50
The sun had already dipped low, washing the apartment in dusky gold.
Vaani sat cross-legged on the floor of the study, her hair pulled back into a messy bun, glasses perched on her nose, surrounded by sheets of tracing paper, sketch layouts, and swatches of muted fabrics.
The Al Seef Towers project had consumed her the past few days, and the room showed it—papers sprawled like fallen leaves, pencils rolling under chairs, her laptop balanced precariously on a stack of samples.
She didn't even notice the sound of the door until it clicked shut behind him. Dhruv's footsteps, steady and unhurried, carried through the apartment, and then he appeared at the door of the study, towel slung casually around his shoulders, his gym bag in one hand.
For a moment, he didn't say anything. He just stood there, broad-shouldered, faint sheen of workout still on his skin, his gaze sweeping over the chaos.
His jaw flexed once, a tiny flicker of irritation at the sight of so many papers littering the otherwise neat home.
But then his eyes landed on her—bent over a sheet, completely absorbed, pencil scratching in neat, confident strokes—and something in him. .. shifted.
He didn't frown. He didn't scold. He just watched her, expression unreadable, as though trying to reconcile the mess with the focus in her eyes.
It was Vaani who broke the moment. She glanced up, startled.
"Oh—hi."
She noticed immediately where his gaze had gone. Around the room. The papers. The scattered files. Her half-drunk mug of chai teetering dangerously close to a design sheet. Her stomach twisted.
"I... I'm so sorry." She scrambled to her feet, already reaching for the nearest pile of papers. "I'll clean this. I should've—"
"No." His voice was quiet, firm, cutting her apology short.
She froze, blinking at him.
"It's fine," he said, meeting her eyes, his tone even. "Finish your work first."
The words hung between them, simple yet heavier than they sounded. He didn't move to step inside, didn't hover or question what she was doing. He just left it there, the permission, the quiet understanding.
Vaani exhaled softly, nodding once. "Okay."
She sank back down to the floor, gathering her pencil again, eyes dropping to her designs. Her shoulders relaxed slowly, though a faint blush of embarrassment still lingered.
Dhruv didn't linger either. He turned, walking away with the same unhurried steps, the sound of his bag hitting the floor in their room a few minutes later. The shower started, faint water running.
Inside the study, Vaani's pencil moved again, but her thoughts wandered. He didn't even... react. Why? He hates clutter—I can tell. But he just said finish your work first. She bit her lip, trying to push the thought away, but it lingered like the hum of background music.
Meanwhile, under the spray of the shower, Dhruv stood still longer than usual, water coursing down his shoulders. His mind replayed the image he'd just left behind.
The papers everywhere. The disorder. Normally, it would gnaw at him, tugging on his need for precision, neatness, control. But instead of stepping in and correcting it, instead of asking her to clean, he had said... nothing.
Why didn't I react?
He leaned against the cool tile, brow furrowing. The question wasn't irritation at her—it was irritation at himself. Or maybe not even irritation. Maybe it was the disorienting realization that the sight of her—focused, absorbed, utterly lost in her work—had outweighed the mess.
He shut his eyes briefly. That feeling was unfamiliar, unsettling. Yet strangely... not unwelcome.
Back in the study, Vaani shifted another paper aside, her cheeks still warm from the way he had looked at her. It hadn't been critical, nor dismissive. Just steady, quiet, as though she was worth observing even in the middle of chaos.
For the first time that day, her lines wavered on the paper, her heart skipping as she scribbled notes along the edge.
And in the silence of their apartment, two thoughts ran parallel in different rooms—hers, tinged with wonder, his, edged with confusion—but both converging on the same truth neither of them was ready to admit yet.
The evening passed into a soft quiet. Dhruv sat on the couch, remote in hand, absently flipping through channels though his eyes weren't truly fixed on the screen.
It was background noise more than entertainment—headlines, flickers of movies, a faint hum in the silence of the apartment.
Vaani was still in the study, he could hear the faint scratch of her pencil even from here.
The doorbell rang. Sharp, unexpected.
Dhruv set the remote down and rose, his steps steady toward the door. When he opened it, his brows lifted in surprise.
"Mom? Dad?"
Jaya and Mahesh stood there, smiling warmly. Jaya carried a bag that looked suspiciously like food, Mahesh had his familiar calm composure.
"Beta," Jaya said quickly, "hi. Sorry—we came so randomly. We tried to call you and Vaani but neither of you answered. And I don't know why you two don't have a landline number yet!"
