52
The dining table looked like it belonged to a family twice their size.
Bowls of sabzis, fragrant dal, soft rotis stacked neatly in a basket, chutneys in small katoris—Jaya and Vaani had both prepared more than enough.
Or rather, Vaani had taken it upon herself to make sure everything was ready and set just so, bustling about like the house depended solely on her two hands.
Dhruv sat at his usual place, watching without really watching, his eyes trailing her every movement. She was darting from the kitchen to the dining table, pouring water into glasses, checking if the rice was hot, making sure every bowl was wiped clean before serving.
He thought he had seen this scene already—morning, afternoon, now evening. The same Vaani, moving endlessly, her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, her brow slightly furrowed in concentration. And the thought struck him again, unbidden: Will she ever stop running?
Jaya was chatting with Mahesh, but Dhruv's silence was different. His spoon rested against his plate, untouched, as his eyes followed Vaani when she came near his side of the table, her hand already reaching for the serving spoon.
"I'll serve my own food," Dhruv said suddenly.
Vaani's hand stilled midair. Her eyes flicked to him, quick, almost startled. There was no edge in his voice, not exactly, but the words carried a finality that made her chest tighten.
Is he mad at me again? The thought slid into her head, uninvited. She didn't ask aloud though. She simply lowered her hand, moving back a step.
Jaya, however, caught it immediately. "Haan, Vaani," she chimed in, gently but firmly. "He's right. We'll all serve our own food. You also sit. Go get your plate."
For a moment, Vaani opened her mouth as if to protest—but I should make sure you all— but then she saw the firmness in Jaya's eyes, the softness underneath it, and quietly nodded. "Okay."
She went back to the kitchen, fetched her plate, and when she returned, she took the seat near Dhruv. She didn't look at him, just lowered herself carefully, like a guest not wanting to disturb the household.
Dhruv, however, reached out calmly and began serving. His movements were steady, precise, as he placed rice on her plate, then reached for the sabzi.
"Wait," she blurted before she could stop herself.
His hand paused. His eyes slid sideways to her, slow, deliberate. "What?"
Vaani bit her lip, hesitating. She hadn't meant to say it out loud, but it had slipped out on instinct. Finally, she admitted in a low voice, "Vo... I don't like that sabzi."
For a heartbeat, the silence lingered, and then Jaya chuckled, shaking her head. Mahesh joined in, his smile spreading warmly.
"No worries, bete," Mahesh said easily. "You take what you want. Leave what you don't. That's how it should be."
A faint heat touched Vaani's cheeks. She reached for the dal herself, quietly spooning it onto her plate, grateful for the way her father-in-law had smoothed the moment over.
Dhruv didn't say anything further. He simply turned back to his own plate, scooping rice and dal for himself. His face betrayed nothing, but his small actions—the way he had instinctively served her food, even after refusing to be served himself—sat with her.
Once everyone had food in front of them, the conversation shifted naturally.
Jaya began talking about fabrics she'd seen earlier that day at a boutique; Mahesh chimed in with an anecdote about an old family friend calling to ask when the reception was.
Soon enough, the evening meal had turned into an impromptu planning session.
"So, reception in two weeks," Mahesh said thoughtfully, chewing slowly before setting his roti down. "That gives us enough time for arrangements but not too much that it drags."
Jaya nodded. "Yes, exactly. I was thinking a simple yet elegant decor. Not too over the top, but warm. Maybe something pastel? We have finalized the venue at the W Hotel at Palm. You two go check it out once. It looks beautiful — the ballroom."
Vaani listened and nodded, quietly eating, though she couldn't resist lifting her eyes every so often to see if Dhruv reacted.
He didn't offer much—just small nods, his jaw working steadily as he ate.
He rarely jumped into conversations unless asked directly, and tonight was no different.
Still, she noticed how his eyes occasionally flicked toward her plate, as if to make sure she was eating enough this time.
"I'll handle the guest list too," Mahesh continued. "Family, close friends, a few business associates. Nothing too crowded."
"And I'll check with decorators tomorrow," Jaya added, glancing at Vaani. "Beta, you don't need to worry. You're already managing so much at work. Let us and your parents take care of this."
Vaani smiled softly, grateful but also slightly uneasy. She wanted to help; she didn't want to just sit back. But with her in-laws so proactive, she could hardly protest. "Of course, Maa. Just tell me what I can do."
Jaya reached across to squeeze her hand lightly. "For now? Just eat."
Everyone laughed gently, the tension of earlier dissolving into warmth. Mahesh teased about menu options, joking that if left to him, the reception would only serve mithai and chai. Jaya rolled her eyes, Dhruv shook his head faintly, and Vaani laughed under her breath, the sound soft but genuine.
