flutter in his stomach. Butterflies—not that he'd ever admit that aloud.
He cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "My deal got secured within the first day. The next day, Aarav and I roamed around, laid the foundations. By the end of the third day, there wasn't much left. So we decided to fly back."
Her lips parted in disbelief. "Tar mala sangaicha na!" (Then you should've told me!)
"That defies the point of a surprise," he countered easily, almost smug.
Her shoulders slumped a little. "I'm sorry."
His brows knit slightly. "For what?"
"I wasn't there when you came," she said softly, guilt edging her voice.
He studied her for a moment, then shook his head, leaning forward slightly.
"You need to find genuine reasons to apologize for, Vaani.
It's alright." He continued casually while pouring himself a glass of water, "I was expecting you to be in the office.
And I got caught up on some much-needed sleep. "
She chuckled at that, tension easing from her face. "Fair enough."
There was a pause, then his voice came quieter but steadier. "How was your day out?"
The question caught her off guard. She blinked, almost disbelieving. He was asking about my day. About what she did. Something in her chest warmed.
A small smile tugged her lips. "It was actually really fun. I called my girls in the morning. Totally unplanned."
Dhruv twirled his fork through his noodles, not looking at her directly but listening.
"So we decided—let's just go somewhere. And then Jebel Jais came up.
We left in Ria's jeep." Her eyes sparkled a little as she recalled it.
"The drive was insane. You know, windows down, music blasting.
We sang Bollywood songs at the top of our lungs.
I don't even know how Ria managed to keep driving while laughing so much. "
Dhruv allowed a faint curve at the corner of his mouth, picturing it.
"Simran, oh god," Vaani continued, giggling at the memory. "She started doing her fake item-number moves in the backseat, and Naina was recording it on her phone, threatening to leak it at Ria's sangeet."
"Hmm," Dhruv hummed, his fork pausing midair as he pictured the chaos she described.
"And when we got there," Vaani leaned forward slightly, animated now, "the view... you have to see it someday. It's unreal. The roads just winding through the mountains, the air cooler than Dubai. We hiked a little, nothing crazy, but enough to feel like—like we were somewhere far away. Free."
She stirred her Maggi absentmindedly, her smile lingering. "We sat at one of those small cafes at the top, had karak chai with samosas. Ria was like, 'This is the life.' And honestly, I agreed."
He nodded once, listening with that quiet steadiness she had started to recognize as his version of attention.
She went on, softer now. "It felt good. I didn't even realize how much I needed that until we were there. Just laughing, shouting, no stress."
For a moment, silence settled between them again.
Dhruv didn't break it with words. He didn't need to.
He simply watched her as she spoke, as her hands moved while she described things, as her laughter slipped out mid-sentence.
And all the while, that faint, almost invisible smile tugged at his lips—a smile that wasn't for anyone else, just for this moment, just for her.
Vaani's words tumbled out like a little waterfall, her eyes bright as she told him about the rest of her outing and sleepover.
She spoke of how they'd come back late, arms full of chips packets and juice bottles, how they had sprawled on her floor with blankets and played antakshari until someone had to hush Ria from being too loud.
"Simran brought that ridiculous board game—you know the one where you have to act out film dialogues? She did the worst impression of Shah Rukh, and Naina just lost it. We laughed so hard, my stomach hurt."
Her laughter filled the dining room, soft but infectious. Dhruv leaned back, resting his elbow on the chair's arm, eyes on her face. She was glowing as she talked, cheeks animated, hair slipping over her shoulder.
"Then," she continued, "we finally crashed at like... I don't even know, maybe 4 a.m.? Simran took over the couch, Naina was half on the mattress, half off, and Ria just curled up on the carpet and said she was perfectly comfortable. I swear, if you saw the sight—"
"Vaani."
His voice cut through her rambling gently but firmly.
She blinked and stopped mid-sentence. "Yeah?"
"Don't forget to eat."
Her gaze dropped instantly to her plate. His was empty—scraped clean without him even realizing how fast he'd eaten—and hers was still nearly full, steam rising from noodles she'd barely touched. Heat rushed up her neck.
"Oh," she muttered, embarrassed. "Sorry."
His brow quirked, lips twitching faintly. "Again sorry."
Her eyes widened for a second before she let out a small laugh, cheeks flushed. "Right, right." She twirled the fork into the noodles and began eating properly this time, trying not to look up at him watching her.
Silence stretched for a beat, comfortable in its own way. He leaned back, fingers tapping lightly against the table, before he spoke again.
"So," he said simply, "I'm at home tomorrow."
She nodded, still chewing, forcing herself not to stare at him. "Okay."
"If there's anything to do," he added casually, "I got it."
She swallowed, buying time, her fingers curling slightly around the fork. For a moment, she wanted to just shake her head, let the conversation drift. But the weight of his words lingered.
