53
A week slipped by quietly, the kind of week that left no great incidents in its wake but carried a sense of comfort.
Jaya and Mahesh were still living with them, and both Dhruv and Vaani realized—without really saying it—that they liked it.
The house felt fuller, warmer somehow. In the mornings, the smell of Jaya's agarbatti drifted through the halls, and in the evenings Mahesh's voice could be heard laughing on the phone with old friends. It was domestic, easy, steady.
That morning, Dhruv stood by the door in his crisp shirt, slipping his watch onto his wrist before reaching for his car keys. He had that same calm, deliberate rhythm about him as he always did—every movement efficient, without hurry but never slow.
Just as he was about to step out, Vaani appeared from the hallway.
She was in a simple formal outfit—pale beige trousers with a muted blue top, her hair neatly tied back.
Before picking up her bag, she paused in front of the small mandir tucked into the corner of the living room, joining her palms, closing her eyes for a brief prayer.
A quiet hum of the bell rang as she lit the diya, its flame flickering gently against her face.
When she straightened, Mahesh looked up from his newspaper. "Arre, beta," he said, folding the paper aside. "How will you go?"
Vaani adjusted her bag on her shoulder, answering casually, "I'll take the metro, Papa. Vihaan borrowed my car yesterday—still hasn't returned it. Maybe I'll stop by at home today and pick it up."
Mahesh frowned immediately. "Arre, no no." His gaze slid toward his son, who was standing by the door. "Dhruv, drop her."
Vaani blinked, startled. "Papa, no, no. His office is on the other side of the road to mine—it'll be a detour of fifteen, twenty minutes at least. Why disturb him? I'll be fine."
Mahesh waved his hand dismissively. "Disturb what?" He turned to Dhruv, "She's your wife. Drop her."
Dhruv had been listening quietly, eyes lowered as he adjusted the strap of his watch. He finally looked up, gaze steady on Vaani. "I'll drop you."
The room fell into a small hush. Vaani looked at him, eyes flickering with something unreadable, then turned toward her in-laws. Jaya and Mahesh both smiled at her warmly, as though silently telling her not to argue.
Vaani hesitated only a beat before nodding. "Okay. Ami yeto, Maa, Papa."
"Ho, beta," Jaya said, her eyes soft.
Dhruv and Vaani stepped outside together. The morning sun was already bright, casting golden streaks across the polished cars in the parking lot. Dhruv clicked open his car, walked over to the passenger side, and opened the door.
She looked at him briefly—almost a little thrown by the gesture—but said nothing as she slid into the seat. He shut the door gently, walked around, and settled behind the wheel.
For a while, silence filled the car. The hum of the engine, the low rumble of traffic starting to build, and the faint buzz of the air conditioning were the only sounds.
Dhruv reached for the radio, pressing the buttons with his usual no-nonsense efficiency, scouting through the channels to find something decent.
And then—SRK's voice filled the car. Janam Janam spilled from the speakers, that unmistakable swell of strings and passion. Dhruv's finger hovered over the button to change it, his expression indifferent.
But before he could—
"NOOO!"
Her sudden shout made him jerk, his hand freezing mid-air. He turned to her sharply, startled, brows drawing together. "What is wrong with you?"
Her eyes were wide, indignant, as if he had committed a sin. "What is wrong with you? How could you even think of changing this song?"
He blinked at her, then deadpanned, "Well, I just press this button." His finger tapped it lightly, as if demonstrating.
Her jaw dropped. "Dhruv!" she cried, scandalized. "That's a criminal offense. Do you understand? Criminal. You cannot—cannot—change the channel when there's an SRK song playing."
For the first time that morning, the corner of his lips twitched. He gave a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he looked back at the road. "Fine. Noted."
She sank back into her seat, crossing her arms with exaggerated drama. "Seriously. You have no respect for classics."
"I respect peace and quiet," he said dryly.
But she ignored him. The song played on, filling the car with its familiar rhythm, and soon her lips curved into a smile. She turned to the window, resting her chin on her palm as the city rolled past, humming softly under her breath. Not full words, not loud—just little pieces, here and there.