For a little while, it felt like a family table. Four people sharing food, conversation weaving in and out, laughter rising here and there. And yet, under it all, Vaani felt Dhruv's quiet presence beside her—not loud, not demanding, but steady. Always steady.
She wondered, as she chewed on her roti, if he even realized how much she was beginning to read into his silences, his smallest gestures.
Maybe he didn't. Maybe he did. Either way, she found herself grateful for them—grateful for the way he had told her earlier that his words were concern, not anger, grateful for the way he had instinctively lifted the spoon to serve her even after stopping her from over-serving him.
She didn't say it aloud. She simply ate, listened, and every so often, allowed her eyes to flick sideways at the man who said so little, but in his quietness, managed to fill up entire spaces inside her.
~·~
The plates had been cleared, the kitchen tidied, and soon after, Jaya and Mahesh excused themselves for the night.
The long day had caught up with them. Mahesh, yawning as he rubbed his temples, muttered something about age not sparing anyone, and Jaya simply laughed and tugged him along.
Their bedroom door closed softly behind them, leaving the apartment in a hushed stillness.
Vaani remained in the living room, curled up on the couch with her laptop balanced precariously on her knees.
The faint glow of the screen lit her face, making her look paler than usual.
Papers were spread out across the coffee table in front of her—printouts of the Al Seef layouts, a couple of rough sketches, sticky notes scattered like fallen petals.
Her eyes were heavy, lids dipping, but each time they threatened to close, she shook herself awake and forced her attention back to the screen.
Her deadline was in 4 days. There was no option but to finish. At least, that was what she told herself.
When Dhruv emerged from the bedroom after his shower, he paused. From the hallway, he could see her. That small figure in the dim light, shoulders stiff, back bent, teeth worrying her lip as she typed. He didn't say anything at first. He just leaned against the wall, silent, observing.
A sigh escaped him before he realized. Why does she constantly keep working?
It wasn't irritation exactly. More something like concern wrapped in resignation. She had a way of pouring herself so fully into everything that she seemed to forget herself altogether.
After a moment, he straightened and walked to the router tucked neatly behind the TV unit. Without a word, he bent and pulled the internet cable free. The small light blinked once, then went dark.
For a few minutes, Vaani didn't notice. She was too caught up, scrolling through references, typing notes. But then the page she tried to load froze. She frowned, tried again. Error. She checked another tab. Nothing.
"What...?" she muttered, blinking away fatigue. Her fingers went to the WiFi icon, refreshing, refreshing. Still nothing. With a groan, she called his name.
"Dhruv!"
"Yes?" Dhruv's voice was calm, too calm, as he came outside.
"Dhruv," she said, half-annoyed, half-exasperated. "Our internet isn't working."
A pause. Then his voice again, steady. "Yeah. I know."
Her brows furrowed. "You... know?"
"It'll get fixed in a few hours," he replied simply, as though discussing the weather.
She blinked at the screen of her laptop. "A few hours? Dhruv, I have a lot of work to do."
He didn't sigh, but she could hear it in the silence before he spoke. "Is there anything important? A meeting? A deadline?"
Her mouth opened, ready to argue—but then closed. Finally, she admitted quietly, "...No. Not exactly. Not until a few more days."
"Hmm." His tone carried the faintest trace of irony. "By the looks of it, you'll win the race before the race even starts, thanks to all the head starts you're taking."
It made her chuckle, soft and tired. The sound surprised her as much as it did him. She leaned back into the couch, staring at the frozen screen. "Maybe," she murmured. "But still..."
Silence stretched between them, comfortable this time.
Finally, she said, "Well... since you can't work and neither can I, what do we do?"
From across the room, she caught his eyes. He was leaning against the archway now, phone in one hand, watching her with that unreadable expression of his.
"I don't know," he said plainly.
She tilted her head, thinking. Then, suddenly, "Do you want to walk?"
His brows rose slightly, but he didn't reject the idea. "Hmm. Sure."
She shut her laptop with a soft click and pushed it aside. Gathering her papers into a messy pile, she stood and stretched, rolling her shoulders. He didn't move until she came closer, slipping on her sandals near the door.
"Where?" he asked as he picked up his keys.
"Nowhere particular," she replied, adjusting her shawl. "Just... downstairs. Around the block. Clear our head a little."
He nodded once, simple, and opened the door for her.
The night air was cooler than she expected, carrying the faint hum of traffic and the occasional rustle of leaves from the landscaped walkways below. Their building's compound was quiet, dotted with soft yellow lights, shadows stretching long against the pavement.
Vaani inhaled deeply, grateful to be away from the screen, even if she wouldn't admit it out loud. Her footsteps were light as she matched his slower, steadier pace. For a while, neither spoke.
She glanced sideways at him. He walked with his hands in his pockets, posture relaxed, eyes scanning ahead. As always, he didn't fill silences with words. But something about that steadiness made the silence less heavy than it would've been with anyone else.
