72
The afternoon sun filtered lazily through the sheer curtains, throwing faint golden patterns across the living room floor.
The air was hushed except for the faint scratch of pencil on paper.
Vaani was cross-legged on the rug, surrounded by a battlefield of papers—half-finished sketches, color swatches, and reference notes scattered in a chaotic circle around her.
She had her hair thrown up in a messy bun, a pencil tucked behind her ear, her brows furrowed in focus as she bent over another sheet.
Dhruv stepped out of his study, phone in one hand, absently scrolling through some mails as he walked toward the kitchen. His eyes landed on the scene in front of him and he stopped in his tracks.
Vaani, completely oblivious, was hunched over her sketchbook, tapping the edge of her pencil against the paper as she muttered to herself, "No, no, this proportion is off...maybe if I..."
Her concentration was so fierce she hadn't even noticed that the entire coffee table, half the couch, and a good portion of the rug were claimed by her notes.
Dhruv sighed. Not in irritation—he was used to her creative explosions by now—but in that way he did when he was torn between amusement and a desire for order. He glanced at the clock. Past three. She hadn't even had lunch properly, had she?
For a moment, he considered telling her to take a break. But then, shaking his head slightly, he put his phone aside, crouched down, and began stacking the loose sheets that were threatening to slide under the sofa.
The rustling pulled her from her thoughts. She looked up, startled. "Oh! Dhruv—wait, I'll clean it, don't—" She scrambled to reach for the scattered sheets nearest to him.
He looked at her, deadpan. "And ruin your train of thought?" He gathered another stack neatly, aligning the edges with practiced precision. "No need. I'll do it."
She froze mid-reach, blinking at him. "Did you just—did you just say that?"
"What?"
"That you don't want to ruin my train of thought." A slow grin spread across her face, her pencil dropping from her fingers. "Oh my God, you actually care about my professional work."
He gave her a flat look, though the corner of his mouth twitched. "Yeah. So?"
"So?" She leaned back on her palms dramatically, her eyes wide. "So that's the cutest thing I've ever heard! You care about my designs, my deadlines, my artistic process. That's so sweet, Dhruvi."
He stilled, sheet in hand. "Dhruvi?"
Her grin widened. "Yes. Dhruvi. It's cute. It suits you."
His eyes narrowed. "No. Absolutely not."
"Yes," she insisted, sliding closer on the rug, mischief dancing in her eyes. "It's decided. Now toh I'm going to call you that only. Do whatever you want."
He sighed, stacking another set of papers with more force than necessary. "Vaani." His voice carried that warning tone, low and serious, but she only giggled.
"Yes, Dhruvi?"
He shot her a sharp look. She beamed back, completely unfazed.
He exhaled through his nose, almost like a growl, then muttered, "Fine."
Her eyes sparkled with victory. "Fine? That's it? No long lecture, no sarcastic comeback? Just fine?"
"I don't fight losing battles."
She laughed, scooting closer until she was kneeling right in front of him. "Aww, Dhruvi, you're adorable when you sulk."
"I'm not sulking."
"You so are."
Before he could respond, she reached forward and pinched his cheek.
Dhruv froze. His brows furrowed, his lips parting as if he couldn't believe she'd actually done that. "Oh God."
Her laughter rang out, bright and unrestrained. She mimicked his exact tone, deepening her voice. "Oh God." Then pinched his other cheek for good measure. "All this tight jawline business — you don't have squishy cheeks only now!"
He just stared at her, initially unamused, his jaw tightening as though he was about to reprimand her. But then, slowly, his expression cracked. The faintest hint of a smirk tugged at his lips, his eyes softening as if despite himself, he found her antics...amusing.
"Happy?" he asked finally, voice laced with dry resignation.
"Very." She dropped her hands, beaming. "This is so much fun, I should do it more often."
"You won't," he said flatly.
"I will," she sang.
"You won't," he repeated, gathering the last of the papers into a neat pile and setting them on the coffee table.