And Dhruv, without meaning to, found his ears straining for those fragments. The way she half-sang, half-mumbled, her voice low and unselfconscious—it tugged at the corners of his mind in ways he didn't fully examine.
From the driver's seat, he stole a glance. She wasn't looking at him, completely lost in her own world, eyes soft as she gazed out at the morning skyline. For a man like Dhruv, who measured moments in silence, this was enough.
He turned back to the road, the faintest smile still lingering.
Vaani was still humming, tapping her fingers lightly against the window, when the chorus of the song swelled. She couldn't help herself.
"You know," she said suddenly, turning toward him, "this song? It's iconic. ICONIC. I mean, the way SRK and Kajol look at each other in the rain—it's not just acting, Dhruv. It's magic. Pure magic."
Dhruv kept his eyes on the road, one hand steady on the wheel. "Hmm."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "What is 'hmm'? That's all you have to say? 'Hmm'?"
"It's... rain," he replied, voice even. "Everyone looks magical in rain."
Her jaw fell open. "Oh my God. You did not just say that." She leaned forward in her seat, pointing a finger at him. "SRK doesn't need snow to look magical. He creates the magic. The snow is just an accessory."
A flicker of amusement passed through his eyes, but his tone remained neutral. "An accessory."
"Yes!" she insisted, sitting back with a dramatic sigh. "Honestly, Dhruv, I don't know how you've survived life without being an SRK fan. It's a tragedy."
"I managed."
She shook her head, muttering under her breath, "Unbelievable. Cold-hearted man."
His lips twitched again, but he didn't take the bait. The song shifted into the next verse, and she jumped back into her commentary.
"See, this part in the video of the song—this gaze? Do you know how hard it is to look at someone like that, on camera, with millions watching later? He makes it look effortless. Like... like he's really in love."
Dhruv cut her a sidelong glance, calm but pointed. "It's called acting."
She gasped. "Sacrilege. Don't reduce SRK to just 'acting,' Dhruv. He's an emotion."
He raised a brow. "An emotion."
"Yes!" she said firmly, eyes shining with conviction. "For people like me, he's... childhood, teenage years, college. Every big moment—there was an SRK film playing in the background. His movies are like—like a time machine."
For a moment, Dhruv stayed quiet. She thought he'd dismiss it again, but then he said, very softly, "Hmm. That... makes sense."
She blinked, caught off guard. "Wait. Did you just agree with me?"
He smirked faintly. "Don't get used to it."
She broke into laughter, the sound light and surprised, and even Dhruv's shoulders seemed to ease at the sound.
The song neared its end, and she sighed dreamily. "I swear, if anyone ever changes an SRK song again while I'm listening, I'll walk out of their car. Instantly."
Dhruv's mouth quirked. Without missing a beat, he asked, "Should I stop the car now, then?"
Her head whipped toward him, eyes wide, and then she caught the tiny hint of humor lurking in his expression. Her lips parted, then curved into a grin. "Oh-ho. Mr. Deshmukh makes a joke."
"Don't exaggerate."
"Arre, this is a historic moment," she teased. "First you agree with me, then you joke. Next thing you know, you'll be dancing to Chaiyya Chaiyya on the roof of a train."
He exhaled through his nose, the sound suspiciously close to a laugh. "That'll be the day."
She shook her head in mock despair. "You have no idea how much potential you're wasting."
After a while, the radio transitioned to another SRK classic, and Vaani clutched her seatbelt like it was destiny. "Ohhh, this one!"
Dhruv braced himself. Here we go.
"This is from Dil Se," she explained breathlessly. "One of the most underrated films. The depth, the intensity—ugh, Dhruv, you wouldn't understand. It's not just a film; it's poetry on screen."
He kept driving, steady as ever. "You sound like you're giving a TED Talk."
She laughed again, shaking her head. "I'll make you watch them with me one day. You'll see. And then—mark my words—you'll be converted. Even the great Dhruv Deshmukh won't be able to resist SRK's charm."
