61
The light crept in through the curtains in soft streaks, a mellow warmth slipping into the room.
Dhruv had always been an early riser, and this morning was no exception.
Vaani, curled up on her side, was still sound asleep, her breathing steady, her hair fanned across her pillow in that messy but oddly graceful way she managed.
Dhruv let her be, moving silently around the room before stepping into the shower.
The water was quick, efficient — just enough to wake his body and loosen the last bit of sleep clinging to his muscles. By the time he stepped out, hair still damp, the house was quiet. He liked mornings like this — still, unhurried, without interruptions.
When he walked into the living room, a tray was already waiting on the table.
The house staff had kept the morning chai.
Dhruv picked up a cup and lowered himself onto the sofa, the steam curling in the air.
He took a slow sip, settling back against the cushions.
His phone buzzed just then, a notification lighting up the screen.
He raised an eyebrow. That was fast.
He tapped it open, and sure enough, there it was — a whole album, hundreds of pictures already sorted and delivered.
Crisp shots of the ballroom glowing under chandeliers, the pastel-pink drapes, the stage where he and Vaani had stood, faces lit by the camera flashes.
He swiped through them without lingering too long on any single one, though his eyes paused briefly on the shots of Vaani.
She had looked... radiant. Graceful but also distinctly herself, laughter spilling mid-conversation in half the candids.
Dhruv didn't let his thoughts stay there; instead, he clicked share.
His fingers moved methodically, sending the link to his parents' group chat first. "Reception photos.
Nicely done."
Then, without hesitation, he forwarded it to Sunita and Ramesh as well, adding the same text.
For Vihaan and Vedant, he added a simple, "Pictures are out.
"
And finally, to Vaani herself, with no extra words attached.
He knew she would probably open it and then squeal about every single frame for hours later.
Another ping cut through. A message from Jaya.
Mom: Beta, you two take your time today and rest. All the loose ends are tied up, payments are done. We don't need to go back there now.
Dhruv exhaled slowly, fingers moving across the screen.
Dhruv: Okay. You and Dad take care as well.
The reply came almost instantly, warm as always.
Mom: Yes of course. Don't worry about us. You both did wonderfully.
He locked his phone after that, setting it face-down on the table.
A faint smile tugged at his mouth for half a second before disappearing again.
The room was still quiet, Vaani still asleep in the other room, and Dhruv leaned back into the sofa, stretching his long legs out. The TV remote was within reach.
He clicked it on, the low hum filling the silence. News first, flipping through headlines without much interest, then over to a random sports channel. His cup of chai was half gone by then.
It was rare, he thought, to have this kind of breathing room.
For weeks, things had been a whirlwind — work deadlines, family ceremonies, wedding rituals, the reception.
Always someone around, always something to do.
This, however, was the calm after the storm.
And Dhruv, in his own quiet way, appreciated it.
On the TV, the cricket analysts were arguing over a replay.
Dhruv let their voices fade into background noise.
His gaze flickered once to the closed bedroom door.
He wondered if Vaani would wake soon. He could almost picture her reaction to the photos — eyes going wide, grin spreading as she gasped about how "this one's my favorite" and "Dhruv, look at this one, look how you're standing. "
The thought amused him, though his expression gave little away. He leaned back further, finishing his chai.
The phone buzzed again — this time, not Jaya, not his parents. It was Vedant.
Vedant: Arre Jiju, these photos are sick. Tai looks like movie star. You also looked amazing.
Dhruv shook his head, half a smirk crossing his lips. Typical Vedant. He typed back:
Dhruv: Thanks Vedant.
Another ping came seconds later, this time from Vihaan.
Vihaan: Already shared with cousins. Full family group going crazy.
Dhruv responded with a thumbs-up emoji and tossed the phone lightly beside him.
The chatter of the TV filled the room again, and for a rare few minutes, Dhruv let himself simply.
.. sit. No deadlines, no phone calls, no logistics.
Just the quiet hum of a Sunday morning, the weight of a week finally behind him.
The clock on the wall had ticked past ten when the sound of the bedroom door creaking open broke the calm of the living room. Dhruv didn't look up immediately; he was half-absorbed in the cricket highlights, a low hum from the television wrapping the otherwise still house.