She crossed her arms, tilting her head. "We'll see, Dhruvi."
He shook his head, standing and brushing his hands off. But even as he walked toward the kitchen, he couldn't hide the small, reluctant curve of his mouth.
Vaani, still on the rug, watched him go, her grin stretching wider. She loved getting reactions out of him—especially when he tried so hard to pretend he didn't care, only to give himself away in those fleeting moments.
And just like that, the apartment filled again with the scratch of her sketches, his quiet presence, and a rhythm that had started to feel like something steady, something theirs.
~·~
The clock ticked softly in the background, the faint hum of the city filtering in through the balcony doors.
Vaani was once again lost in her little world of papers.
She was hunched over the coffee table, laptop open, scattered sketches and notes spread around her like petals from an overzealous flower.
Her work glasses had slid a little down her nose, and every so often, she pushed them back up with the tip of her pencil without even realizing it.
Dhruv watched from the kitchen counter, leaning casually against it as the kettle whistled.
He'd already made two cups of chai, steam curling up from the mugs in comforting little swirls.
One was his, waiting on the counter. The other, with a floral-printed handle she had bought from a flea market, was set aside for her.
Carrying both cups, he walked to where she sat, carefully maneuvering so he didn't step on her minefield of pages. He placed the mug near her elbow.
Without even looking up, she murmured, "Thanks," and took an absentminded sip.
He arched a brow. "No acknowledgment? Not even a glance?"
She blinked up at him belatedly, as though surfacing from underwater. Her eyes widened slightly, realizing she hadn't noticed him bring it over. "Oh—sorry. Thank you, Mister Thoughtful." She smiled sheepishly, then tucked her hair behind her ear before returning to her notes.
He smirked, shaking his head. Settling into the couch with his own mug, he flipped channels aimlessly, half-listening to her muttering. But after a while, the television felt dull, and her intense concentration just made the room feel heavier.
"Vaani," he said finally, drawing her attention.
"Yeah?" she mumbled, still scribbling something.
"Are you done?"
She paused, pencil mid-air. Her eyes lifted slowly toward him. "Done with what?"
He gave her a look. "With work. What else?"
She glanced at the mess in front of her. Technically, she could go on for hours. But she exhaled, leaned back, and rubbed her temples. "Hmm. I guess...I can take a break now."
His lips curved slightly. "Good."
Her brows knit. "Good? Why do you sound like you were waiting for this?"
"Because," he said casually, setting his cup down on the table, "I want to eat out today. And you're coming with me."
Her face lit up instantly, a spark of excitement breaking through her work-induced fog. "Really?"
He gave her a small nod.
She tilted her head, teasing, "And if I had said I wasn't done with work?"
"Then I'd have shut your laptop and dragged you anyway." His tone was matter-of-fact, but the glint in his eyes betrayed amusement.
She laughed, rolling her eyes. "Okay, sir. Point noted."
He stood, stretching slightly as he carried his mug back to the kitchen. "Go change."
"Yes, boss," she saluted dramatically, gathering her papers into one rough pile before disappearing into the bedroom.
Dhruv, meanwhile, rinsed the mugs and wiped down the counter with his usual efficiency. By the time she reemerged, he was leaning against the wall near the door, scrolling through his phone.
She had swapped her home clothes for a simple pair of light blue jeans and a fitted white T-shirt. Nothing extravagant, but it suited her—effortlessly casual, youthful. She slipped on sneakers, tying her hair into a loose ponytail.
"Ready?" she asked, grabbing her sling bag.
He gave her a once-over, not too obvious but enough to make her bite back a smile. Then he shrugged lightly, pocketing his phone. "Yeah. Let's go."
The evening air outside was balmy, carrying with it the faint scent of roadside food stalls and the distant honking of traffic. As they walked toward the car, she nudged him playfully.
"You know," she said, "you could've just said you were bored and wanted to step out. No need to make it sound like a command."
