64
The alarm chimed at six, soft and insistent. Dhruv rolled out of bed with the ease of habit, rubbing his face as he stood. The room was dim, curtains still drawn against the pale dawn.
He showered quickly, the hot water washing away the heaviness of last night's unsettled thoughts. By the time he stepped out, towel slung over his shoulders, he was already dressed in a crisp shirt and tailored trousers. His watch clicked neatly into place as he made his way to the kitchen.
He moved efficiently, like always—water boiling, tea leaves in, the familiar clink of cups on the counter.
Steam rose, carrying that earthy aroma of chai that always made the apartment feel alive.
Dhruv poured his own and leaned back against the counter, sipping slowly, letting the warmth settle in his chest.
That's when he heard soft footsteps.
Vaani emerged from the bedroom, fastening the strap of her watch as she walked.
Dhruv blinked once, taking in the sight of her.
She wasn't in her usual loose kurta or even her work-from-home wear.
She was dressed sharply in a formal blouse tucked neatly into tailored pants, her hair combed into place.
She looked every bit the professional she had been before marriage.
"Good morning," she said, her voice even, her eyes meeting his only briefly before dropping back to her wrist.
"Morning," he replied, setting his cup down. His gaze lingered. "Why are you going to work? I thought you were working from home."
Vaani gave a small shrug, reaching for the kettle to pour her tea. "I already worked from home for two days straight. Thought I'll go today."
Dhruv tilted his head slightly, considering, then nodded. "Logical."
She gave him a faint smile, acknowledging the agreement, before turning to sip her chai.
They sat together in the living room, each with their cups. For a moment, silence hung between them, broken only by the faint sounds of traffic beginning to stir outside.
"When will you be back?" Dhruv asked finally.
"I don't know," Vaani replied without hesitation, eyes fixed on her cup.
He nodded once, not pressing.
They drank in quiet rhythm, finishing almost simultaneously. Dhruv set his cup aside and straightened. "I'll drop you."
"Oh, no," she said quickly, shaking her head. "I'll go."
"I'll take you," he repeated, more firmly this time.
"Arre, Dhruv," she said, a hint of laughter softening her tone. "I might meet Simran on the way back, or I might stop by at home once before I go for the weekend. Nothing is sure. I'll take my car."
He studied her for a second, his jaw tight as if he wanted to insist, but then he let out a quiet breath and leaned back. "Hmm. Okay."
Her lips curved into a smile at that, brief but genuine, before she stood to gather her things.
They walked down together, side by side, the soft hum of the elevator filling the silence. When the doors slid open, the morning air rushed in—warm, with the faint scent of freshly watered plants from the apartment complex gardens.
Their cars sat parked side by side.
Vaani stopped in her tracks, tilting her head. "This is the first time we're both driving our own cars together." She chuckled and glanced at him instinctively, only to realize a second later how childish it might have sounded. Her cheeks flushed faintly. "I mean—you know."
Dhruv looked at her, the corner of his mouth twitching. Then, to her surprise, he chuckled, low and genuine. "Yeah, I know. Almost two months into the marriage and this is the first time."
Relief washed over her, and she chuckled too, lighter this time. "Exactly."
They each moved to their cars. Dhruv slid into his seat with practiced ease, rolling his window down before starting the engine. Vaani adjusted her mirrors, started hers, and rolled the window halfway.
"See you," Dhruv said, glancing at her through the open glass.
She smiled, her earlier awkwardness gone. "See you."
Their cars pulled out together, then parted at the intersection.
Inside her car, Vaani gripped the steering wheel, exhaling slowly.
She whispered under her breath, "Work is work.
No taking personal issues there." Saying it aloud steadied her nerves.
At work, she could lose herself in tasks, in meetings, in the flow of productivity.
There, her silence wouldn't feel strange.
By the time she reached the office, her expression was neutral, professional. She parked, walked in with confident steps, and soon enough was surrounded by her team. Tasks piled up, conversations flowed, and she immersed herself fully.
Across the city, Dhruv's car cut through the familiar route to his own office.
He parked, walked into the tall glass building, greeted a couple of people with nods, and set his things down at his desk. His laptop blinked awake, emails pouring in, numbers lining up. Work demanded his attention, and he gave it.
But not fully.
Because somewhere in the back of his mind, Vaani lingered.
Her strange behavior had been nagging at him.
He leaned back in his chair at one point, eyes drifting away from the screen. He thought back—trying to pin down exactly when she had started pulling back, when her words had begun shrinking.