From the corner of his eye, though, he caught a glimpse of her.
Vaani had clearly showered — her hair was still damp, curling slightly at the ends.
She was in a casual pair of soft shorts and a loose top, the kind of clothes that screamed comfort.
In one hand she carried her mug of chai, the other balancing her phone.
"Good morning," she said brightly, her voice still carrying a trace of sleep but already climbing back into that natural, eager rhythm.
Dhruv turned his head, just enough. "Morning."
She made her way over, pausing near the sofa. By now, it was almost muscle memory for him. Without thinking twice, he reached to shift the cushion from the middle, creating space closer to him. She smiled faintly at the gesture — she always noticed, even if he never commented on it.
Settling down beside him, she tucked one leg beneath herself, the other stretched out lazily. She blew on her chai and then took a slow sip. A moment later her eyes caught the glint of his phone, the WhatsApp message of the photos opened after Dhruv's phone unlocked.
"Ohhh, Dhruv," she said suddenly, almost bouncing where she sat. "Pics are out already? Wow, that's such good speed!"
He didn't answer right away, just flicked the remote to lower the TV volume. "Yeah. Came in the morning."
Her head snapped toward him, half accusing. "And you didn't even wake me up?"
"You were sleeping," he said simply, eyes back on the screen.
She huffed, mock offended, and reached for her own phone. "Hmph. Show me."
"They're on WhatsApp," he replied. "I forwarded them to you."
A few swipes later, her gasp filled the room. "Oh my God, look at this one!" She tilted the screen toward him. It was a wide shot of the ballroom — chandeliers glowing, pastel drapes falling in waves, tables set perfectly.
Dhruv glanced briefly. "Hmm. Nice shot."
But Vaani was already on the next picture, her thumb swiping rapidly. "Aww, look at Jaya Aai's smile here. She looks so happy." She paused, grinning. "And Siraj Kaka also! Oh, this is sweet."
Dhruv sipped his chai, letting her run with it.
Then came the candids. "Dhruv, look, look!" she burst out laughing, pointing at one where she was mid-blink, her mouth half-open in the middle of some story. "Ughhh, why do they always catch me like this?"
He smirked faintly, still watching the TV. "Because you don't stop talking long enough for a still shot."
"Excuse me?" She nudged his shoulder with mock indignation. "That is not true."
"You sure?" he asked, deadpan.
She squinted at him, but couldn't hide the laugh bubbling out of her. "Whatever. You're just jealous my candids are fun."
He raised an eyebrow. "That's what we're calling them now? Fun?"
"Yes," she said firmly, turning back to her phone. Another series of gasps followed. "Oh wow, the dance pictures are so nice! Look at the way they've framed it, like some old-school movie scene. Dhruv, see na."
This time he leaned closer, looking properly at the photo she thrust in front of him. He remembered the moment clearly — the hush of the crowd, the music, the way she had kept looking up at him, eyes bright.
"Not bad," he admitted.
"Not bad?" She scoffed. "This is frame-worthy! We should print it and hang it up. Or better — make it the wallpaper on your phone!"
He shot her a look, dry as ever. "No."
She laughed anyway, sipping her chai again. A few seconds later she whispered dramatically, "Okay fine."
The photos kept her busy for the next half hour. Each new frame drew a different reaction — sometimes a laugh, sometimes an "aww," sometimes a groan when she spotted herself talking animatedly in the background.
"Oh my God, this one is literally me explaining something with my hands again. Why can't I keep them still?"
"Because that's impossible," Dhruv muttered, still scrolling channels.
She ignored his teasing. "Ohhh, look at this picture of Aai and Baba with us. So cute. They look so proud."
"Hm."
"Dhruv, you're not even paying attention!" she accused, elbowing him.
He tilted his head, finally turning his gaze toward her. "I'm listening."
"Then tell me what I just said."
He didn't miss a beat. "You said your parents looked proud in that picture."
She pouted, caught, and then chuckled. "Fine. You win this round."
He shook his head, faintly amused. She went back to scrolling, muttering little comments under her breath. Every now and then she'd drag his attention over with an enthusiastic "look at this!" or "ohhh this is so sweet!" He'd glance, offer a line or two, and then she'd already be onto the next one.