Her lips parted, and she said softly, "No... nothing."
Dhruv tilted his head, watching her closely. The lie sat too easily on her tongue, but her eyes flickered, giving her away.
"Vaani."
Just her name. Firm, grounding. She sighed, dropping the act.
"Just... groceries," she admitted, voice small. Then quickly added, "But I'll do it."
His brows knit faintly. "Why?"
"Because..." She faltered, staring at her plate as her thoughts tangled.
How do I tell him? How do I explain that she wanted to contribute, to feel like she wasn't just taking from him?
After everything he'd already done—his effort, his support, even just tonight showing up—how could she not want to balance the scales in some way?
"Because... I like to do it," she finished weakly.
He studied her for a long second. Her tone, her hesitation, all of it gave him enough to understand that there was more she wasn't saying. But he didn't push. Instead, he gave a short, even hum. "Hmm."
Then, matter-of-factly, "We'll go now."
Her head shot up, startled. "Now??"
"Yep."
She blinked at him. "It's... it's late."
"It's 8:30." His tone was calm, almost amused. "Are you sleepy?"
She shook her head automatically. "No..."
"Then let's go."
Her fork clinked softly against the plate. "But I can go alone, it's okay."
His eyes met hers across the table, steady and unflinching. "It's better to get it now so we can have a good meal tomorrow."
She opened her mouth, ready to argue again, but the words didn't come. Something in his tone, in his quiet insistence, left no space for refusal. Instead, she just looked at him for a moment, her heart tugging oddly in her chest.
"Okay," she whispered finally. "I'll... I'll just change."
He nodded once, as if the matter was settled.
She quickly gathered their empty plates, stacking them neatly before carrying them into the kitchen. The clatter of dishes filled the silence while he stood by the dining table, slipping his phone from his pocket, scrolling idly but his thoughts elsewhere.
In her room, she peeled off her comfortable shorts and top, trading them for simple blue jeans and a plain white tee.
She tied her hair into a loose ponytail, glanced at herself once in the mirror, and found a small smile tugging at her lips.
It felt strange—this ease with him, this pull to not let him down.
When she came out, Dhruv was already standing, car keys in hand. His eyes flicked to her once, a quick glance that lingered a beat too long before he masked it with his usual calm.
"Ready?" he asked.
She nodded, slipping her phone into her small sling bag.
Together, they walked out of the apartment. The lock clicked behind them, the hallway quiet except for the hum of the elevator. They stepped inside, standing side by side. Neither spoke, but the air wasn't tense. Just steady.
Downstairs, Dhruv led the way to the car. The cool night air brushed against them, carrying the faint scent of the city winding down. Vaani slid into the passenger seat, fastening her belt, while he settled behind the wheel.
The engine started, headlights cutting through the dimly lit parking lot. Without a word, Dhruv drove them out into the night, the road opening ahead, simple and quiet.
~·~
The fluorescent lights of the grocery store washed over them as they stepped inside. It was comfortably busy—families weaving through aisles, the sound of carts squeaking, the low hum of air conditioning. Vaani immediately veered toward the line of trolleys, tugging one free.
But the trolley was stubborn, one wheel jerking sideways. She braced her hands against the handle, trying to straighten it, but it wobbled again, making her stumble just a little.
Before she could laugh it off, Dhruv's hand slid casually near hers on the handle. Without saying a word, he took control of the trolley, adjusting his grip and straightening it with a firm push. Smooth. Balanced.
She looked up at him, ready to protest, but he simply tilted his head forward in a small gesture: go ahead.
But instead of moving ahead of him, she slowed her pace until she was beside him, falling into step easily. "You didn't have to—"
"You'd be wrestling it the whole way," he said flatly, eyes straight ahead.
She huffed lightly but smiled to herself, deciding not to argue.
They walked down the produce section first. The smell of fresh coriander, earthy potatoes, and bright citrus filled the air. Vaani plucked a few tomatoes from a bin, weighing them gently in her palm before placing them into a paper bag.
"Tomatoes?" Dhruv asked.
"For sabzi," she replied, tying the bag neatly.
They moved on. She reached for a bunch of spinach.
"Spinach tomorrow," she announced.
Dhruv wrinkled his nose. "No."
Her eyes flicked to him. "Why not?"
"I don't like it."
"It's healthy," she countered, placing the leafy bunch into the trolley anyway.
He gave her a sideways glance. "Healthy doesn't mean edible."
"Dhruv!" She gave him a mock glare, clutching another bundle of coriander. "Spinach is good. Full of iron. Builds strength. Popeye, remember?"
He arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You're using a cartoon sailor as medical advice?"
She pressed her lips together to stifle a laugh. "Well, it worked for him."
"He's fictional."