It wasn't obvious. Not like an argument or a fight. It was subtle—her silences growing longer, her smiles shorter, her laughter softer.
He rubbed his chin. Did anything happen at the family lunch?
He replayed that afternoon in his head. The laughter, the chatter, the clinking of dishes. Vaani had been her usual self then—or so it had seemed.
No raised voices, no tense words. Just family. Normal.
So what could it be?
His brows furrowed deeper. He hated the feeling of not knowing. With work, with life, with everything—Dhruv preferred clarity, precision. But with Vaani, all he had right now was fog.
He tapped a pen against the desk absently, lost in thought.
Then his phone buzzed. A call from his assistant, followed by a reminder of back-to-back meetings lined up. Work pulled him in, tugging his focus away.
He sighed once, straightened his shoulders, and shoved the thoughts aside. For now.
Still, as he walked into the meeting room, a quiet question lingered at the back of his mind:
What happened to you, Vaani?
~·~
The office hummed with its usual rhythm: the muted tapping of keyboards, phones buzzing intermittently, and the low murmur of colleagues exchanging updates.
Dhruv sat at his desk, eyes fixed on his laptop screen, his mind darting between a half-finished email and the spreadsheet on his second monitor.
Numbers aligned, cells calculated, yet none of it seemed to hold his focus as tightly as it normally did.
His phone vibrated suddenly against the desk, the name flashing across the screen: Mom.
Dhruv immediately picked up. "Hello, Mom."
"Hi beta," Jaya's warm voice filtered through, with the background hum of what sounded like utensils clattering faintly—probably she was in the kitchen. "What's up? How's work?"
Dhruv leaned back in his chair, loosening his tie slightly. "All good, just the usual. We're both at work today."
"Hmm," Jaya hummed. Then her tone shifted slightly. "Vaani will fly tomorrow early morning, na? I tried to call her just now, but she's not picking up."
Dhruv paused, glancing at his phone as if it might offer an explanation. "Oh, I see." He rubbed his thumb over the pen lying on his desk, thoughtful. "She must be busy with work."
"Yes, probably," Jaya said. "She mentioned she had a lot to wrap up before leaving. You know her, she doesn't like leaving loose ends."
Dhruv gave a small chuckle, though his mind wasn't entirely at ease. "Yeah, that's her."
There was a brief silence before he asked, almost casually, "When did you talk to her last?"
"Last night," Jaya replied, matter-of-fact. "She sounded fine, a little tired maybe, but normal. Why?"
Dhruv hesitated. He didn't want to sound paranoid, not when he wasn't sure himself what was off. "No reason. Just asking."
Jaya's motherly instinct didn't press further, but there was a beat of thought before she said, "Hmm, okay. Chalo, I'll let you get back to work. Don't stress too much. And beta, don't forget to eat on time."
Dhruv smiled faintly at the familiar refrain. "Yes, Maa. You take care too."
"Of course. Bye, beta."
"Bye."
The call ended, and Dhruv set the phone down slowly. His gaze lingered on the screen, replaying Jaya's words. Last night... normal... His brows furrowed ever so slightly. If she had been normal with Jaya, then what had changed? Was she actually normal or did she just put on an act?
He exhaled deeply and shook his head, forcing himself back into the present. Work. He had deadlines. Reports to file. He clicked back into the spreadsheet, trying to shove the unease aside.
Meanwhile, across the city, Vaani was packing up at her office desk.
She had spent the last few hours immersed in tasks—final emails, wrapping up her portion of the team's project, double-checking every line in the presentation she had edited.
When she finally leaned back and stretched, the clock on her monitor showed 4:45 p.m.
Flight is tomorrow morning. One evening left.
She pursed her lips in thought. A sudden tug in her heart pulled her toward home. Not her new home with Dhruv. But her parents'.
On impulse, she sent a quick message to her mother: Aai, are you home?
The reply came almost instantly: Yes beta, come fast! Baba is also here. We'll make chai.
A smile stretched across her face without her realizing it. Gathering her things, she slung her bag over her shoulder and walked to the parking lot. The weight in her chest lightened as soon as she drove out of the office premises, her car taking the familiar turn toward her parents' neighborhood.
When she rang the doorbell fifteen minutes later, Sunita opened the door with the same warm smile that always melted Vaani. "Arey, tu aali!"