By the time she had gone through the entire album, her chai was long finished, her mug abandoned on the table. She set her phone down dramatically, leaning back against the sofa.
"Dhruv," she sighed.
"Hm?"
"Yesterday was really something, wasn't it?" Her voice was softer now, reflective. "Like... it felt like everything came together. Both our families, all the effort, all the madness... worth it."
He gave a small nod. "It was good."
"Good?" she repeated, incredulous. "Dhruv, it was amazing."
He let her correction stand, his lips twitching in the faintest smile as she carried on, already recounting the food, the decorations, the guests she hadn't seen in years.
Her words filled the space around him — lively, unfiltered, and warm.
Dhruv leaned back with her, the television forgotten now, content to let her chatter wash over the quiet Saturday morning.
The late morning sunlight spilled lazily through the curtains, warming the living room in a soft glow.
The hum of the television played in the background — a sports panel discussing yesterday's highlights — while Vaani sat curled up at one end of the sofa, phone in hand.
She was scrolling reels with half a smile tugging at her lips every now and then, occasionally letting out a small chuckle when something particularly silly came up.
Dhruv, meanwhile, was at the other end of the sofa, arm draped casually along the backrest, watching the TV without much intensity. It wasn't that he was deeply invested in what the commentators were saying; it was just background noise, a rhythm of comfort.
For a while, neither spoke. It was an easy silence, the kind that didn't need filling. Every so often Vaani would adjust her legs, brushing against the cushion, or Dhruv would shift slightly, leaning forward to sip his water.
Then, without looking up from her screen, she asked, "What are you doing today?"
Dhruv blinked at the question, half-turning his head toward her. "I don't know." His tone was straightforward, as if the thought hadn't even crossed his mind until now.
Vaani hummed in response, her attention still on her phone. "Hmm."
After a beat, he asked, "What are you doing?"
She tilted her head, finally looking at him. "I don't think I'll do anything."
He raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"
"Because tomorrow is my first day back at work," she said matter-of-factly, "so I want to rest up. Don't want to be all tired and dragging my feet on day one."
Dhruv gave a small nod, approving. "Hmm. Good idea."
She smiled faintly at his agreement, then dropped her gaze back to her phone, scrolling on. The moment passed quietly, both of them slipping back into their chosen distractions.
A while later, Vaani shifted again, pulling her knees up and hugging them loosely. She glanced toward him, her voice softer this time. "Dhruv."
He didn't look away from the TV. "Yep."
She hesitated for a second, chewing her lip. "Do you know any good thrift stores here?"
That caught his attention. He turned his head slightly, his brows knitting. "What?"
She fiddled with her phone, suddenly sheepish. "Vo... I need to buy a dress."
"Okay," he said slowly, waiting for her to continue.
"But—" she started, only to stop.
He caught on instantly, his tone dry but knowing. "But you don't want to spend."
Her head snapped toward him, caught off guard. The tips of her ears turned pink as she gave a small, embarrassed nod. She tried to laugh it off, shrugging as if it weren't a big deal.
Dhruv exhaled, a mix between a sigh and a huff. He leaned back against the sofa, eyes still fixed on her. "Use my card. Get whatever you want."
Her reaction was immediate — her eyes widened, and she shook her head almost violently. "No, no! I can't do that."
"Why not?" His voice was calm, unbothered, as if the matter was obvious to him.
"Dhruv, tumhi samza (try to understand)," she muttered, slipping into Marathi instinctively when words in English felt too heavy. Her voice cracked just slightly, betraying her discomfort.
He tilted his head. "What am I supposed to understand?"
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she stood, clutching her phone like a shield. On her way toward their room, she paused by the doorway and finally spoke, her tone softer, more vulnerable.
"You've already spent way too much on me," she said, not quite meeting his eyes. "I can't allow more."
And before he could respond, she slipped into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.
Dhruv sat still, his gaze fixed on the closed door. Her words hung in the quiet room, weaving themselves into the hum of the television. He replayed them in his head — you've already spent way too much on me.
His jaw tightened ever so slightly. It wasn't anger, not exactly. It was something heavier, something quieter. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring at the empty space where she had been sitting just moments ago.
She thought of his efforts as too much. She thought she had to allow it. She thought his choices were some kind of burden on her.