"Still." She placed the second bundle of greens firmly in the cart. "You're eating it tomorrow."
For a second, it looked like he might remove it. But then, to her surprise, he just exhaled quietly and let it be.
Her eyes widened. "You're not arguing?"
"Waste of energy," he muttered. "Clearly you've already decided."
She chuckled under her breath, feeling oddly victorious. "Good decision."
He shook his head but kept walking, pushing the trolley with quiet ease.
They moved aisle to aisle. Vaani picked up onions, okra, ginger, garlic—all the staples. Dhruv trailed alongside her, occasionally straightening the trolley when it veered, watching as she selected vegetables with the kind of careful attention he usually reserved for contracts and deals.
Every so often, they exchanged small words.
"Potatoes?" she asked.
He nodded. "Yes."
"Cauliflower?"
"No."
"But aloo-gobi is nice—"
"No."
She sighed dramatically but put it back, making him smirk faintly.
As they turned into the dry goods aisle, Vaani's steps slowed.
Her eyes fell on a large, glossy packet displayed at the end of the shelf—a complete brownie-making kit.
The box had everything: pre-baked mix, toppings, frosting, even decorative sprinkles.
The picture on the front showed rich, gooey squares that looked too tempting to resist.
She paused, her gaze lingering. For a second, her hand lifted, fingers brushing the edge of the packet.
Then her eyes flicked to the small white tag below it. 50 dirhams.
Her stomach dipped. That was too much for something unnecessary. Extravagant, even. She pulled her hand back quickly, shaking her head lightly to herself. Nahi, not worth it.
She walked past, moving into the next row as if she hadn't even stopped.
Behind her, Dhruv slowed. His eyes, sharp and observant as always, had caught the entire scene. The way she had paused. The way her hand had hovered. The way she had pulled back.
Without saying a word, he steered the trolley closer, picked up the brownie kit, and set it inside with a quiet thud.
The packet lay nestled among spinach and coriander and tomatoes, a sharp burst of indulgence against everyday necessities. He didn't announce it, didn't explain. Just kept pushing the trolley forward.
Vaani, meanwhile, was busy filling bags of okra, her mind still buzzing with recipes. She didn't notice.
"Okra?" she asked as he came up behind her.
"Fine," he said, and she placed it in.
They continued down the aisle, the weight of the brownie mix silent but present in the cart between them.
Their rhythm grew more natural as they walked together. Vaani reached for spices, rattling off her thoughts: "Haldi, jeera, dhaniya... oh, and garam masala's almost finished."
Dhruv added them in one by one, his long fingers brushing hers briefly when she handed him a packet. Neither said anything about it.
At the dairy section, she grabbed milk, curd, paneer. He automatically reached for the heavier gallon of milk before she could, setting it into the trolley without a word.
"Thank you," she said softly.
He only gave a short nod.
In the bread section, she hesitated between brown bread and white. She raised a brow when he walked over and picked brown.
"Healthy," he said before she could question.
She rolled her eyes teasingly, pushing the trolley forward.
They walked on like that, aisle after aisle, their little exchanges blending into the soft hum of the store. Sometimes she teased him, sometimes he shut her down with one-word answers, sometimes they just walked in silence. But the silence wasn't uncomfortable. It was... steady.
For Vaani, there was something unexpectedly grounding about the whole thing. Doing something so mundane, so ordinary, side by side with him. She had imagined grocery shopping alone—quiet, maybe a bit boring. But with Dhruv, it felt different. More alive.
She didn't notice the way his gaze flickered to her now and then. How he took the heavier bags, how he adjusted the trolley so she didn't have to push, how he let her win small battles about sabzis he didn't even like.
And she certainly didn't notice the brownie kit nestled at the bottom of the cart, waiting.
The queue at the checkout counter moved slowly, the rhythmic beeps of items being scanned filling the air.
Dhruv pushed the trolley forward with one hand, the other resting in his pocket, his stance casual but his eyes attentive.
Vaani was beside him, sorting the last few vegetables into smaller bags, making sure the tomatoes wouldn't get squished under heavier items.
When their turn finally came, Dhruv automatically stepped forward, sliding the trolley into position.
The cashier, a middle-aged man with kind eyes, began lifting items one by one, scanning them and setting them aside to be packed.
Dhruv's hand instinctively went to his wallet, ready to pull out his card.
But before he could even reach for it, Vaani was already leaning over the counter, holding out her own card.
"Card, please," the cashier asked.
Vaani's small, determined voice cut in. "Here," she said quickly, tapping her card against the machine.
Beep. Transaction approved.
Dhruv blinked, his hand still on his wallet. For a moment, he simply froze, processing what had just happened.
She didn't look at him, though. Instead, she moved around the counter to help the bagging clerk, lifting vegetables and milk cartons, sliding them neatly into reusable bags she had brought along. Her face was calm, ordinary, as though nothing unusual had happened.