"Aai," Vaani grinned, stepping inside and hugging her mother tightly. The scent of sandalwood soap and turmeric lingered on Sunita's clothes—it was the smell of comfort, of childhood.
Ramesh appeared from the living room, adjusting his glasses. "Vaani! Good timing, we were just about to make chai."
She laughed. "You people always say that."
"Because it's always true," he teased, leading her in.
They settled in the living room, the familiar cream-colored sofas with embroidered cushions, the faint hum of the ceiling fan above.
The walls adorned with framed photos—her school graduation, Vihaan and Vedant's cricket medals, their family trip to Goa years ago—seemed to embrace her with memories.
For the first time in days, Vaani felt her guard drop.
Sunita brought in steaming cups of chai and a plate of namkeen, settling down beside her. "So, all set for tomorrow?"
"Almost," Vaani said, sipping her tea. "Bags are packed. Just need to double-check in the morning."
"Good girl," Ramesh said, nodding approvingly. "Don't forget your charger. And passport, beta."
Vaani giggled. "Baba, I'm not ten. I'll manage."
"Still," he said, mock-serious. "It's our job to remind you. That's what parents do."
The three of them laughed together, the sound filling the room.
As the minutes passed, the conversation flowed easily.
They spoke about Georgia—how cold it might be, how she should layer up.
Sunita insisted she pack some extra homemade snacks for the trip, despite Vaani's protests about space.
Ramesh teased that she'd end up making new friends on the flight anyway, just like she always did.
Vaani found herself talking more than she had in days, animated and relaxed. She gestured with her hands, laughed loudly at her father's jokes, teased her mother about being overprotective.
Here, she wasn't weighed down by Geeta's words. She wasn't measuring her sentences, second-guessing her tone. She was just Vaani—the daughter who always came home to warmth and acceptance.
At one point, Ramesh's brother called in from the U.S., and the family crowded around the phone, chatting and laughing. Vedant joined on another call, from his friend's place, for a few minutes, teasing Vaani about her "fancy" international trip.
Her heart swelled. For a while, she forgot about everything else.
The heaviness that had shadowed her since the family lunch, the quiet guilt and insecurity—it faded into the background here.
She sat curled on the sofa, her chai cup empty, her parents' voices mingling with her own laughter, and thought: This is what ease feels like.
Back in his office, Dhruv was finishing up his final meeting of the day. His tie was loosened, sleeves rolled up, the sharp focus in his eyes returning only when he was surrounded by colleagues and numbers. Yet, as soon as the room emptied, his thoughts drifted again.
His phone sat face-up on the desk. No messages from Vaani. No updates.
He tapped the screen idly, staring at their last WhatsApp conversation from the morning. Just polite exchanges, nothing more.
He frowned faintly, then turned his attention back to his laptop, but the question lingered in his mind like a splinter:
Why do I feel like I'm missing something?
~·~
The glow of the setting sun had already dipped beneath the horizon when Dhruv's key turned in the lock. The apartment was quiet, the kind of silence that immediately told him Vaani wasn't home. He slipped off his shoes and set his bag down, loosening his tie as he walked through the living room.
No movement. No sound from the kitchen. No hum of music from her phone.
He checked his watch. Almost 8:30. She should have been home by now. Frowning slightly, he reached for his phone and typed a quick message.
Where are you?
The reply came almost instantly, the familiar typing dots dancing across the screen.
At Aai and Baba's place. I'll have dinner here and come.
He stared at the message for a moment, the faint tug of disappointment somewhere deep inside. Then he typed back, short and simple: Okay, cool.
Phone down, Dhruv exhaled and ran a hand over his face.
He was tired, the day had been long, but the empty apartment amplified the fatigue.
Usually, even if she wasn't talking to him directly, Vaani's energy filled the place—the sound of her voice on calls with her friends, the clink of utensils while she experimented in the kitchen, even her random humming when she scrolled on her phone. Now, there was just... nothing.
He leaned back on the sofa and let his head rest against the cushion. The TV remote was within reach. He switched it on, flipping through channels, but nothing caught his attention. The silence pressed in again.
By 9:00, his stomach reminded him he hadn't eaten yet. With a sigh, he reached for his phone again and opened the delivery app. After a few scrolls, he settled on something simple: dal, sabzi, and roti. He added a lassi for good measure, then hit "place order."
The wait felt longer than usual. He scrolled half-heartedly through the news, then through emails, then Instagram—an app he barely used but occasionally opened when bored. The food finally arrived around 9:30, and he thanked the delivery guy before setting the boxes on the table.