He glanced at her briefly, his expression unreadable but his eyes carrying the faintest warmth. "We'll see."
She smiled to herself, turning back to the window. Her reflection in the glass was lit with amusement and a quiet kind of joy. It had been a long time since she'd yapped this freely about something she loved, without worrying if the other person cared.
And Dhruv—he let her. He didn't shut her down, didn't silence her. He listened, in his way. That steady, quiet presence that didn't need words but made room for hers.
As the road stretched on, the music continued, and so did her chatter—about SRK's best roles, his worst roles, the iconic dialogues, the unbeatable chemistry with Kajol.
Every now and then, Dhruv would interject with a dry remark or a question that sounded teasing but made it clear he was actually listening.
And from her seat, Vaani thought, not for the first time, that she couldn't figure him out. Sometimes he felt like a wall, distant and quiet. Other times—like now—he felt almost easy, normal. Somewhere in between, she was learning, was where Dhruv lived.
And for reasons she didn't want to admit out loud, she was beginning to like finding him there.
The car slowed to a stop outside Vaani's office building. People streamed in and out of the glass-front entrance, their formal clothes catching in the early sunlight. Vaani unclipped her seatbelt and looked over at Dhruv.
"Thank you for the drive," she said, her voice polite, almost shy.
He gave a small nod, eyes still on the road ahead. "No problem."
She opened the door, stepped down carefully, and adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder. For a second she lingered, leaning down toward the passenger-side window. "I'll be home by four."
At that, Dhruv finally looked at her. His gaze was steady, calm as always. "How will you come?"
"Oh." She thought for a moment. "I'll take a cab to my place and then pick up my car. Vihaan still has it, so I'll stop by and collect it."
His brow furrowed slightly. "Why? Just tell Vihaan to drop it off. I'll pick you up."
Her lips parted, caught off guard by the suggestion. "And how will Vihaan go home then?"
"I'll drop him." His tone was matter-of-fact, as though it were the simplest thing in the world.
But Vaani shook her head, smiling faintly. "That's very out of turn, Dhruv. Don't worry, I'll take a cab and come."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then he inclined his head, conceding. "Okay. Keep me updated."
"I will," she promised, and she straightened, her hand already on the strap of her bag. Her expression softened just slightly before she turned away. "Bye."
He didn't reply to that, not in words. Just a quiet glance that followed her as she walked across the pavement, her figure blending into the small crowd entering the building.
Inside the car, the silence pressed in again. Dhruv leaned back in his seat, one hand tapping the wheel lightly before he shifted gears and steered the car back into the morning traffic.
The radio murmured on in the background—commercials, then a couple of upbeat songs. He barely registered them, his thoughts looping back to Vaani.
Her insistence on doing things herself. Her refusal to inconvenience anyone, even when it would have made things easier.
It was a pattern he'd already seen—at home, at work, even in something as small as serving food at the table.
Always carrying more than she needed to, always putting herself last.
He sighed through his nose, glancing once at the empty passenger seat where she had been just minutes ago.
The radio shifted again, and this time a familiar melody spilled into the car. Dhruv's hand moved instinctively toward the button, ready to change the channel. But then he froze.
It was an SRK song.
A small, amused exhale escaped him, almost like a scoff but softer. He could still hear her voice in his head, protesting with dramatic indignation: It's a criminal offense to change the channel when an SRK song is playing.
He leaned back into his seat, one arm draped lazily over the wheel, and let the song play. The man's voice filled the car, low and rich, weaving nostalgia into the quiet morning.
For a man who never paid much attention to film songs, Dhruv found his focus snagging unexpectedly—on the words, on the tune, but more on the memory of Vaani's face when she had defended this music with the passion of a lawyer in court.
Her laugh. Her wide-eyed conviction. The way she had muttered cold-hearted man under her breath as if it were a fact carved in stone.
Without realizing it, his lips curved, just a fraction, before his expression returned to neutral.
The road stretched ahead, smooth and gleaming under the Dubai sun. He let the music run, no longer pressing buttons, no longer restless.