Dhruv blinked once, then shook his head faintly. "All okay? Everything fine?"
"Everything's fine," Jaya assured, stepping in as Mahesh followed. "We just stepped out... why not come over. But no one was answering so we worried."
Dhruv stepped aside. "Come in, come in."
They walked in, taking seats on the couch. Dhruv checked his phone as he moved to the coffee table. "I didn't get your calls, Mom. I don't think Vaani did either."
Jaya waved a hand. "It's okay. But where is Vaani?"
"She's working," Dhruv replied simply. Then, without raising his voice much but loud enough to carry into the study: "Vaani."
From inside, the faint shuffle of papers stopped. A moment later, a soft voice floated back: "Yes?"
And then she appeared.
She walked out, brushing strands of hair from her face, glasses still on. Shorts and a loose top, casual, comfortable—exactly how she had been working. But the moment her eyes landed on the living room, and she saw Jaya and Mahesh sitting there, her expression changed completely.
Her eyes widened. Her steps faltered.
"Oh—Maa, Papa—" Vaani stammered, her hand twitching toward her clothes as though she could magically change them on the spot. "I... I'm sorry, I'll—"
Before Jaya could open her mouth, Vaani had already spun around, practically running back into the bedroom.
There was a moment of silence. Then both Jaya and Mahesh chuckled.
"She really didn't need to," Jaya said, shaking her head with a fond smile.
Mahesh leaned back slightly, his voice calm. "She'll need some time to understand that."
On the armrest of the couch, Dhruv leaned slightly, watching it all with an unreadable expression. His lips twitched once, just barely. Amusement flickered in his eyes, but he didn't comment.
He simply sat back down, remote in hand again, while the quiet laughter of his parents filled the room.
Inside the bedroom, Vaani stood by the wardrobe, hands pressing against the fabric of a kurta she'd pulled out in haste, cheeks still burning.
Vaani re-entered the living room after a few minutes, now dressed in a soft pastel kurta and leggings, hair pinned back neatly. Her cheeks still carried that faint blush, but she wore a polite smile as she walked toward them.
Jaya's eyes softened the moment she saw her. "Arre, beta," she said warmly, "you really didn't need to change. It's alright—it's your home. Relax. We came without warning, after all."
Vaani smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "No, Maa, I just..." she trailed off, not finishing the sentence, but her eyes showed the truth—respect, a need to appear proper, and that familiar nervousness she often felt in front of them.
Dhruv, who had been leaning back on the sofa, set the remote aside. His calm voice broke into the room. "What happened, Mom, Dad? This late?"
Jaya sighed, adjusting her dupatta as she sat straighter. "Arre, beta, ghara cha khup kaam nighun aala." (A lot of work for the house came up.)
Mahesh added in his usual composed tone, "We had called an electrician earlier in the evening. The ceiling light in the hall wasn't working properly, and there were some other small things too."
"Yes," Jaya picked up again, "and then, while he was working, he said there are wiring issues inside, not just the light. Then he checked more things and found out that a lot of small internal renovations are needed—things we didn't even realize."
Dhruv nodded, his face giving away nothing, but his silence was the silence of listening, not dismissal.
"So," Jaya continued, "we thought it's better to get it done now. Before relatives start visiting... you know, family always comes during winter months, and the house should be ready by then."
Vaani frowned softly, guilt flickering across her face. "Maa, I would have come to help you. I didn't even see your call."
Jaya waved her hand gently. "It's okay, beta. We didn't have to do anything. The workers took over the place completely. We just had to leave because the house is impossible to stay in right now—too much dust, too much mess."
Mahesh gave a small nod of agreement. "Yes, even basic cooking would've been impossible tonight. Wires, plaster, everything scattered."
Vaani's brow furrowed further. "Still, I should have known. You shouldn't have to manage all this alone, Maa."
From the side, Dhruv said in his quiet, matter-of-fact tone, "Even I didn't get your calls." He lifted his phone from the table, swiping across the screen once, his brow knitting slightly. "Maybe your phone's acting up, Mom. I'll check it out tomorrow."
That earned a faint chuckle from Mahesh. "Technology never listens when we need it most."
The silence that followed was warm, not awkward. Vaani stood for a moment longer, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her kurta, before she suddenly straightened. "Mi chaha karte," she announced, voice brightening. (I'll make chai.)
She turned quickly and headed into the kitchen before either Jaya or Mahesh could stop her.