As he ate, the quietness felt heavier. Normally, Vaani would've been across from him, talking about something or the other, making him chuckle at her random thoughts. He didn't say much during meals, but her chatter kept the silence from feeling so sharp.
Tonight, the food felt more like fuel than dinner.
By the time he finished, it was nearing 10. Just as he was about to clear the table, the lock clicked, and the door swung open.
Vaani stepped in, her face carrying a mix of apology and weariness, but her smile still found him instantly. "Hi," she said softly. "Sorry I'm late."
Dhruv glanced at the clock before looking back at her. "It's fine," he said evenly. His voice carried no edge, but in his mind, a thought surfaced: It's late. She's been gone the whole evening. And tomorrow, she has to leave early.
She set her bag aside and walked over, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Did you have dinner?"
"Yeah," he nodded. "I did."
"Good," she said, her smile warming slightly.
For a moment, Dhruv thought about asking her if she wanted chai. The words were right there, hovering at the tip of his tongue. It would mean they'd sit together for a little while, even if it was just fifteen minutes. But before he could open his mouth, Vaani glanced at the clock again.
"Baapre," she exclaimed softly, eyes widening. "It's already 10? I should sleep. I have to leave in six hours."
The words slid in like a wall between them. Dhruv's hand, which had been half-reaching for the remote, stilled. He nodded once. "Right. Yeah. Go sleep."
She gave him a quick, apologetic smile, her eyes crinkling like they always did when she wanted to soften her exit. "Goodnight, Dhruv."
"Goodnight," he replied.
Vaani disappeared into their room. A few minutes later, the light in the bedroom clicked off, leaving the apartment cloaked in quiet once more.
Dhruv remained in the living room for a while longer, staring at the muted TV screen. The quiet had been heavy before, but now it carried something different—an absence he couldn't quite put into words.
Finally, with a sigh, he pushed himself off the sofa, cleared the dishes into the sink, and walked toward the bedroom.
When he entered, the faint outline of Vaani's form was already curled under the blanket, her breathing steady as though she were trying to coax herself into sleep quickly. Dhruv changed into his nightclothes quietly, the fabric rustling as he moved.
Slipping under the blanket, he lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. The faint hum of the AC filled the silence between them. His mind replayed the evening again: her message, her late return, her quick retreat into sleep.
She's leaving in a few hours, he thought. Maybe she's just tired. Maybe it's just that.
He turned onto his side, closing his eyes. Tomorrow, he told himself, he'd drop her to the airport. Tomorrow, she'd leave for her trip, and maybe when she came back, things would fall into place again.
With that thought, he let sleep take him, the quiet of the room wrapping around both of them—one at ease, one still carrying unasked questions.
~·~
The alarm rang sharp at 2:00 a.m., its shrill tone slicing through the thick quiet of the night.
Vaani was quicker than the sound—her hand shot out and silenced it before it could ring twice.
Her first thought wasn't about herself or the time, but about Dhruv sleeping beside her.
He shifted a little, but his breathing stayed even.
She slipped out of bed silently, her feet barely touching the floor.
The bathroom light flicked on, muffled behind the door.
Ten minutes later, she stepped out, fresh from a shower, her hair tied into a neat ponytail.
She had chosen simple comfort for the airport: black track pants, a loose pale blue top, and sneakers. No fuss. Just practical.
On the chair near the wardrobe lay the folded denim jackets.
Each one had "Bride's Besties" written across the back in bold white letters.
A grin tugged at her lips as she looked at them.
They weren't just jackets—they were a symbol of her excitement, her plan with the girls.
For a moment, she felt lighter, the dull weight in her chest vanishing.
She packed them carefully into her tote, making sure they wouldn't crease too much.
By the time she was in the kitchen, the clock had just nudged 2:30. The kettle hissed as she boiled water, the aroma of chai leaves filling the quiet apartment. She moved with familiarity, with purpose, pouring the steaming liquid into cups.
Behind her, a low rustle made her glance toward the living room. Dhruv was up. His hair was messy, but he'd clearly splashed water on his face—his eyes were awake, not groggy. He leaned against the doorway, watching her.
"Ready to go?" he asked, voice still rough from sleep.
She smiled, a little brighter than she had in the last two days. "Yep, I am." The words came easily, but she stopped herself from adding more, reminding herself to stay measured, controlled. Too many words might give too much away.