He let out a slow breath, leaning back again. The TV blared on, but he wasn't listening anymore. His eyes lingered on the doorway, on the faint light spilling from under the bedroom door.
For once, Dhruv had nothing to say. He simply sat there, silent, letting her words echo in the quiet of the house.
When Vaani emerged from the bedroom, she carried herself as though nothing had happened.
Her face was calm, maybe even a little cheerful, though her eyes carried a tired sheen that gave her away if one looked too closely.
She had slipped into a simple cotton dress—soft blue, casual but neat—her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail.
"I'll just go to this thrift store I found," she announced lightly, avoiding his gaze as she picked up her tote bag from the chair. "Get something for Georgia."
Dhruv turned his head from the television, his eyes flicking over her quietly. He didn't say anything for a beat, only taking in the way her tone was carefully neutral, the way her movements were precise, like she'd rehearsed this. Then, with a calmness that surprised her, he said:
"Wait."
She blinked, confused. "What?"
Without answering, he rose from the sofa and walked straight into the bedroom. Vaani stood frozen in the middle of the living room, tote dangling from her shoulder. She looked toward the door he had disappeared through, brows furrowing.
"What's he doing?" she muttered under her breath. She glanced at her reflection in the black TV screen, smoothing her hair down as if that would help her understand.
Within a minute, she heard footsteps again, and Dhruv emerged.
Her lips parted slightly when she saw him—he had changed into a crisp black polo and jeans, clean lines that sat perfectly on him without effort.
He'd even slipped on his watch. He looked composed, steady, the kind of man who never left anything half-done.
"I'm coming with you," he said simply, walking past her to grab the car keys from the side table.
Vaani's brows shot up. "No, Dhruv. Why?"
He glanced at her, as though the question itself made no sense. "Because I'm bored."
She frowned, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You don't have to, really. I'll just go quickly, pick up something, and be back. You can rest."
He gave her a look—flat, unreadable, but unwavering. The kind of look that told her he wasn't entertaining negotiation.
"Let's go," he said again, his tone final.
Vaani exhaled, tilting her head as if silently asking the universe why this man was so stubborn. But there was no use. His expression told her he wasn't changing his mind.
So she gave him one of her half-defeated, half-amused looks, the kind that crinkled her nose slightly. "Fine. Don't complain when you're bored to death."
He didn't reply. He just walked to the door, waited for her, and locked it behind them when they stepped out.
The elevator ride down was quiet. She fiddled with the strap of her tote, pretending she wasn't hyper-aware of his presence beside her. Dhruv stood with his hands in his pockets, posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, as if always watching, always measuring.
When they reached the parking lot, he clicked the car key, and the SUV's lights blinked. They got in, Vaani buckling her seatbelt while Dhruv adjusted the mirrors like he hadn't already perfected them a hundred times before.
Once the engine hummed to life, he started driving with his usual ease—steady, unhurried, like he was in complete control of every turn of the wheel.
Vaani glanced outside the window, trying to act casual, though inside she was replaying the moment in the living room when he'd just decided to come along without asking.
It wasn't that she didn't want him there. In fact, part of her was secretly glad. But another part—the insecure part that still echoed with her own doubts—wondered if she was dragging him into things he didn't care about.
She cleared her throat softly. "You know... thrift shopping isn't exactly fun for most guys."
Dhruv's eyes stayed on the road. "I'm not most guys."
Her lips curved into a small smile despite herself. "Clearly."
For a few minutes, the car filled with the sound of the city outside—the hum of traffic, the faint buzz of horns, the rhythm of tires on asphalt.
Dhruv had left the radio off, like he always seemed to do around her.
It left space for her words to fill the silence, if she wanted to.
But today, she didn't rush to yap. Today, she just let the quiet exist, though her fingers drummed lightly against her thigh as if her natural restlessness was bubbling just under the surface.
Finally, she risked a glance at him. His jawline was sharp under the shifting light, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting casually near the gearshift. He looked composed, almost unreadable—but his presence felt grounding.
"Bored already?" she asked, her tone teasing, testing.
He finally glanced at her briefly, the corner of his lips tugging upward in the faintest smirk. "Not yet."
She rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered as she turned back to the window, her reflection faint in the glass. Somewhere between their banter and the hum of the car, she realized she wasn't dreading this shopping trip anymore.
Because he was here.
Because whether he admitted it or not, he had chosen to come along.
And that, in its own quiet way, meant more to her than she could put into words.
The drive to the thrift street had been quiet.
Vaani scrolled through her phone, scrolling and scrolling, as if she could manifest the exact store by sheer concentration.
Dhruv drove steadily, his gaze fixed ahead, one hand loosely on the steering wheel.
When they finally pulled into the little lane lined with second-hand boutiques and thrift shops, she slipped out of the car quickly, tote on her shoulder, determination painted on her face.
Her phone was still in her hand as she walked, thumb tapping.
"It should be here... somewhere here," she murmured.
"It was this pastel pink dress—It'll look so good in Georgia, this shade, it's so soft and summery—" She was talking mostly to herself, but Dhruv followed a step behind, hands in his pockets, letting her chatter fill the air.
They entered the first shop. Racks of clothes brushed her arms as she darted between them, pulling one hanger out, putting it back, comparing another to the photo on her screen. Her brows furrowed when nothing seemed to match.
Dhruv leaned slightly against a rack, just watching her. Her energy, her focus—it was different when she had a goal like this. And then, just like that, he saw her face falter. The little hopeful spark in her eyes dimmed as she set another hanger back in place.
"What happened?" His voice was even, but it pulled her head up.
She sighed, showing him the screen of her phone. The photo glowed—a pastel pink dress with light ruffles on the sleeves, simple but pretty. "I'm not able to find it. I thought maybe I'd see it here but..." Her words trailed off, her lips pressing into a small pout.
Dhruv took the phone, scanned the picture briefly, then handed it back. "Hmm." He didn't say anything more, just began looking through the racks with his large, steady hands, flipping through clothes with a kind of calm efficiency that contrasted her hurried searching.
She watched him for a second, then smiled faintly despite herself. "You'll actually look?"
"Why not?" he replied simply, eyes still on the clothes.
They moved together through the shop, but nothing came close. So they stepped out into the afternoon air, crossed into the next store.
Here, the racks were more organized. Vaani's eyes lit up when she spotted a dress tucked in the corner, almost hidden. She hurried to it, pulled it out, and held it up. It wasn't identical, but it was close—soft pastel pink, the same gentle vibe.
Her face broke into a little smile. "This one looks similar, no?" She turned it toward him, like a child seeking approval.
Dhruv scanned it once, then nodded. "Go try it on."
Her smile flickered. She bit her lip. "I... I don't know."
He raised a brow. "What do you mean you don't know?"
"There are too many people here," she said quickly, looking around at the other customers drifting between aisles. She shifted uncomfortably. "And my purse, and this bag—"
Dhruv sighed, the kind that carried both patience and inevitability. He stepped forward, tugged the tote and her purse off her shoulder in one smooth move, and held them easily in his hand. Then he jerked his chin toward the fitting rooms at the back.
"Go try it, Vaani."
She looked at him, caught somewhere between amused and reluctant. "You're serious?"
"Yes." His tone left no room for negotiation.
Her lips curved into the smallest smile, the kind that broke out when she was half-annoyed, half-grateful. "Fine." She clutched the dress, gave him one last look, then disappeared toward the fitting rooms.
Dhruv, left with her tote and purse, adjusted them casually in one hand, pulled out his phone with the other, and leaned back against the railing near the changing area. He looked utterly at ease—black polo, arms crossed now, screen lighting up his face.
Vaani's tote hung loosely from one of his hands, her little purse dangling beside it.
His other hand held his phone, thumb sliding over the screen, catching up on a few work messages he'd ignored earlier.
His posture was calm, leaning against the railing, eyes occasionally flicking toward the curtained booth where Vaani had gone in.
The shop smelled faintly of fabric and starch, with murmurs of other customers filling the air. Dhruv didn't mind waiting.
"Arre Dhruv?"
A familiar voice cut through the noise, startling him for half a second. He turned his head, brows lifting slightly.
"Kabir?" His voice dropped into its usual, low register—calm, contained, but with a faint hint of warmth at recognizing an old face, "Hey bro what's up?"