Behind her, Jaya sighed with fond exasperation, smiling a little as she watched the young woman disappear into the kitchen. She turned to Dhruv. "She doesn't need to do all that."
Dhruv only gave the smallest shrug, a hint of a smile tugging faintly at his lips. "She'll do it anyway."
Jaya chuckled, leaning back against the sofa. "That's true."
From the kitchen, faint clinks of cups and the soft bubbling of the kettle filled the air, the sound weaving into the easy quiet of the living room.
Dhruv leaned back once more, gaze drifting toward the kitchen doorway, his expression unreadable but his eyes following the faint shadow of her movements.
Mahesh noticed the look but said nothing, only settling comfortably into his seat.
The apartment, once hushed, now carried the warmth of family.
The smell of freshly brewed chai drifted from the kitchen before Vaani appeared, carefully carrying a tray with four steaming cups and a small plate of biscuits.
She placed it gently on the center table, then handed one cup to Jaya first, then Mahesh, before sliding one toward Dhruv and finally keeping one for herself.
"Arre, perfect," Jaya said, inhaling the aroma with satisfaction. "You make a good chai, beta. Just the right amount of adrak."
Vaani's lips curved into a shy smile. "Thank you, Maa."
They all sipped quietly for a few moments. The warmth of the tea seemed to settle into the silence, blending comfort with familiarity. The television, muted now, flickered in the background while Dhruv leaned back against the sofa, his cup cradled loosely in his hands.
Then, in his quiet, steady voice, Dhruv said, "So, you're obviously staying here, right?"
The question came out less as an invitation and more as a fact—firm, calm, like it was already decided.
But Mahesh shook his head almost immediately. "No, no, beta. We were thinking to check into a hotel for a couple of days."
Before Dhruv could even respond, Vaani's brows knit together, and she leaned forward slightly. "No, Papa! How can you do that?" Her tone was urgent but affectionate, the kind that carried both respect and a hint of protest.
Mahesh, ever the light-hearted one, tilted his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Well," he said, mock-serious, "we'll go there, pay the money, and stay. That's how."
Jaya laughed softly at that, shaking her head at his silliness. "Bas kara, Mahesh."
Vaani chuckled too, though she still looked unconvinced. Her eyes darted toward Dhruv for a second, but he was just watching quietly, expression unreadable. Still, there was a faint gleam of amusement in his eyes.
Mahesh, noticing, grinned wider. "Vaani, maybe you can tell your husband that he doesn't need to pay taxes to smile." He turned to Dhruv, "It's free, you know."
That made Jaya laugh louder, and even Vaani couldn't hold back a fuller chuckle. She ducked her head quickly, her cheeks warming, trying not to look at Dhruv.
Dhruv, however, only exhaled softly and said, "Anyway." His tone was measured, deliberate. "As Vaani said, you don't need to go to the hotel. You're here."
It wasn't an argument. It wasn't even a request. It was simply a quiet decision, one that held no room for second-guessing.
Vaani glanced at him once, then back at her parents-in-law. "Yes, Maa, Papa. Please stay here. It's your home too."
Jaya smiled gently at her insistence, though she still said, "Beta, we don't want to trouble you two. You both have your work, your space."
"You're not troubling us at all," Vaani replied quickly, shaking her head. Her voice was soft but firm, and the earnestness in it made Jaya's eyes soften further.
Mahesh still tried one more time. "We really don't want to inconvenience anyone—"
But Dhruv cut in again, his voice calm and final. "It's settled. You'll stay here.... Please."
The words, delivered without even the faintest edge of impatience, carried the weight of his quiet authority. He took another sip of his chai, as if the matter was closed.
Jaya and Mahesh exchanged a glance, half a smile between them. Finally, Jaya sighed. "Alright, then. If you both insist..."
Mahesh chuckled, lifting his cup in a small mock-toast. "Seems like we've been defeated. The youngsters win this time."
Vaani's shoulders relaxed, a little smile tugging her lips as relief washed over her. She had wanted them to stay, to feel at home, and now that they had agreed, her heart felt lighter. She reached for a biscuit, breaking it absentmindedly as she listened to them talk.
Dhruv, meanwhile, leaned back into the sofa, eyes dropping briefly to his cup before flicking once toward her.
He didn't say much, didn't add anything more to the conversation.
But the faint upward curve at the corner of his mouth stayed a little longer than usual, as if Mahesh's earlier joke about smiling had finally left its trace.