And for the first time in a long while, Dhruv Deshmukh found himself driving not in silence, but in the echo of someone else's joy.
By the time he pulled into his building's parking, the song had ended. Another track had begun, one he didn't recognize. He turned the key, cutting the engine, and the sound vanished.
Yet the faint aftertaste of that melody lingered.
He sat there for a moment, hand resting on the gearshift, staring out at nothing in particular. His expression was as calm as ever, but there was a flicker of something beneath it—something he didn't pause long enough to name.
Finally, he got out of the car, straightened his shirt, and walked inside.
Upstairs, as the elevator doors closed behind him, his phone buzzed with a message. He pulled it out, and there it was—Vaani's name lighting up the screen.
Heading for the site visit.
A simple text. Straightforward.
He typed back, Have fun covering the 2 paratha gaps.
And though his reply was as brief and restrained as always, he stood there for a second longer, looking at the screen before sliding the phone back into his pocket.
When the elevator dinged open on his floor, Dhruv stepped out and walked toward his apartment. The morning was already settling into routine—calls, meetings, the endless cycle of business.
But somewhere in the back of his mind, under the hum of work and responsibility, a song was still playing.
And with it, the faint trace of a voice that wasn't his.
~·~
The conference room smelled faintly of new paint and polish, the kind of sterile scent that clung to freshly finished sites.
Vaani adjusted the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder as she stepped inside, her eyes already scanning the long table where rolled-up plans, laptops, and water bottles lay scattered.
The client representatives were gathered near the far end, talking among themselves, and her team was setting up the presentation.
Her chest filled with a kind of quiet satisfaction—this was her world.
The endless back-and-forth, the tiny details no one else noticed, the balancing act between practicality and beauty.
"Vaani ma'am," one of the junior architects greeted her, almost out of breath, with a relieved smile. "We've just put up the new renders."
"Good," she said, nodding. She walked over to the screen where the slides were being projected—Al Seef's new layouts, the waterfront design she had poured weeks into. The curved pathways, the intimate seating nooks, the clever placement of lighting—her signature touch of warmth in a public space.
As the meeting began, she took her seat, calm but alert. The discussion flowed: costs, timelines, material samples. And then, almost unexpectedly, one of the senior clients paused at a slide, leaning forward.
"This—this is very well thought out," he said, pointing at the sketch of the open plaza. "The way you've allowed for both foot traffic and rest spots. Who came up with this detail?"
Vaani's pen froze mid-note.
She cleared her throat, modest as always. "That would be mine, sir."
He looked up at her, his face breaking into a rare smile. "Excellent work. Practical and aesthetic both."
Her teammates glanced at her, some nodding, some whispering "Nice, ma'am." And though Vaani simply dipped her head in acknowledgment, her heart felt light. Warmth spread across her chest, stronger than her morning chai.
The meeting stretched on, detail after detail being ironed out.
But Vaani didn't feel tired, not today. Every now and then, another comment of appreciation floated her way.
One client liked the integration of local motifs she had fought to include; another praised the cost-efficient solutions she had designed for the lighting.
By the time the meeting concluded, she had a small pile of new tasks to handle—but instead of weighing her down, it energized her. She gathered her notes, rolled up the extra drawings, and chatted quickly with her junior colleagues before they dispersed.
Outside the site office, the March sun pressed down hot and heavy. Workers were moving around, tools clanging, concrete dust thick in the air. Vaani walked a little away from the noise, slipping into a patch of shade near the scaffolding. She pulled out her phone, glanced at the time—11:47.
A faint thought crossed her mind: Dhruv must be deep in meetings by now. He'd probably eat at his desk, expression unreadable, never complaining even when his food went cold. She wondered, briefly, if he was still listening to the radio.
Her lips tugged into a tiny smile, remembering the way he had almost jumped when she had shouted "NO!" earlier in the car. Poor man hadn't expected her voice at that pitch. The memory made her chuckle under her breath.
But then, she shook her head, pulling herself back to the present. Work first. Always work first.
At lunch, her team insisted on eating together at a small café near the site. Vaani agreed, even though her mind kept drifting back to the layouts.