Dhruv stepped closer, his gaze sweeping the kitchen counter and then her bags propped neatly near the door. Something caught his eye. He bent down, opened the tote slightly, and smirked when he saw the denim jackets stacked together.
"You're actually gonna make them wear this?" he teased, lifting a brow.
A soft laugh escaped her before she could stop it. "Of course I am. You'll see it on our stories soon."
"Looking forward to it," Dhruv chuckled, shaking his head. His tone was light, indulgent, like he'd already resigned to her plans.
She handed him his cup of chai. "Here," she said, her voice gentle.
They sat together at the dining table, sipping quietly. The steam rose between them, curling into the stillness of the early morning. The world outside was asleep, but here they sat, two figures in the small pool of warm kitchen light.
Every so often, Dhruv's eyes flickered toward her. She looked happy—genuinely happy, even if she was keeping her words short. That made him relax, if only a little.
The minutes slipped by faster than they realized. At 3:15, Vaani checked her phone and sighed. "Dhruv, you go sleep. It's mid-morning. You'll be exhausted for work."
He shook his head, stubborn as ever. "I'll sleep after I'm back."
Her brow furrowed. "Back? Where are you going?"
"I'm dropping you at the airport," he said casually, as though it were obvious.
She blinked, caught off guard. "Arre, what drop? We'll go together—they're all coming here, then we'll take a cab."
"No need." His voice was firm, his gaze steady. "I'll drop you."
"Arre, but—" she started, only to be cut off.
"Why bother taking a cab when I can drive there, Vaani?" His tone carried finality. The kind of tone she'd already learned not to argue against.
He gave her a look then—the kind of look that spoke more than words: I'm dropping you. End of story.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. She exhaled, half amused, half resigned. "Okay, fine."
She picked up her phone and texted the group quickly: Change of plans. Dhruv will drop us. Reach in 20 mins.
The replies came almost instantly, little hearts and thumbs-ups lighting up her screen. Cool cool, Tell Dhruv he's a lifesaver, Be there in 20.
Vaani locked her phone and glanced at Dhruv, who was finishing the last sip of chai. She softened, her annoyance dissipating. He wasn't trying to control her—he just didn't see the point of making things harder than they needed to be.
They sat quietly again, drinking their chai. Outside, the city was dark, the streets empty, the silence thick. Inside, the two of them sat across from each other, their unspoken thoughts sitting heavier than the luggage bags by the door.
Dhruv leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "You packed everything?"
"Yeah," she nodded. "All set."
"Passport?"
"In the tote."
"Tickets?"
"In my phone."
"Jackets?" His mouth quirked.
She smirked, shaking her head. "Obviously."
For a second, they shared a look, the kind of familiar, easy glance that usually came without effort. But this one had something different behind it—a flicker of distance, a space that neither of them acknowledged.
The clock ticked on. 3:30. The hum of a car pulling into the lot below signaled the arrival of her friends.
Vaani stood, picking up her bags. Dhruv rose too, stretching slightly. "Let's go," he said, taking one of the heavier bags before she could stop him.
She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. Instead, she just followed.
As they walked out, she cast a quick glance at him. He looked steady, calm, like this early hour was nothing to him. She, on the other hand, felt a storm in her chest—part excitement for her trip, part unease she couldn't shake.
But she smiled anyway. For her friends waiting outside. For the journey ahead. And maybe, just a little, for him.
The lobby of their building buzzed with a strange kind of energy that was unusual for such an early hour.
The sliding glass doors hissed open, and Vaani's friends were already there—Ria, Simran, and Naina—each with a single suitcase and tote, faces lit with the kind of excitement that only comes before a trip with friends.
"Vaaniii!" Ria squealed, rushing to hug her first. Simran followed with her arms wide open, and Naina clutched her from behind as if afraid she'd vanish. The four of them broke into quick laughter, the kind that bounced through the quiet lobby.
Dhruv watched the scene for a moment, standing a step behind. There was a softness in his expression, the kind that flickered only when he saw her truly happy. Then, clearing his throat gently, he said, "I'll get the car."
They all turned briefly to look at him, chorusing quick thank-yous, before returning to their chatter.
Dhruv walked out into the cool early morning air, his stride purposeful. Within minutes, his sleek black car glided into the driveway, headlights sweeping across the glass doors. The girls spotted it and hurried outside.