The living room felt fuller, warmer, with the four of them sitting together. The laughter of parents, the small nervous smiles of Vaani, and Dhruv's quiet presence stitched together a moment of family—ordinary, yet grounding.
~·~
The guest room door creaked softly as Vaani pulled the fresh bedsheet over the mattress, smoothing it down with her palms before tucking it into the corners.
She fussed with the pillows, fluffing them twice, then adjusting the quilt, then stepping back, only to walk forward again and shift it a little to the left.
Dhruv stood by the doorway, arms folded, leaning against the frame.
His workout tee still clung to him, damp from earlier, but he hadn't bothered changing yet.
He simply watched, expression unreadable except for the faint curve tugging at his lips as Vaani moved—back and forth, up and down, restless like a tiny whirlwind trapped in a room.
She didn't notice at first. She was too caught up in placing the small lamp just right on the bedside table, then reaching for a fresh jug and glass to keep on the stand. But when she finally looked up, she caught him watching, silent and still.
Her brows lifted. "What?"
Dhruv's lips twitched a little more, and in a low voice he said, "Chalti chaaya."
She blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
"Chalti chaaya," he repeated, his voice even, almost deadpan. "You don't stay still. Hamesha kuthe na kuthe halchalat aste. Like a shadow that doesn't stop moving." (Moving Shadow [Marathi idiom], You don't stay still. Always moving somewhere.)
Vaani just stared for a beat, her lips parting before she let out a small laugh. "That's... that's what you call me?"
Dhruv shrugged, casual, as if it wasn't a big deal. "Suits you."
Her smile lingered as she shook her head and went back to adjusting the curtain folds, but her ears burned faintly. A nickname—so unexpected, so quietly given—that it stayed with her, ringing in her chest.
When she finished, she walked back out into the hall where Jaya and Mahesh were sitting comfortably on the sofa. "Maa, Papa," she said, still catching her breath from all the fussing. "Where is your stuff? I'll get it."
Jaya waved a hand lightly. "Arre, it's in the car. We'll bring it."
"No, no," Vaani insisted immediately. "You just rest. I'll get it."
Before she could dash off again, Mahesh spoke up. "Arre, take Dhruv with you at least. Don't run around alone."
"Hmm," was all Dhruv said, already pushing himself off the wall where he'd been leaning. He followed her outside with the same unhurried gait while Vaani's steps were quicker, determined.
The night air was warm, the faint hum of traffic somewhere in the distance. Vaani unlocked the car, pulling open the back door and bending down to grab one of the suitcases. "Dhruv, hold this," she said without even looking up, handing him a smaller bag first.
He took it without protest.
She tugged at another suitcase, heavier this time, and huffed. "Dhruv, hold that one too."
Again, he took it, his arms now weighed down but his expression calm, amused. He didn't complain, didn't roll his eyes—just let her boss him around as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Then, as he reached for the last bag, Vaani suddenly gasped, loudly, making him straighten instantly.
"What happened?" His voice sharpened with alertness, though quiet.
She clapped a hand to her forehead. "Milk!"
Dhruv blinked. "...What?"
"Milk," she repeated, dramatic as ever. "After chai, there was no milk left. And Maa will want chai tomorrow morning, na? I completely forgot!"
He stared at her for a moment, almost incredulous, before exhaling softly. "Okay. I'll order it."
But she shook her head quickly, shutting the car door. "No. We're not going to make someone drive in this heat just to deliver one bottle of milk. Chala, apanach chalu." (Come on, we'll only go.)
Dhruv didn't reply right away. He just watched her—her ponytail swaying, her face lit with urgency as if the fate of the world depended on tomorrow morning's chai.
For a second, he almost looked like he might argue.
But then his lips curved slightly, a ghost of a smile, and he adjusted the bags in his arms before following her lead.
She was already walking toward the corner store, muttering under her breath about forgetting. "Honestly, Vaani, how could you forget milk? Of all things—milk! Maa must already be thinking I'm careless..."
Dhruv's steady footsteps followed hers, a quiet presence in the background. He didn't interrupt, didn't tease, didn't reassure her—just let her talk, let her little storm whirl while he walked behind her, carrying the bags she had shoved at him.
It struck him, oddly, how natural it felt—this small, ordinary evening, being bossed around for errands.
For a man who lived most of his life in control, decisions precise and unquestioned, the act of quietly following her almost amused him.
There was no irritation, no need to correct her.