~·~
The compound was hushed at this hour, the warm glow of the streetlights catching in the glossy leaves of palm trees lined along the path.
A faint breeze stirred Vaani's hair, tugging it across her cheek as she walked beside him.
The silence stretched—not heavy, not awkward, just the kind of silence Dhruv carried with him everywhere.
But her mind, unlike his, refused to stay still. Words pressed against her lips until finally she gave in.
"Dhruv?"
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, his stride unbroken. "Yeah."
She hesitated, chewing the inside of her cheek before blurting, "Did you... mess with the internet?"
For a moment he didn't reply, just continued walking with that maddening calm of his. Then, finally, his gaze shifted to her and a faint curve tugged at the edge of his lips.
"Hmm. How did you deduce that?"
She narrowed her eyes at him, suspicion mixing with amusement. "I don't know. Just a feeling."
He shrugged, so casually it almost irritated her. "Yeah. I did."
Her eyes widened. "Dhruv!"
The name came out somewhere between outrage and disbelief. He didn't flinch.
"You needed to stop," he said simply, tone even. "Either willingly... or forcefully."
She pressed her lips together, torn between laughing and glaring at him. "You can't just—"
"You agree, don't you?" His voice cut across hers, quiet but certain.
Vaani exhaled, shoulders loosening. "I... I guess so."
They walked in silence for a few steps. Her sandals scuffed lightly against the pavement, while his footfalls were measured, steady.
She dared a glance at him—his expression was unreadable as always, but his question came low, almost offhand, like he was tossing it into the air to see where it landed.
"Why do you keep working extra?"
The question landed squarely in her chest. She faltered, eyes darting down. Her hand tightened around the dupatta at her side. She had no neat answer, and the way his gaze rested on her—patient, unyielding—only made her more restless.
Her silence was answer enough.
"Thought so," he said finally, looking forward again. "You don't get any extra benefits for it. So don't."
She frowned faintly. "It's not that easy, Dhruv."
Her voice was soft but firm. She stepped ahead of him slightly, almost as if to shield herself from the weight of the conversation. The breeze pushed a strand of hair across her face, and she tucked it behind her ear as though that tiny act could mask her unease.
He watched her from a pace behind, his brow creasing just enough to betray thought. Why? The question lingered in him like a stone dropped into still water. Why wasn't it easy for her? Why did she feel compelled to run herself into exhaustion?
He lengthened his stride, catching up until he was at her side again. His voice was low, deliberate.
"Then explain it. Make it easy."
She turned her head, surprised. "Explain it?"
"Yes." His eyes flicked briefly to hers before settling ahead again. "You're pushing yourself for something. If you can't stop, then explain it. Make it make sense."
Her lips parted, then closed again. Her heart gave a small, confusing stutter. He wanted to understand? He wasn't brushing her off, wasn't mocking, wasn't indifferent. For someone who so rarely spoke, his words carried weight.
"You're... interested?" she asked slowly, cautious, as though testing fragile ground.
That almost-smile ghosted across his lips again, subtle as a whisper. "I think I'd be interested in what my wife is up to."
The word—wife—rolled over her like a quiet tide. For a second she didn't know where to look, so she looked down, her cheeks warming despite the night air. A small smile curved her lips, one she couldn't quite hide.
"It's just..." She exhaled, searching for words. "A tendency. Since school. To work ahead. To finish things before time. I don't know—I got used to it. It feels like if I don't... I'll fall behind."
He hummed, thoughtful. "Hmm."
She peeked at him, waiting for judgment, maybe even dismissal. But all he said, in that calm, matter-of-fact tone of his, was—
"We have to change that then."
No scolding. No lecture. Just quiet certainty.
She blinked, startled. "Change it?"
"Hmm." He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, gaze fixed ahead. "Otherwise, you'll break yourself in the long run."
For a moment, she only stared at him. Then, unexpectedly, a small, quiet smile spread across her lips. She didn't argue. Didn't tease. She just let his words sink in, warm in their simplicity.
They walked on, side by side, their shadows trailing together under the lamplight. She felt lighter somehow, though her laptop bag was still waiting upstairs with its pile of work.
It wasn't just about the internet, she realized. He'd seen her—really seen her, beneath the papers and deadlines—and cared enough to stop her. Subtly. Quietly. In his own way.
And for the first time in a long while, she let herself smile at the thought that maybe she didn't always have to run this race alone.
The path curved around the garden, lined with small flowering shrubs. The night air was cool now, carrying with it the faint hum of crickets and the distant rush of traffic. Vaani fell into step beside Dhruv, hands moving as she spoke—because when she spoke, she always spoke with her whole self.