"Ma'am," one of the juniors said between bites, "the client really liked your plaza design. I think that was the turning point of the meeting."
Vaani smiled faintly. "It's not just mine, it's all of ours. You all handled the detailing very well."
Still, when they laughed and teased her for being too modest, she didn't argue. She let herself soak in the moment—the rare acknowledgment that the endless nights sketching and re-sketching were worth it.
Later in the afternoon, she found herself back at the site, hardhat on, inspecting the progress. Workers paused when she passed, giving her quick nods. She checked measurements, compared them to the plans, crouched down to inspect the edge of a laid tile.
It was tiring. Her feet ached in the closed shoes, her back stiff from bending. But her heart was buoyant. She could already see the space taking shape—not just concrete and steel, but something that would welcome strangers, give them a place to pause, to breathe.
By the time her watch ticked past three-thirty, her phone buzzed with a message.
Reminder: Pick up car.
She frowned at it, blinking. Of course—she had told Dhruv she'd stop by home to collect it. But her feet were already dragging, exhaustion pulling at her shoulders.
She sighed, pushing her phone back into her bag. She could manage it. She always managed.
Still, as she left the site and waved goodbye to her colleagues, she couldn't shake the odd thought that she wasn't entirely alone in her efforts anymore. That someone—though he would never say it out loud—was quietly watching how much she took on, and occasionally stepping in.
The thought surprised her, warmed her. She brushed it aside, walking into the bright sun, her bag heavy with files, her heart strangely lighter.
Because today—today she felt seen.
Not just by her clients, not just at work. But maybe, in quieter ways, by him too.
~·~
It was exactly 3:45 when Dhruv pushed the door open, his footsteps echoing softly in the otherwise quiet apartment.
Normally, by this time, there was at least some movement—Vaani's voice drifting from her study if she was working from home, his father reading aloud something from the newspaper, or his mother humming in the kitchen. But today, silence greeted him.
He closed the door behind him, loosened his tie, and stepped further inside. His brow creased slightly.
"Maa?" he called, his deep voice breaking the stillness.
From the corridor, Jaya appeared, wiping her hands on the end of her dupatta. Her face lit up at the sight of him. "Arre, beta! You're back early?"
Dhruv shrugged out of his blazer, hanging it on the chair. "Not early. I've started coming back by four nowadays. Today was no different."
Jaya tilted her head, an impish glint in her eyes. "Acha, really? Or is it because there's a chatterbox waiting for you at home, haan?"
Dhruv's lips twitched, the corner tugging into the faintest of smiles. "She comes home after me, Maa," he said, voice deliberately even, as though deflecting her teasing.
But his mother caught the amusement in his eyes.
She smirked knowingly, shaking her head.
"Mhm. You can pretend with me, but I can see things, Dhruv.
It really is too quiet here without her.
I'm not used to this silence anymore. I can only imagine what Sunita must be feeling nowadays — less chatter now that Vaani is gone. "
He leaned against the dining chair, fingers drumming idly on the wood, his expression unreadable. But then, almost under his breath, he muttered, "Only for a bit. She'll be home soon."
Jaya heard it, of course. The small smile that ghosted his face didn't escape her either. She said nothing, though. She only turned toward the kitchen, her heart quietly full.
Dhruv disappeared into his room, emerging a few minutes later in his home clothes—grey joggers and a plain black t-shirt.
Comfortable, relaxed. He carried himself back into the living room, settling into the couch like he belonged there, phone in one hand, scrolling absentmindedly through his emails.
Soon enough, Jaya came out balancing a tray with two cups of chai. She set one in front of him.
"Oh," Dhruv said, glancing up. "Thank you, Maa." He lifted the cup, blowing on the steam before taking his first sip.
They sat together quietly for a moment, the only sound being the distant hum of the city outside the balcony doors.
"Where's Dad?" Dhruv asked finally, setting his cup down.
"Your papa has gone to meet his friends," Jaya replied, lowering herself into the chair opposite him. "Some old group, I think. He said they were meeting after a long time."