He unlocked the car and shot her a sidelong glance. "Would you have listened if I'd just said I was bored?"
"Maybe," she said with a smirk as she slid into the passenger seat.
"Exactly." He closed her door with a soft thud before circling to his side.
Once they were on the road, she leaned back, stretching her arms above her head. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
She groaned. "Mysterious answers. Typical Dhruv."
His lips twitched as he drove, eyes on the road. "You complain too much."
"And you talk too little," she shot back, grinning. "Balance, see? That's why we work."
He gave her a side glance, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. "If you say so."
She clasped her hands together dramatically. "Yes, I decree it. The universe clearly planned it this way."
"Or maybe," he muttered dryly, "the universe just wanted me to suffer through endless chatter."
She gasped, placing a hand on her chest. "Excuse me? Endless chatter? This—" she gestured to herself, "—is quality conversation, Mister. Keeps your brain young."
He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head, though he didn't argue further.
Her eyes softened at the sound. She loved it when she managed to pull a laugh out of him, even if it was short. He wasn't a man of loud expressions, but those subtle reactions meant more than entire paragraphs.
Settling back in her seat, she watched the city lights flicker outside the window. Her heart felt oddly light. Work deadlines could wait. Tonight was about chai, simple jeans, and him deciding—without really asking—that they were going out.
She liked that. The quiet certainty of it.
By the time they reached the small restaurant he had in mind—nothing too fancy, just a cozy little place with warm lighting and outdoor seating—Vaani was already smiling. She didn't even care what was on the menu. The evening itself felt like the treat.
As they stepped inside, she leaned closer and whispered, "So this was your plan, huh?"
He gave her a calm nod. "Yes."
She rolled her eyes but slipped into her seat across from him, her grin refusing to fade.
The restaurant was buzzing softly with the gentle hum of conversations, clinking cutlery, and the faint scent of soy sauce and garlic lingering in the air. Fairy lights draped across the outdoor patio cast a golden glow over the tables, giving everything a cozy warmth.
Vaani sat across from Dhruv, the laminated menu wide open in her hands, her eyes darting over the dishes like a child choosing a toy in a shop.
"There's so much here, yaar," she muttered, tapping her fingers on the table.
"How am I supposed to pick? Noodles, rice, dumplings, soups—arre, sab achha lag raha hai. "
Dhruv leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, looking far less conflicted. "The egg fried rice is really good here," he said in his usual calm, matter-of-fact way.
She looked up at him, blinking. "Really?"
He gave a short nod. "Yes."
Her shoulders relaxed instantly. "Okay, then I'll have that." She shut the menu as though the matter was settled forever.
Dhruv raised a hand and gave the waiter their order, his tone steady, polite but clipped. Once the man left, Vaani folded her arms on the table and tilted her head at him, studying him with that mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Dhruv."
He sipped his water, then hummed. "Hmm?"
"You're so sweet."
He raised a brow, clearly caught off guard, but only shrugged. "Thanks."
She gasped, throwing her hands up. "Arre deva, what a saddu I've married. I just called you sweet and that's all? Thanks?"
His lips curved into the faintest smirk. "I can say the same thing."
Her jaw dropped. "No, you can't."
"Oh?" he said, leaning forward a little. "Why not?"
"Because I'm adorable, funny, charming—all things nice. Not saddu," she declared, pointing at herself proudly.
Dhruv smirked again, voice deliberately even as he mimicked her tone. "Arre deva, what a talking machine I've married."
Her eyes widened in mock betrayal. "Dhruv!" She pointed her fork at him like a weapon. "You do not want to mess with me."
He leaned back casually, completely unfazed. "Oh, I'm terrified," he said in a dry, teasing drawl.
"As you should be," she shot back, lifting her chin. "I'm the eldest daughter, you know. My whole family is scared of me."
That broke through his deadpan fa?ade. He chuckled, low and genuine, shaking his head. "This isn't a flex, Vaani."