Dhruv, however, wasn't fooled. His eyes followed her every move, something sharp and questioning flickering inside him.
Why? he thought. Why did she jump to pay? What's going on in her head?
It wasn't about the money. Not for him. He had no shortage of that. It was about the speed—the urgency—with which she'd pulled out her card. As though it was important for her, almost too important, that he didn't.
But Vaani... she hummed under her breath, folding the bags carefully, sliding onions to one side, bread to the other. Completely normal. As if she hadn't noticed his gaze.
When all was packed, she turned to him, expression light. "Chalaicha?" she asked unconsciously. (Shall we go?)
He studied her face for a second longer, searching. But her eyes didn't waver.
"Hmm," he said finally, giving a small nod. He lifted two of the heavier bags himself, following her out of the store.
~·~
The drive back was quiet, only the soft hum of the car filling the air. Vaani sat with her window cracked just a little, the night breeze fluttering strands of her hair. She tapped her fingers on her lap, as though absentmindedly replaying a tune in her head.
Dhruv drove steadily, one hand on the wheel, his jaw slightly clenched. He didn't say anything, but his mind wasn't still.
Why the rush to pay?
Is it about independence?
Or about proving something?
He didn't like guessing. He liked knowing. And he hated the unsettled feeling her action had stirred up in him.
Beside him, Vaani stole one small glance at his profile. He looked unreadable, eyes on the road, lips pressed together. A little twist tugged at her chest. She wondered if he was annoyed, wondered if he thought she was overstepping.
So she didn't speak either.
By the time they reached their building, the silence had stretched too long. Dhruv parked the car, switched off the engine, and stepped out first. He pulled two bags from the back before she could and walked toward the lift. She hurried to grab the remaining ones, following him in.
Inside the apartment, the air was cooler, calmer. They both slipped off their shoes and went to their respective rooms to change. Vaani reappeared in a comfortable shorts and a top, tying her hair into a loose ponytail. Dhruv emerged in a simple t-shirt and joggers, barefoot.
Vaani headed straight to the kitchen, setting the grocery bags on the counter. She began unpacking briskly, moving things into their places. Milk in the fridge, vegetables into the crisper, spices in their shelf. Her movements were purposeful, almost too brisk, as if keeping herself occupied.
From the hallway, Dhruv watched her for a moment, leaning against the frame. The confusion from earlier still gnawed at him. He couldn't shake it. Finally, he stepped into the kitchen.
"You need help?" he asked.
Her hands stilled for a fraction of a second before she shook her head quickly. "No, it's fine. I've got it."
He didn't move. "Vaani."
The way he said her name—low, steady, just a little weighted—made her glance up. Their eyes met, and she realized he wasn't asking casually. He was asking.
She let out a small sigh. "A little," she admitted softly, sliding a bag of onions toward him.
Without another word, he stepped closer and began helping. He took the heavier items, stacking them where they belonged. She continued with the lighter ones, organizing them neatly.
For a while, the only sounds were of rustling packets and the opening and closing of cupboards.
But beneath the simple task, a quiet rhythm formed.
She handed, he placed. He reached, she adjusted.
Their movements flowed together without clashing, as though they'd done this countless times before—even though they hadn't.
Vaani sneaked a glance at him once, catching the way his sleeves pulled slightly against his arms as he lifted a large carton. She looked away quickly, focusing on aligning the spice jars.
Dhruv, meanwhile, felt something he didn't expect—a sense of ease.
Mundane, yes. Ordinary, definitely. But strangely grounding.
Being shoulder to shoulder in a kitchen, unpacking groceries, wasn't the kind of moment he'd ever pictured himself in.
Yet here he was, and instead of irritation, he felt. .. calmer.
Still, the earlier question lingered.
As she slid the last of the vegetables into the fridge, he spoke. "Vaani."
"Hmm?" she asked, closing the fridge door.
His eyes narrowed slightly, not harsh but probing. "Why did you pay?"
Her hand froze on the handle. For a second, she didn't answer. She busied herself with folding the empty bags, tucking them into the drawer. Only after a small pause did she speak, softly, "Because I... I had my card out."
He didn't buy it. His gaze stayed on her, steady and unyielding.
She avoided his eyes, fiddling with the drawer. In her chest, her thoughts tumbled: How do I tell him I want to contribute? That I don't want want him to feel like I'm living off his money? That I need to feel like I'm doing something too?
But she couldn't say it. Not yet. So she left it there.
Dhruv studied her for another moment. He was not convinced. Then, without pressing further, he gave a small nod. "Hmm."
She let out a quiet breath, both relieved and unsettled.
They finished the last of the unpacking together, side by side, the silence stretching again—but this time, not uncomfortable. Just full of things unsaid.
??