The loading was quick. Each of them had just one bag—it wasn't a long trip, after all. Still, Dhruv automatically took over, lifting suitcases into the boot, arranging them neatly, as though efficiency mattered even here.
"Settle in," he said, brushing his hands together.
The girls piled into the backseat, their voices already rising with chatter. Vaani slipped into the passenger seat next to Dhruv, fastening her seatbelt quickly. He glanced sideways—just a glance—but caught the glow on her face. It wasn't forced. Around her friends, she was animated, free.
The car rolled onto the main road. Inside, the air filled with overlapping voices.
"Did you pack the tripod?"
"Yes, yes, it's in my bag!"
"God, I can't wait to wear those jackets."
"Vaani, you really pulled this off. People are going to stare!"
Laughter, squeals, rapid-fire plans—it was endless.
Dhruv drove in silence, his gaze fixed on the road, but his ears couldn't ignore the shift.
He didn't mind it; he even liked hearing her like this.
But he couldn't deny that the difference gnawed at him.
This wasn't the Vaani of the last two days, the Vaani who spoke in clipped sentences and wore worry like a veil.
This was the Vaani he remembered—the one who smiled without hesitation.
His hands tightened imperceptibly on the steering wheel. So it's not that she's unhappy. She's just different... with me. But why? What happened?
He let the thought linger as the minutes passed, their voices filling every pocket of silence.
By the time they reached the airport, the sun was still nowhere near rising. The terminal buzzed faintly, a mix of early travelers and weary night staff. Dhruv pulled into the drop-off zone and killed the engine.
"Okay, here we are," he said.
The girls tumbled out quickly, stretching and dragging their bags from the boot. Dhruv helped again, placing each suitcase upright.
"Chalo, let's go," Ria said, tugging her bag. She waved quickly at him. "Thanks, Dhruv!"
"Yeah, thanks!" Naina echoed, already walking toward the sliding doors.
Simran paused briefly. "Vaani, you say your byes. We'll meet you by check-in. There's a huge line already."
"Okay," Vaani nodded.
The three of them hurried inside, leaving Vaani standing just a step away from Dhruv. She turned to him with a small smile. "Okayyy... so I'll go now."
Dhruv studied her face for a beat, then said softly, "Vaani."
She looked up at him, questioning.
He stepped a little closer. His voice dropped, steady but warm. "Take care. Have fun."
Her smile widened. "I will. And you take care too."
"I will." He paused, his gaze steady on hers.
She laughed lightly then, almost to cover something. "You'll enjoy the silence, Dhruv."
He frowned slightly. There was something in her tone—it didn't feel like a joke. "What?"
"Kaai nahi," she said quickly, shaking her head.
"Vaani. Bol." His voice was firmer now, not unkind, but probing.
She hesitated, her eyes darting for a second before she said, "No... nothing."
Dhruv studied her, suspicion stirring in his chest. She was lying. He could see it in the way her smile didn't reach her eyes. But he sighed inwardly. The last thing he wanted was to send her off in tears.
So instead, he let it go. "Okay... anyway..."
And then he did something that surprised even her—he reached for her hand.
Her breath caught as his fingers curled around hers. Her eyes widened, startled by the gesture.
"I don't know what's bothering you, Vaani," he said quietly. "And I don't know why you have this habit of not telling me. But whatever it is... don't let it disturb your trip. Just enjoy your trip."
Her lips parted slightly, the weight in her chest loosening for a second. She nodded, managing a soft, "Yeah."
Her phone buzzed with a message. Simran: Come on babe, it's almost our turn.
"I need to go," she said, lifting her phone. She smiled faintly.
"Yeah," Dhruv nodded.
She stepped back, ready to turn away—but then, almost impulsively, she came back. Before he could react, she wrapped her arms tightly around him.
Dhruv froze for a split second, then chuckled under his breath, amused. He hugged her back, strong and sure. "Have a safe flight."
She pulled back, looking at his face one last time. The faintest sadness flickered across her eyes. He's smiling. Peaceful. And I ruin this peace with my noise and talking.
She smiled faintly, her throat tight. "Enjoy your peace, Dhruv. You deserve it."
Before he could reply, she turned and hurried inside, her bag rolling behind her.
Dhruv stood still, her words echoing in his head. Enjoy your peace, Dhruv. You deserve it.
Peace? He wasn't sure if that's what he felt. As the doors closed behind her, he realized something unexpected: the silence she spoke of didn't feel like relief. It felt like absence. And already, he wasn't sure if he liked it.
??