Kabir grinned wide as he approached, clapping a hand to Dhruv's shoulder. "Yaar, what in the world are you doing here? Dhruv Deshmukh, the man who wouldn't step into anything less than Armani stores, standing outside a thrift shop in Jumeirah?"
Dhruv gave him the faintest smile, but before he could reply, Kabir's eyes darted downward. He caught sight of the purse and tote hanging off Dhruv's hand and burst out laughing. "Oh, ho ho... look at this! Purse in one hand, tote bag in the other. Who even are you now?"
Dhruv didn't flinch. He just shifted the bags in his hand slightly and shrugged, his answer clipped and straight:
"A husband."
Kabir's eyes widened, then he doubled over, cackling. "Wah, bhai! Seriously? No damage control? Straight up acceptance?"
Dhruv's expression didn't shift much, just the faint pull of his lips. His eyes flickered once to the fitting room door, as if checking on Vaani, before returning to Kabir.
His voice was quiet, but steady. "She doesn't like rush. Gets uncomfortable in crowds. And she'll think five times before spending one dirham on herself. Can't disturb her."
The seriousness in his tone contrasted Kabir's laughter.
For a second, Kabir just stared at him, caught off guard.
Then he threw his head back and laughed even harder.
"Bro. Bro. You're gone. Whipped. Straight up whipped.
The Dhruv Deshmukh who was untouchable in college, who had girls running behind him, who he never even bothered to look at — look at you now!
Standing outside a thrift shop, holding bags, waiting for your wife to try on a dress! "
Dhruv let him finish, completely unbothered. When the laughter died down, Dhruv's lips curved into a faint smirk, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Nope," he said simply. "Just being respectful."
Kabir narrowed his eyes, still grinning, shaking his head in disbelief. "Haan, haan. Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night."
"Helps me sleep fine," Dhruv said dryly, his tone almost dismissive but not sharp. He tucked his phone into his pocket, adjusted his stance against the railing, and let the weight of his words sit between them.
Kabir chuckled again, but this time softer, like he was trying to process this version of Dhruv.
"Man. I swear, if someone told me I'd see this with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed it.
Anyway, I should go. But we have to catch up properly sometime soon, yeah?
Your reception was amazing last night by the way. Amazing!"
"Thanks bro," Dhruv said with a nod. "We'll catch up soon, with the gang."
Kabir stepped forward, and they exchanged a quick, firm side hug. Then Kabir waved as he walked off, still chuckling to himself, clearly amused at the sight he'd stumbled upon.
Dhruv exhaled slowly once Kabir was gone, sliding his phone back into his hand. His face returned to its neutral calm, but a faint shadow of a smile tugged at his lips.
So he settled back into his quiet wait, thumbs idly scrolling across his phone screen again, but his ears tuned unconsciously to the faint rustle of fabric behind the curtain.
The curtain swished open after a few minutes, and Vaani stepped out slowly, the pastel dress folded neatly over her arm instead of draped on her.
Her expression gave her away before she even said anything—her lips pressed together, the faint downward tilt of her brows, that slight slump of her shoulders.
Dhruv straightened from where he'd been leaning against the railing, his phone dropping back into his pocket, eyes scanning her face in one quick sweep.
"It wasn't good," she said, shaking her head. "I didn't like it. The fit was weird, and the color in person just... nah." Her voice carried that tinge of disappointment she tried to mask, the same way she brushed things off when she didn't want to dwell.
Dhruv's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, and then he said in his calm, even tone, "Let's go somewhere else then."
Vaani blinked at him, surprised at the suggestion. "Somewhere else? No, leave it, Dhruv." She waved a hand dismissively, already folding the dress tighter as if to return it. "I'll wear what I have. I have enough."
He arched one brow, the kind of look that wasn't loaded with judgment but carried quiet disbelief. His silence stretched for a second, heavy enough to make her fidget.
"I have clothes, Dhruv," she insisted, a little more firmly, as though she had to prove it to him. She placed the dress back on the rack and turned on her heel, walking toward the exit of the shop without looking back.
He didn't argue. He didn't push. He simply followed, steps measured, hands sliding casually into his pockets now that her bags were once again on her shoulder. To an outsider, it might look like nothing—just a couple leaving a store—but inside, between them, the silence carried unspoken layers.