"It is," she insisted, narrowing her eyes at him. "Chup kara, it is."
His lips twitched, and he gave a small, indulgent nod. "As you say."
Before she could retort, the waiter returned with steaming plates of food. The fragrance of garlic, sesame oil, and fried rice filled the air as the plate was set before her. Dhruv's order followed shortly after.
Vaani wasted no time. She scooped up a bite, blew on it, and popped it into her mouth. Her eyes widened dramatically, and she slapped the table. "Wow. It's amazing, yaar!"
Dhruv smirked, already mid-bite of his own food. "Yep, it is."
She wagged her fork at him, still chewing. "You didn't tell me it was this good. You undersold it!"
He shrugged. "Better for you to discover it yourself."
She made a face. "You and your mysterious ways."
They dug in, the quiet clinking of their forks mingling with their laughter and soft chatter. Between bites, she kept up a steady stream of commentary, occasionally breaking to fan her mouth when the food was too hot.
"Dhruv, taste this bite," she suddenly said, pushing her plate toward him. "Come on, it's so good."
He raised a brow. "I've had it before."
"But this is different. This is from my plate. That makes it better," she argued, eyes gleaming with mischief.
He gave her a look that clearly said you're ridiculous, but leaned forward anyway and took the offered bite from her spoon. He chewed slowly, letting her wait.
"Well?" she prompted eagerly.
"Still good," he said calmly, sipping his water.
She groaned. "Bas, that's it? No 'wow, you were right, Vaani'? No 'this is life-changing'? Nothing?"
"Don't push your luck," he deadpanned, but his eyes softened with amusement.
She huffed, shoving another bite into her mouth. "You're impossible."
"And yet," he said smoothly, "you married me."
Her fork froze mid-air. She blinked, then narrowed her eyes. "And yet, I married you," she repeated slowly. "Clearly, I have questionable judgment."
He smirked, unbothered. "Agreed."
She gasped again, dramatically this time, clutching her chest. "How dare you agree! You're supposed to say 'no, Vaani, you made the best decision of your life!'"
Dhruv tilted his head. "Are you sure you didn't marry me just so you could rehearse your drama skills daily?"
She bit back a grin, pretending to pout. "You're so mean."
He smirked. "Efficient, remember?"
"Efficient, my foot," she muttered, stuffing her mouth with rice again.
They continued like this, their banter flowing as effortlessly as the tea they'd had earlier at home.
Between jokes and teases, there were smaller, quieter moments too—her brushing rice off the edge of her plate absentmindedly, him sliding the water jug closer to her side without comment, the two of them just eating in companionable silence for stretches of time.
Eventually, she leaned back in her chair, patting her stomach. "I'm so full. Dhruv, I think I might roll out of here instead of walking."
He raised an eyebrow. "That's your plan?"
"Yes," she said with a grin. "Less effort."
He shook his head, smirking. "Hopeless."
"Hopeless but cute," she corrected, wagging her finger at him.
He chuckled softly, the sound making her heart flip in a way she'd never admit out loud.
The waiter cleared their plates, leaving them with just two glasses of water and the quiet hum of the evening around them. Vaani rested her chin on her palm, gazing at Dhruv with a smile she didn't even realize she wore.
He caught her staring and raised a brow. "What?"
"Nothing," she said quickly, though the corners of her mouth gave her away. "Just thinking."
"Dangerous," he murmured, though his lips curved ever so slightly.
She kicked him lightly under the table, and he didn't even flinch—just smirked again, his eyes lingering on her a second longer than usual before returning to his glass of water.
The moment stretched between them, warm and easy, like the glow of the fairy lights above.
~·~
The city lights stretched out across the windshield as Dhruv's car hummed steadily along the smooth road. The post-dinner quiet filled the cabin, broken only by the faint buzz of the air conditioner and the rhythm of the tires on the asphalt.
Vaani sat cross-legged in her seat, chin resting in her palm as she scrolled aimlessly on her phone. Then, suddenly, she broke the silence.