Dhruv nodded, not surprised. Mahesh was often out and about, keeping up with old acquaintances.
For a while, they just sipped chai in companionable silence. But Jaya, being who she was, wasn't going to let the moment pass without poking him a little more.
"So, tell me," she began casually, "are you inviting anyone from your side for the reception?"
Dhruv looked at her, one brow slightly arched. "Maybe my college friends."
"Only maybe?" Jaya pressed, narrowing her eyes. "Dhruv, these things don't happen on maybe. They need to RSVP. You should send them the invites now."
He leaned back, resting one arm on the couch, cup balanced loosely in his hand. "I will. I'll text them tonight."
"Not text," Jaya corrected firmly, wagging her finger. "Send them properly. The digital cards are ready. Just forward them."
He exhaled through his nose, almost like a half-laugh. "Fine. I'll do it."
"Good." She smiled, satisfied with his answer.
For a while, the conversation meandered. They talked about the reception arrangements, about how many relatives from the extended family were attending, about which caterer might be best for balancing Indian and continental food.
Jaya kept talking, but her eyes occasionally flickered to her son. He was different these days—still quiet, still reserved, but there was something softer about him, like the hard edges had begun to round ever so slightly. He didn't even realize it himself, she thought.
And she knew why.
She let the talk shift to lighter topics—her friends, Mahesh's antics, a funny thing she had seen on the news. Dhruv listened, occasionally contributing a comment, more often just nodding, sipping his chai in silence.
But that one line he had muttered earlier—Only for a bit.
She'll be home soon.—lingered in Jaya's mind.
It wasn't the words themselves. It was the way he had said them, absentminded, unthinking, but tinged with certainty.
As if her presence had become a part of his daily rhythm without him realizing.
And that, Jaya thought with quiet joy, was more telling than any grand declaration.
~·~
The clock had just struck 6 when the faint clink of keys sounded at the door. Dhruv, seated with his laptop on the coffee table, raised his head instinctively. The door swung open, and Vaani stepped inside.
Her shoulders drooped with fatigue, her handbag hanging loose from one arm.
She kicked off her sandals quietly, the kind of silent ritual one does only when they're truly exhausted, and walked toward the key holder by the entrance.
She placed the car keys in it with a small sigh of relief.
For a moment, she just stood there, head tilted back slightly, eyes closed.
Then, gathering herself, she turned and began walking toward their room. But she didn't make it far.
"Where were you?" Dhruv's voice, low and edged, cut through the room.
Vaani stopped mid-step, her hand frozen on the strap of her bag. She turned slowly, surprised. He was looking at her from across the hall, laptop still open but attention fixed solely on her.
"It's six, Vaani," he continued, little concerned now. "Kuthe hoti tu? Who comes back this late?"
Her brows lifted, confusion flitting across her face. "Dhruv... I just went to get the car."
His gaze narrowed. "And did you drive to Ajman and back before coming home?"
The sarcasm in his tone startled her. She blinked, then let out a small laugh, trying to lighten the tension. "Arre baba, relax. I just had chai at home. Aai said, thoda veyr thaamb (stay for a bit), so I did."
For a moment, Dhruv only stared, his expression unreadable.
"Still," he said finally.
"Still what?" she asked, confusion creeping into her voice.
Before he could respond, Jaya appeared from the corridor, drawn by the voices. "Arre Dhruv," she scolded lightly, her hands on her hips. "She just went to have chai with her parents. Tychaat kai? What's the big deal?"
Vaani glanced gratefully at Jaya, then back at Dhruv. But he only looked at his mother, gave a small shake of his head, and muttered, "Nothing."
And then he turned, retreating into the study without another word.
Vaani's lips parted, confusion swirling inside her. She turned to Jaya with wide eyes. "Yenla raag aala ahe ka? Is he angry?"
Jaya chuckled, waving her hand dismissively. "No, no. He's just being... typical Dhruv. It's not anger, it's concern."
Vaani let out a slow breath, smiling slightly and nodding. "Hmm," she murmured, though her mind was anything but settled. With a small smile to Jaya, she followed him down the corridor.