Outside, the heat was beginning to rise in the afternoon air, the kind that shimmered off the pavements. Vaani kept her eyes forward, her hair bouncing slightly as she walked briskly toward the parking lot. Dhruv kept half a step behind, letting her lead but never letting the distance grow.
The car beeped open with the click of his key, and she slid into the passenger seat quickly, fastening her seatbelt with a sharp click.
Dhruv circled around, slipping into the driver's seat.
The engine hummed to life, and they pulled out into the traffic, the world moving around them in slow waves of honks, signals, and afternoon buzz.
Vaani stared out of her window, arms folded lightly across her chest, her reflection faintly mirrored in the glass.
Meanwhile, Dhruv's hands rested steady on the wheel, his eyes trained on the road.
He didn't fill the silence, didn't attempt to coax her into conversation.
He simply drove, but his peripheral glances at her—the way her jaw was clenched ever so slightly, the faint pout in her lips—told him she was retreating into herself again. He didn't push. Not yet.
The hum of the air conditioning filled the car, mixed with the faint sound of tires against asphalt. Ten minutes passed like that—just silence, save for the rhythm of the drive.
Finally, when they pulled into the basement of their building, Vaani unbuckled quickly and got out before he'd even switched off the engine. She headed up, her steps quick, and Dhruv followed at his usual unhurried pace, sliding the keys into his pocket.
By the time he stepped inside, she'd already changed. She was in one of her comfortable at-home outfits—cotton shorts and a loose top, her hair tied back loosely. She was barefoot, moving around the kitchen with purposeful steps, clattering pans and taking out ingredients.
Dhruv paused near the entrance, loosening the cuffs of his shirt, watching her quietly.
The contrast always struck him—how she could bounce between disappointment and normalcy so quickly.
She didn't wallow; she channeled her mood into movement.
But today, there was something in the set of her shoulders that told him she wasn't as carefree as she appeared.
"You could've ordered something," he said finally, his voice low as he walked into the kitchen, leaning lightly against the counter.
Vaani glanced over her shoulder, giving him a faint smile, almost too faint. "No, no, it's fine. I'll make lunch. Simple stuff. You must be hungry too."
He didn't argue, though a part of him wanted to tell her she didn't need to prove anything, not through cooking, not through clothes. Instead, he let her move about—washing rice, setting it in the cooker, chopping vegetables with precise, fast motions.
The sound of the knife against the board filled the silence for a while, until she broke it herself. "You know," she began, not looking at him, "I really do have enough dresses. More than enough, actually. I don't know why I was even being silly about finding one more."
Dhruv tilted his head slightly, his eyes fixed on her. "It wasn't silly," he said simply.
She froze for just half a second, knife hovering over the chopping board, before resuming. "It was," she insisted softly, almost as though to herself. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'll manage with what I have."
He didn't reply this time. He knew if he pushed, she'd only retreat further. Instead, he moved past her, pulling two glasses from the cabinet and filling them with water, setting one on the counter near her hand. She looked at it briefly, then at him, then offered a small, grateful smile.
The rice cooker hissed to life, steam beginning to rise, and the kitchen filled with the comforting smell of garlic hitting hot oil as she began to temper the vegetables. The simple rhythm of domestic life settled between them.
Dhruv, for his part, leaned against the counter again, sipping his water, his gaze occasionally drifting to her. She looked small in those moments—shoulders squared, lips pressed, clearly trying to mask the fact that something weighed on her.
And yet, she still hummed under her breath, some tuneless little melody as she stirred the pan. It made him almost smile—because no matter how much she worried, that humming always slipped out, like her heart refusing to stay quiet.
When the food was ready, she set the plates with quiet efficiency, calling out a simple, "Come, eat.
" Dhruv sat down at the table, and she joined him across.
She served him first before herself, and then they ate in companionable silence, punctuated only by her occasional comments about the flavor or how next time she'd add more chili.
Dhruv listened, nodding now and then, but his thoughts lingered not on the food but on the way she'd walked out of that fitting room earlier, disappointment tucked carefully behind her eyes.
~·~
Lunch wrapped up quietly, the kind of silence that wasn't heavy, but not entirely light either. Vaani cleared the plates quickly, brushing off Dhruv's attempt to help with her usual, "No, no, I'll do it, you just sit." He let her, because he could sense she wanted to keep her hands busy.