"Dhruv."
He glanced at her for a second before focusing back on the road. "Hmm?"
"Do you drink?"
He raised a brow. "That's random."
"Answer na."
He shrugged. "Only a few times."
Her face lit up. "Same! College friends made me, but bas... once in a while."
He smirked slightly. "Forced, huh?"
"Arre haan, peer pressure," she said dramatically, throwing her hand up. "But I was strong. I didn't let it become a habit."
Dhruv shook his head, amused at her exaggerated tone.
After a moment, she asked, "Did you drink in Columbia?"
His fingers tapped the steering wheel as he replied dryly, "Alcohol tastes the same everywhere, Vaani."
She groaned. "No yaar, not the taste—the vibe. The vibe's different, right? Like rooftop parties, bars, that kinda thing."
He considered for a second, then gave a short nod. "Yeah, I guess."
She leaned back, staring at him from the corner of her eye. A beat of silence passed before she blurted, "So... did you have a girlfriend ever?"
He turned his head sharply toward her, caught off guard. "What?"
"A girlfriend," she repeated, grinning. "Did you ever have one?"
"No," he said simply, eyes back on the road.
Her jaw dropped. "No way! A guy like you, good looking and all, and no girlfriend?"
That finally made his lips twitch. He smirked and glanced at her. "Good looking, huh?"
Color rushed to her cheeks, but she quickly looked away, pretending to be nonchalant. "Haan toh. It's normal. I just said it. Toh kya?"
He chuckled softly. "It's fine, Vaani. I don't mind you finding your husband good looking."
Her blush deepened, and she rolled her eyes to cover it. "Arrogant much?"
He didn't answer, just smirked again, his silence more powerful than any comeback.
She folded her arms and leaned toward him. "Answer my question properly. Why didn't you have a girlfriend?"
"Because I wasn't interested," he replied simply.
She gasped. "Acha! But... did you have anyone into you?"
He kept his eyes on the road. "Yep."
"And?!" she pressed. "What happened? Why didn't you do anything?"
"Like I said," he replied evenly, "I didn't want to."
She shook her head, staring at him with mock awe. "Wow. Rare breed."
He side-eyed her. "And you? Did you have someone before?"
Her lips pressed together for a second. "Nope."
He nodded. "Oh, right. I forgot—you're the type to fall on your face when you see your crush."
Her jaw dropped. "HAWWW! Excuse me, I never did."
"Sure," he said, voice flat but eyes amused.
"Shut up," she muttered, glaring at him.
He smirked. "So no boyfriend?"
"Nope."
"You went to UCL and Oxford and still didn't find anyone?"
She narrowed her eyes. "You went to Columbia and Berkeley and still didn't find anyone."
That finally made him chuckle, a warm, low sound that filled the car. "Good answer."
"I know," she said proudly, flipping her hair. But then her voice softened after a beat. "Though... I guess I..."
Dhruv immediately noticed the change. He flicked a glance at her. "What?"
She fidgeted with her top, eyes on her lap. "I did like someone once. The same guy who I fell on my face for. Turns out he told his friend that I talk too much and it annoys him."
Her voice was light, almost casual, but Dhruv's jaw clenched. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, the leather creaking faintly under the pressure.
She sighed, then smiled weakly. "But chodo, it's okay. It was years ago."
"It's not okay," he muttered, eyes dark on the road.
She turned to look at him, surprised at the intensity in his tone. "Dhruv... it's in the past. I don't even care anymore."
He didn't answer, his silence louder than words. His knuckles whitened on the wheel.
She studied him for a moment, then suddenly said, "Stop the car."
He frowned. "Why?"
"Just do it."
He hesitated but pulled over to the side of the road. Before he could ask again, Vaani unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned across to hug him tightly.
His body stiffened in surprise, then relaxed slowly as he chuckled lightly. "What's this for?"
"Do I need a reason now?" she murmured against his shoulder.