The study door was ajar. She pushed it open quietly, stepping inside. Dhruv was seated at the desk, his laptop screen glowing, papers stacked neatly beside him. His face was calm, but his focus looked forced, like his mind wasn't fully in the work.
She lingered at the doorway for a moment before breaking the silence. "Are you angry?"
His head lifted, eyes meeting hers. For a second, he said nothing, just stared at her as though weighing his response. Then, finally, he shook his head. "No."
She hesitated, stepping closer. "Are you sure?"
He gave the faintest nod, eyes already flicking back to the screen.
Vaani bit her lip, uncertain. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she said softly, her voice carrying a weight of sincerity.
He didn't look at her this time, just answered with a noncommittal, "Hmm."
Her chest tightened. She shifted her bag from one shoulder to the other. "I thought you wouldn't really care."
That made him pause. Slowly, Dhruv turned, his dark eyes locking on hers with quiet intensity. His voice was steady, but it carried a sharpness that made her heart skip. "And why would I not?"
Vaani blinked, caught off guard. "I... I don't know." She glanced down, fumbling with the strap of her bag, unable to answer his question.
The air between them grew heavy, taut with unspoken things. Finally, she let out a breath, her decision made. "Theek hai," she said gently.
She turned, already heading for the door.
But his voice stopped her. "Where are you going now?"
She glanced back, a small smile playing at her lips. "Just... giving you some space, Dhruv. I'll be outside with Maa."
And then she left.
Dhruv sat frozen in his chair, staring at the space she'd vacated.
His jaw tightened, his fingers gripping the armrest of the chair.
Space. The word echoed in his mind.
He didn't realize it yet — but the last thing he wanted from her was space.
He wanted the opposite—her presence, her chatter, her restless energy filling the silence he never admitted weighed on him.
With a low sigh, he closed the laptop with a snap and pushed back his chair.
When he entered the living room, he found her sitting with Jaya, laughing softly at something on the older woman's phone. She looked relaxed now, the tension from the study nowhere in sight. Her laughter was light, easy, and Dhruv felt a strange pull in his chest just watching her.
Without a word, he walked over to the couch and sat down—not next to her, but close enough to hear her, close enough to let her voice fill the quiet spaces in his mind.
He didn't interrupt. He didn't need to.
He just listened.
Her chatter, her explanations, her silly giggles with Jaya—all of it washed over him, soothing in ways he couldn't put into words.
And though she didn't look at him, she knew. She could feel him there, a quiet weight on the edge of her awareness.
That was enough for her.
And, though he would never say it out loud, it was enough for him too.
Jaya sat back on the armchair, her phone still in her hands though her attention had shifted entirely to the two young people across the room.
Vaani was animated, her hands moving lightly as she described something to her mother-in-law, while Dhruv sat beside them, his posture deceptively casual but his eyes trained on Vaani with that subtle attentiveness he always carried.
Jaya's lips curved. She had seen her son quiet for most of his life, the kind who would sit through dinners, conversations, even celebrations, saying little but noticing everything.
Yet here he was—no, not talking much even now—but present in a way she hadn't seen in years.
Her gaze softened. He listens to her, she thought. Really listens.
She didn't comment, though. Some things were better left unspoken, sacred in their own silence.
Instead, Jaya cleared her throat after a while and got to her feet. "I'll just call Sunita back," she announced lightly. "She's been waiting to hear from me."
Vaani looked up with a smile. "Okay, Maa."
And with that, Jaya disappeared down the corridor, phone already against her ear, leaving the hall a little quieter, a little more intimate.
Dhruv leaned back against the couch, one hand resting lazily along the armrest. Vaani shifted her attention to him.
"How was your day?" she asked, her voice soft now that it was just the two of them.
He looked at her for a second, unreadable as always, before answering in his low baritone. "It was good."
She nodded, fiddling with the edge of her top. Then, after a small hesitation, she tilted her head toward him. "Can I sit there?" she asked, pointing to the empty space on the couch beside him.
Dhruv's brows lifted, just slightly. He didn't answer with words.