"So, you know," she began, voice animated, "at the site visit a few days back, the contractor told me the measurements were off by two inches! Two inches, yaar! Do you know what that means?"
He glanced at her, expression perfectly calm. "The world is ending?"
She huffed, but her lips twitched. "Funny. Very funny. No—it means my entire layout had to be shifted. Two inches is huge in design."
He hummed, pretending to think. "Two inches. That's like... one and a half parathas stacked."
Her mouth fell open. "Parathas? Dhruv, seriously?"
"Just making it relatable," he said, deadpan.
She swatted the air. "Parathas! Who even measures design errors in parathas?"
"Apparently me." His lips quirked faintly.
She gave up and laughed, shaking her head. "I swear, you're impossible."
"And yet," he said, tone maddeningly casual, "here we are. Walking."
She shot him a sideways look. "Don't act like you're doing me a favor. You disconnected the internet. I had no choice."
"Exactly." He shoved his hands deeper in his pockets, his eyes forward. "Sometimes choices need to be made for you."
She narrowed her eyes at him but couldn't quite suppress her smile. "Bossy."
He finally glanced at her, a flicker of amusement in his gaze. "I'm bossy?"
"Yes," she said with mock indignation. "Disconnecting Wi-Fi like some dictator of technology."
He smirked. "Dictator of technology. That's new."
"Don't get ideas, please," she said, rolling her eyes. Then, after a pause, she added with mock drama, "Honestly, living with you is like living with a secret agent. Always so silent. Always plotting in the shadows."
"Plotting?" He raised a brow.
"Yes," she said solemnly. "Plotting my downfall. Today it's the Wi-Fi. Tomorrow, maybe you'll hide the coffee powder."
This time, he chuckled softly, a rare sound that made her grin widen.
They walked on, and she filled the air with her easy chatter—about Anita's new obsession with ergonomic chairs, about how the neighbor's cat had nearly darted into the lift yesterday, about the bakery she wanted to try near her office.
Dhruv said very little, but his silence wasn't empty.
He listened. The slight tilt of his head, the way his eyes followed her hands when she gestured—it was all proof that he was paying attention.
At one point, she caught herself mid-sentence. "Wait—you're not even saying anything."
He looked at her, unbothered. "You're saying enough for both of us."
Her jaw dropped, then she burst into laughter. "You—oh my god. That's so rude."
"Not rude," he corrected mildly. "Efficient."
"You're impossible," she muttered, though her smile lingered as they turned the corner of the path.
Meanwhile, above them, on the balcony of the guest room, Jaya stepped out quietly, wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She had meant to check the night air before bed, but her gaze was caught by the sight below: her son and daughter-in-law walking together.
She wasn't used to seeing Dhruv like this, as she'd seen him in the past few days—head bent slightly toward someone, body language open, even letting the faintest smile linger.
A moment later, Mahesh joined her, curious. "What are you looking at?"
She gestured downward, and he followed her line of sight. His lips curved almost immediately. "Ah."
They stood together, watching the pair below. Vaani was animated, waving her hands as she spoke, while Dhruv walked beside her, calm and steady. From where they stood, the contrast was striking—like wind and rock, chatter and stillness—but somehow, it fit.
Jaya shook her head softly. "Baapre... look at him. Talking. Can you imagine?"
Mahesh chuckled under his breath. "If I didn't see it with my own eyes, I wouldn't believe it. Our son, who barely speaks at home... walking and talking like this."
"Not just talking," Jaya said, her smile warm. "Listening."
Mahesh's eyes softened, still watching. "We chose the right girl."
Jaya's heart swelled, and she nodded. "Yes. Absolutely the right girl."
Below, Vaani laughed at something Dhruv said—loud, carefree, her head tipping back slightly. And Dhruv, though his smile was small, was unmistakably there, in that moment with her.
Mahesh squeezed Jaya's hand gently. "He's changing. And she's the reason."
Jaya smiled, her eyes misting. "Sometimes all it takes is the right person. And patience."
They lingered for another minute, watching silently as the young couple disappeared further down the path, their shadows stretching side by side under the streetlights. Then, with quiet contentment, they turned and went back inside, leaving the night to the two of them.
Vaani and Dhruv rounded the far corner, still in their bubble of light banter and quiet steadiness. She nudged him lightly with her elbow.
"You know," she teased, "if anyone saw us right now, they'd think you actually like talking to me."
He looked at her, eyes steady. "Maybe I do."
The words were so simple, so unadorned, that she stopped for half a step. Heat rose in her cheeks, and she quickly looked ahead, biting back a smile.
"Bossy and unpredictable," she muttered, shaking her head. "What a combination."
Beside her, Dhruv only smirked faintly, letting the silence stretch again, comfortable and unhurried.
And as the night deepened around them, the rhythm of their footsteps fell in sync, two lives quietly learning how to walk together.
??