He shook his head, voice softer. "No."
"Good," she said firmly. Then she added, "But if you really want a reason—it's because I don't want you to be upset over something that happened five years ago."
He sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing. "Okay. Fine."
She smiled, pulling back, her eyes twinkling. "See? Simple."
He smirked faintly. Then he nodded toward the glowing sign outside. "Now what? We've stopped. Ice cream?"
Her eyes lit up instantly. "Yes, yes, done!"
Within minutes, they were standing outside an ice cream shop, cones in hand. She had gone with pistachio, while he had taken plain vanilla.
Leaning against the car, Vaani licked her cone happily. "College me bhi, after late-night assignments, we'd always get ice cream. It was like our ritual."
Dhruv took a slow bite of his vanilla, then surprised her by speaking up more than usual. "We used to do midnight coffee runs. The café near campus stayed open 24/7. Best coffee I've ever had."
Her eyes widened, delighted. "Ohhh, tell me more!"
And for the next half an hour, they stood there under the streetlamp, ice creams melting faster than they could eat, sharing little stories.
For once, Dhruv spoke almost as much as she did—about professors who gave insane assignments, a friend who once mistook the dean's car for an Uber, and the way winters in New York could freeze you to the bone.
Vaani listened with sparkling eyes, occasionally jumping in with her own Oxford and UCL tales, laughing and teasing, but also watching him with quiet joy. Because tonight, he wasn't just listening. He was opening up.
And for her, that was sweeter than any ice cream.
Vaani licked her pistachio cone happily. "You know, Dhruv... I don't think I could've survived Columbia."
He glanced at her, amused. "Why?"
"Because it sounds so... serious. Like the air itself must have had deadlines floating in it."
He chuckled softly. "It wasn't that bad."
"Oh come on," she said, eyes twinkling. "Be honest. What did you even do for fun there?"
He took a bite of his vanilla and thought. "Midnight basketball sometimes. Coffee runs with friends. And—" he smirked a little "—I may have gotten dragged into karaoke once."
Her eyes widened. "YOU? Karaoke?"
He shrugged, trying to play it down. "It was for a friend's birthday. Everyone had to sing."
She was practically bouncing. "What did you sing? Tell me. No, wait—please tell me there's a video somewhere!"
"Not a chance." His lips curved into that rare smirk of his.
Vaani groaned dramatically. "Ugh, life is so unfair. I want to see Dhruv Deshmukh, Mr. Saddu Serious, singing off-key."
"I wasn't off-key," he said dryly.
"Wow," she teased, "so not only did you sing, you're confident about it too. This keeps getting better."
He shook his head, but there was a softness in his smile. "What about Oxford? What did you do for fun?"
"Ohhh," she said, eyes lighting up. "Where do I even start? Pub quizzes, open mic nights, endless late-night chai parties in the dorms..."
"Chai parties?" he repeated, amused.
"Yes!" she defended. "We'd smuggle in samosas, pakoras, whatever we could get our hands on, and talk until three in the morning. Sometimes we had Bollywood karaoke too."
"Of course you did," he said, chuckling.
"And don't mock," she wagged her cone at him. "It was FUN. You would've been too stiff for it though."
He smirked. "Maybe."
"No maybe. Definitely. You would've sat in the corner with your laptop."
"Someone had to graduate," he teased back.
She gasped. "Rude! I graduated too, okay? With flying colors, thank you very much. And I had fun."
He gave her a sideways look. "You probably talked your professors into giving you extra credit."
She pointed her finger at him dramatically. "First of all, I did not. Second of all, even if I had, it would've been my charm, not talking."
His lips quirked. "Charm?"
"Yes," she said confidently, popping the last bit of cone into her mouth. "Vaani Joshi charm. World famous."
He shook his head, clearly amused.
She leaned against the car more comfortably, looking at him curiously. "Tell me about your professors. Were they scary?"