Instead, he shifted a little, reaching out with one hand to pick up the pillow resting between them.
With a quiet movement, he placed it aside, leaving the seat open.
His gaze flicked back to her, steady and almost teasing, as if to say, well, come then.
Vaani's lips curved into the faintest smile. She crossed the small space and settled beside him, the couch dipping with her weight. For a moment, they sat there in silence, the distance between them narrower than before.
"Dhruv?" she said softly.
"Hmmm." His eyes stayed forward, but his attention was on her.
"Raag soda na. (Leave your anger, na.)" She bit her lip, tilting her face toward him with a small smile. "I'm sorry."
At that, he finally turned his head to look at her. Something in her expression—earnest, a little guilty, but also hopeful—unraveled the tension he had been holding onto. His shoulders relaxed, his body sinking a little deeper into the couch. He let out a breath, subtle but telling.
"Okay. Fine," he said simply.
The relief on her face was instant, her smile blooming wide enough to reach her eyes. She tucked her hair behind her ear, looking almost triumphant, as though she had won a small battle.
"So," she began, leaning slightly toward him, her voice regaining its usual liveliness, "pata hai aaj kya hua?"
He turned his body more toward her, resting his elbow on the backrest, his expression softening in spite of himself. "Kya hua?"
And that was all the invitation she needed.
Her words tumbled out, fast and full of energy.
She told him how the design for Al Seef finally got fixed after weeks of back-and-forth.
How Anita ma'am had been skeptical about one of her choices but ended up agreeing after the client's enthusiastic response.
How the team had cheered when the approval came through.
Her hands moved constantly as she spoke, illustrating her excitement in the air.
Dhruv didn't interrupt. He didn't need to. He just sat there, watching her, listening.
Something in him loosened with each word she spoke.
He hadn't realized how tightly wound he had been, how the irritation from earlier still lingered in his chest. But her voice—earnest, lively, brimming with the kind of passion he rarely allowed himself—smoothed the edges of his mood.
Without even trying, she was lowering his guard, untangling his thoughts.
Vaani, lost in her own story, didn't notice the way his jaw had unclenched, the way his shoulders had eased. She didn't notice the faintest upward tug at the corner of his mouth as he listened. She just kept talking, her enthusiasm spilling out like sunlight filling a quiet room.
"...and then when Anita ma'am looked at me, I thought she was going to reject the entire design.
My heart was literally in my throat, Dhruv.
Sach! But instead she said, 'This works.
This actually works better than the earlier plan.
' And I just... I don't even know what face I made!
" She laughed, covering her mouth briefly before continuing.
"The clients were nodding along too, and I was like—finally! Finally, it's all coming together."
Dhruv let out a quiet hum in response, enough for her to know he was following, but not breaking the rhythm of her words.
"And you know what the best part was?" she asked, her eyes sparkling as she looked at him.
"What?" he asked, his voice low but patient.
"They told me I could take the lead on the next presentation." She grinned, almost childlike in her joy. "Me! Leading the presentation! I thought Anita ma'am would keep it, but she said I should do it. Can you believe that?"
He held her gaze for a moment, then gave a small nod. "I can."
The simplicity of his response caught her off guard. Her smile faltered just a little, turning softer. She looked down at her hands. "You think so?"
"Hmm," he said, his eyes steady on her. "I can believe it."
For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn't heavy this time—it was warm, charged with an unspoken acknowledgment.
Vaani cleared her throat, brushing away the sudden stillness with more chatter.
She dove into details about the colors she chose, how the layouts were arranged, the tiny tweaks she insisted on that finally got approval.
Her words poured out in a steady stream, and Dhruv just let them, absorbing the cadence of her excitement, the glow in her eyes.
Unknowingly, the tension in him had ebbed away completely.
She didn't notice, neither did he.
And for the first time all day, unknown to Dhruv's realization — he wasn't thinking about the deadlines waiting for him, or the emails unanswered, or the irritation that had clawed at him earlier. He was just... here. Sitting beside his wife. Listening to her voice.
And that, in its quiet way, felt enough.
??