Just that faint tug of warmth as he let her drag him along into her rhythm.
When she glanced back at him finally, realizing he hadn't spoken a word, she asked, "You're quiet. Kai jhala?" (What happened?)
He met her eyes briefly, calm as ever. "I'm carrying your world's most important bags."
Vaani rolled her eyes, though a laugh escaped her lips anyway. "You're impossible."
But her heart felt strangely light as she turned back ahead, leading the way to buy something as simple as milk—with Dhruv, her quiet shadow, walking right behind her.
The corner grocery was quiet that night, a faint hum of the refrigerators filling the aisles. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, and the cool air rushed against Vaani's cheeks as she pushed open the glass door, Dhruv following behind with the bags from the car still in his hands.
"Keep those down first," she said immediately, pointing at the empty counter near the entrance.
Dhruv raised an eyebrow, expression unreadable, but complied without a word, setting the bags neatly aside.
Vaani darted to the dairy aisle, her steps quick and purposeful, almost like she was on a mission. She reached straight for her usual—tall carton with a blue cap, labeled "High Protein Flavored Milk." She plucked two cartons into her arms before Dhruv had even caught up.
He stopped in front of her, gaze sliding to the bold print on the carton. His voice was quiet, steady. "Protein milk?"
"Yes," she replied, without hesitation.
He tilted his head, that subtle, skeptical look in his eyes. "For chai?"
Vaani paused, biting her lip as if she'd been caught red-handed. "...No. For me."
His brows lifted slightly. "Normal milk isn't enough?"
She hugged the cartons closer like a shield. "This one's better. Healthier."
Dhruv let the silence hang for a beat, just staring at her. Then, in his usual understated way, he murmured, "Or a scam."
Her eyes widened. "Dhruv!"
He didn't flinch. "It's milk, Vaani. Cows don't suddenly change into bodybuilders for this carton."
She stared at him, speechless for a moment, then huffed. "You don't understand. It has added protein. Helps with strength. Energy."
"You're not running a marathon," he replied simply.
She gasped. "So I don't deserve energy?"
He blinked at her, deadpan. "From milk?"
Vaani let out a dramatic sigh, turning back to place the cartons in the trolley anyway. "Fine. I'll get my protein milk. You get your boring milk."
For a second, his lips curved into that almost invisible smile again, but he didn't argue further. He just reached for the regular red-capped carton and set it in the trolley beside hers.
Vaani eyed the two cartons sitting side by side. "See? Happy family. Both exist together."
Dhruv gave her a flat look, but the faintest amusement lingered in his eyes. "You talk too much for milk."
"You started it," she shot back, her tone almost playful.
They moved down the aisle together. Vaani reached for some yogurt cups, muttering about needing them for breakfast. Dhruv glanced at the price tag, then at her. "How many of these do you eat in a day?"
"Depends," she said, dropping three into the trolley.
"On?"
"On how stressed I am."
He gave her a long look. "So... all day?"
Her jaw dropped. "Dhruv!"
He looked away quickly, but the ghost of a smile lingered on his lips.
They turned into the bread section. Vaani picked up whole wheat, tossing it into the trolley. Dhruv reached for white bread.
"Nope," she said, blocking him.
He raised an eyebrow. "Bread is bread."
"No," she argued as she dropped the brown bread into the trolley. "This one's healthier. You'll thank me later."
He looked at her calmly, then dropped the white bread back onto the shelf without a word.
Vaani blinked, taken aback. "Wait. That's it? No argument?"
"Not worth it," he murmured, moving on.
She stood there for a second, flustered, then hurried after him. "You're impossible."
The banter carried them all the way to the counter. Dhruv stood back as she handed the cartons and packets to the cashier, who scanned them one by one.
On their way out, Vaani peeked up at him, trying to gauge his silence. "What? You're upset I bought my protein milk?"
He shook his head, slow. "No."
"Then what?"
Dhruv glanced down at her for a second, then back ahead. "You're bossy even in grocery aisles."
She blinked, then chuckled softly. "And you... let me."
"Because of a certain privilege."
"And what are those?" She said, walking beside him, already removing the seal of one of her small protein flavored milk bottle.
"Wife privilege."
She looked at him — stunned to response. Whereas Dhruv, he just carried the bags steadily, letting her lead the way back home, his quiet shadow once again—while Vaani's heart carried that soft warmth of their first silly little argument over something as ordinary as milk.