He thought. "Some. One of them—Professor Keller—was legendary. He'd walk into class and ask questions no one could answer. I swear, half the time he just wanted to intimidate us."
Her jaw dropped. "So like... actual movie professor vibes?"
He nodded, smirking. "Pretty much."
She giggled. "Meanwhile, my professor in Oxford once brought his dog to class because 'the dog was lonely.' Half the lecture, people were passing the dog around instead of taking notes."
Dhruv laughed quietly. "That sounds more like your kind of place."
"Exactly," she said proudly. "See, Oxford was fun."
"Sounds chaotic."
"And Columbia sounds boring."
"Productive," he corrected.
"Boring," she shot back, eyes twinkling.
He chuckled again, shaking his head, and for a moment the air felt lighter.
Then she tilted her head at him. "Did you live in dorms or only that apartment?"
"First year, it was the dorm till Dad secured the apartment. Then I moved into the apartment with a couple of friends living nearby.
"Were they fun?" she asked eagerly.
"One was," he admitted. "The other... let's just say, he wasn't a morning person."
Vaani's eyes widened. "What happened?"
"He once threw a shoe at me because I woke him up at 7 a.m."
She burst into laughter so hard she almost dropped her napkin. "No way. A SHOE? That's iconic."
"Not for me," Dhruv muttered, but there was a glint of humor in his eyes.
"See, this is what I love," she said, grinning. "Hearing these random Dhruv Deshmukh stories. You should talk more."
"I do talk," he said, sipping his ice cream slowly.
"Bare minimum," she teased. "But it's okay. I'll drag them out of you."
He raised a brow. "Drag?"
"Yes. With force if necessary," she said dramatically. "One embarrassing college story every week. That's the new rule."
He shook his head, lips twitching. "You really make rules for everything, don't you?"
"Of course. Someone has to bring structure to our marriage," she said proudly.
"Pretty sure that's supposed to be my job."
"Too late," she grinned. "I claimed it."
He sighed, but his smile gave him away.
For a while, they stood in comfortable silence, finishing their cones. Then Vaani said softly, "You know... I kinda wish we'd met back then. In college."
He glanced at her, surprised by her sudden sincerity.
"I mean, imagine it," she continued, eyes dreamy. "Oxford girl meets Columbia boy. Long-distance chai-and-coffee love story. Or maybe we'd have just been friends. But either way... it would've been fun."
He studied her for a beat, then said quietly, "So filmy.... Maybe it's better this way. We met when we were supposed to."
Her chest tightened at the simple weight in his words. She smiled, a little shy this time. "Yeah. You're probably right."
And with that, they both pushed off the car, tossing their napkins in the bin. The night air was cool, the street buzzing faintly in the distance.
Vaani linked her hands behind her back, grinning. "Okay, husband, drive me home. But on the way, you owe me at least one more embarrassing Columbia story."
He shook his head, opening the car door. "You're relentless."
"And proud of it," she chirped, sliding into her seat.
~·~
The road stretched out ahead in neat ribbons of light and shadow, the streetlamps glowing gold against the quiet hum of the car.
Dhruv kept one hand steady on the wheel, his other resting loosely against the gear, while Vaani sat curled comfortably in the passenger seat, one leg tucked beneath her.
She had already demolished her ice cream, but her energy hadn't dipped in the slightest.
"So," she said, turning towards him, chin propped on her palm, "you owe me a story."
His jaw flexed, and his eyes stayed on the road. "I already told you one. Karaoke. That should last you a week."
She gasped. "No! That was barely an appetizer. I want the full three-course embarrassing Dhruv Deshmukh meal."
"I don't have embarrassing stories."
She snorted so loud it startled him. "Please. Everyone does. Even you. Especially you. C'mon, Dhruvi, give me one."
His lips twitched at the nickname, though he pretended otherwise. "Not happening."
She leaned closer, her voice dropping into mock menace. "I will not stop until you tell me."
"Vaani—"
"Dhruvi—" she mimicked his dry tone perfectly, grinning.