By the time the dishes were washed and dried, the apartment was calm again.
The faint hum of the air conditioning filled the room, and Dhruv had settled onto the couch, leaning back with the remote in hand, flipping through channels without really paying attention.
Vaani sat on the other end of the sofa, scrolling absently on her phone, but her mind was elsewhere.
It was only when her screen lit up with an incoming call that she snapped out of her haze. "Simran calling..." the name blinked. Her lips curled into a small smile. She swiped to answer.
"Arree Vaani!" Simran's familiar, chirpy voice filled the line. "I'm downstairs in your area, had some errands nearby. Thought I'd say hi. Come down for a bit?"
Vaani's eyes brightened instantly. "Oh really? Okay, I'm coming!"
She ended the call and jumped up quickly, grabbing her phone. "Dhruv," she called, turning toward him.
He looked up from the TV, eyebrows raising in question.
"Simran's in the area, she's downstairs. I'll just go meet her for an hour or so, okay?" she said, her tone already brimming with excitement at the thought of seeing her friend.
Dhruv gave a small nod, his face calm as ever. "Hmm. Have fun."
She smiled, slipping her sandals on quickly. "I'll be back soon," she promised, and with that, she hurried out the door, the faint sound of her anklets trailing down the hallway before silence settled again.
The apartment felt different the moment she left—quieter, emptier in a way Dhruv didn't acknowledge aloud.
He leaned back, exhaled, and turned his attention back to the television.
Some random news channel was running, though he wasn't really following it.
His mind drifted in that natural way it always did when the house grew quiet.
His arm stretched across the couch lazily, and his hand brushed against something soft. He glanced down—her tote bag. The same one she'd carried earlier, the one she'd clutched in the store before pushing it onto him so she could go try on the dress.
For a second, he just stared at it. Then, almost unconsciously, he tugged it closer and unzipped the top slightly, peeking inside.
A part of him expected to see the pastel pink dress folded neatly in there—the one she'd shown him so hopefully on her phone.
But it wasn't there. Just her usual bits and pieces: basic grocery they got since they had stepped out, water bottle, some tissues, her lip balm rolling around at the bottom.
His jaw tightened, and a thought flickered through his mind: She really didn't buy it.
He sat back, recalling the way she'd brushed it off, saying she had enough clothes, saying it was silly, saying she didn't need it.
But he had seen the look on her face in that shop.
He had watched her eyes fall, the tiny dip in her shoulders, that faint little sigh she thought no one noticed.
She had wanted it—wanted it badly enough to save the picture, badly enough to hunt it across different stores. And yet she'd walked away.
Because of money. Because she didn't want to spend more money.
Dhruv picked up his phone, thumb hovering over the screen for a moment.
Then, with precision, he opened the browser.
He wasn't the type to remember random links, but he remembered the exact image she'd shown him earlier that morning—her phone held out to him with a picture of that pastel pink dress, her eyes sparkling as she'd said, "Something like this, na? "
It didn't take him long. A few keywords, a quick scan, and there it was—the same website she'd been on, the same dress, the same delicate shade of pink she had clearly loved. Without a second thought, he tapped through the sizes, selected hers, and hit add to cart.
The price blinked on the screen. He didn't even flinch. Payment went through in seconds, his card automatically saved from earlier purchases. The confirmation screen lit up with a neat line of text:
Dhruv stared at it for a second, his lips twitching—not into a full smile, but into the faintest curve that softened the edges of his usually sharp expression. There was something satisfying about it, knowing she'd get it without expecting it, knowing that tomorrow her eyes would light up again.
He placed the phone down beside him, leaned back, and let out a quiet breath. His gaze drifted to the muted television where some anchor was still reading headlines.
The apartment was still quiet, sunlight slanting through the blinds, casting striped shadows across the carpet. He shifted slightly, stretching his legs out on the couch, one arm propped behind his head.
And so, for the first time that afternoon, he let himself relax. The remote clicked, the volume rose slightly, and Dhruv leaned back into the couch, television flickering before his eyes, the faintest trace of contentment hidden behind his otherwise calm, unreadable face.
??