The apartment was quiet when they walked back in, the soft hum of the air conditioning filling the space. Vaani carried the lighter bags, Dhruv handling the heavier ones with practiced ease. She slipped off her sandals and padded into the kitchen, automatically beginning to unpack.
The familiar rhythm of putting things in place calmed her—vegetables stacked neatly in the fridge drawers, rice and dal jars refilled, milk cartons lined up on the side.
She bent to tuck a packet of bread into the cabinet, when her eyes landed on a large box lying innocently at the bottom of one bag.
"All-in-one Brownie Mix. Pre-baked base. Topping included."
Her brow furrowed. The one from the store before. How did this get here? I didn't buy it. She froze, staring at it for a moment as though it had appeared by magic. Slowly, she picked it up, reading the label once more.
But... I didn't...
Her voice came out in a soft whisper. "How did this get here?"
She straightened, holding the box in her hands, confused. "I didn't get this..."
Before she could puzzle over it further, she sensed someone behind her. Turning, she saw Dhruv leaning against the doorframe, his posture relaxed, his hair still damp from his shower. He didn't say anything, just watched her, his expression unreadable as always.
Vaani held up the box like evidence. "Dhruv... I—did you buy this?"
"Yes," he replied simply.
Her eyes widened a fraction. "You... you like to bake?"
That earned her an amused glance, his lips curving just slightly as if he found her question unnecessary. "No."
"Then why..." She hesitated, hugging the box closer to her chest. "Why would you get it then?"
He didn't move from the doorway. His gaze stayed steady on her, calm, unwavering, as he replied in that low, quiet voice of his.
"Because... you like to bake."
The words settled in the air between them. He didn't explain further, didn't add anything, as though that was enough—self-explanatory.
Vaani blinked, her heart catching in her throat. For a moment, she didn't know what to do with that. Nobody had ever noticed such small things about her, let alone acted on them. She felt warmth spread through her chest, and her fingers tightened a little on the box, holding it almost protectively.
By the time she gathered herself to say something, Dhruv had already pushed away from the doorframe, his tall frame disappearing down the hallway. He didn't look back, didn't wait for her reaction.
Left alone in the kitchen, Vaani exhaled softly. A smile she hadn't planned tugged at her lips. She looked down at the brownie mix again, brushing her thumb over the packet like it was something precious.
He noticed...
For someone who barely spoke, his small gestures carried more weight than she ever expected. And though he hadn't said anything more, she found herself smiling wider as she tucked the mix onto a shelf.
A little later, she filled a jug of water, balancing four glasses on a tray. Her parents-in-law's voices drifted from their room, soft and content as they unpacked their things. Vaani knocked gently before stepping inside.
"Here, Maa, Papa," she said, placing the tray on the side table.
Jaya looked up with a warm smile. "Arre, beta, you didn't have to bring this. We could have managed."
"It's nothing," Vaani replied, smiling back.
Mahesh stretched his legs on the bed, settling in. "You're spoiling us, Vaani. Careful, we'll get too used to this treatment."
She chuckled softly, shaking her head. "You deserve it, Papa."
Both of them gave her that approving look that always made her feel lighter, as if she truly belonged in their family.
"Goodnight, beta," Jaya added kindly. "Get some rest yourself."
"Goodnight, Maa. Goodnight, Papa."
She closed the door quietly behind her, her smile lingering even as she padded down the hallway. The house felt calmer now, the night pressing in gently. She made her way into her own room, balancing the tray against her hip.
Inside, Dhruv was already there. He had changed into a simple T-shirt and track pants, sitting at the edge of the bed with his phone in one hand, scrolling absently. His presence filled the space without effort, quiet and steady as ever.
Vaani set the tray down on their dresser and stole a glance at him. He didn't look up, but she felt his awareness of her, like he always knew exactly where she was.
Her gaze flickered once more to the memory of the brownie mix sitting neatly in the kitchen cupboard. The smile threatened to return, tugging at her lips despite her best efforts.
She moved around quietly, tidying a stray dupatta from the chair, setting aside the laundry basket. The room carried the faint scent of his aftershave, the sort of grounding detail she was beginning to grow familiar with.
As she finally slipped into her side of the bed, she let out a quiet sigh, her mind replaying the evening in flashes—his silent retreat down the hall, the amused glint in his eyes when she'd asked him if he baked.
She turned onto her side, facing away but with a smile still curving her lips in the dark.
For someone so difficult to figure out, Dhruv had a way of making the simplest gestures echo the loudest.
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