He sighed, long-suffering, but she saw the way his fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel, like he was fighting a smile. Finally, he said, "Fine. One story. Don't say I didn't warn you."
Her eyes sparkled. "Deal."
He took a moment, as though choosing carefully, and then began.
"Second semester at Columbia. I was in a seminar class—small group, very discussion heavy.
There was this one session where we had to present on case studies.
I'd stayed up all night working on mine, completely prepared.
When my turn came, I stood up confidently, walked to the front.
.. and realized I'd brought the wrong set of notes. "
Vaani clapped a hand over her mouth in glee. "No!"
"Yes," he said dryly. "I'd picked up the paper for an old economics assignment instead of my presentation notes. I didn't even realize until I unfolded it in front of the entire class."
Her laugh filled the car, bright and unrestrained. "Oh my God! What did you do?"
He smirked faintly, eyes still fixed on the road. "Improvised. I spoke for ten minutes straight, without slides, without notes. Just... kept going."
Her jaw dropped. "And? Did you pull it off?"
He glanced at her briefly, smirk deepening. "Got an A."
Vaani blinked, then burst into applause, the sound exaggerated in the small space. "Wowww. Dhruvi, I didn't even think that's like you. Improvising, winging it. Wow."
He chuckled under his breath, clearly enjoying her reaction.
"That must have been so much fun," she said, still grinning. "I'm so happy for Vihaan. He's going to get to experience all of this—the late nights, the panic, the random stories. It's the best."
"Yep," Dhruv said, his voice softer now, "he'll enjoy it."
Vaani tilted her head, watching him as the glow from passing streetlights flickered across his face. "You know, I've never been to the US."
He blinked, glancing at her quickly before focusing on the road again. "Really?"
"Yep," she said simply, popping the 'p.'
"Why?"
Her smile faltered for the first time that night. She fiddled with the edge of her dupatta, tracing invisible patterns. For a second, she didn't reply, and Dhruv's brows knit.
"Vaani," he said quietly, "tell me."
She sighed, almost sheepishly. "Well... I was in the US since I was eighteen, remember?
First UCL, then Oxford—expensive places.
Then Vihaan started uni, and now Vedant too.
.. so all our family savings went into tuition, living costs, everything.
In all this, planning a trip to the US just..
. it was too expensive. Never a priority. "
He didn't answer right away. His knuckles tightened slightly around the wheel, his jaw clenched just enough for her to notice.
Finally, he said, low and thoughtful, "Hmm. I understand."
"Yeah," she said softly, then gave herself a little shake, putting the brightness back in her tone. "Anyway, God's will. It's fine. I'll see it someday."
And just like that, she was smiling again, as though the heaviness hadn't even touched her.
"But you know what?" she chirped. "London was more than enough adventure.
I have way too many funny stories. Like that time I got locked inside the library because I fell asleep between the stacks.
Oh, and the time we tried to cook biryani in the dorm kitchen and set off the fire alarm. "
Her words tumbled out like a stream, filling the car with warmth. Dhruv didn't interrupt, didn't tease. He just listened, the corners of his lips tugging upward as her voice filled the space where silence might have been.
She talked about her professors, about her friends, about how she once wore mismatched shoes to class and didn't notice until lunch. She even imitated her roommate's dramatic Oxford accent, and Dhruv found himself chuckling quietly, shaking his head at her antics.
At some point, without realizing, he reached out and turned down the radio completely. The car was now only her voice, bright and animated, carrying them home.
Vaani finally noticed his quiet smirk. "Why are you looking like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like... that." She squinted at him playfully. "Are you making fun of me in your head?"
He shook his head. "Just listening."
She rolled her eyes, though her cheeks flushed faintly. "Arre deva, Dhruv, sometimes you're too much."
And he just let out a low chuckle, eyes still on the road, while she yapped on happily—her voice weaving into the hum of the tires against the asphalt, her energy filling every quiet corner of his otherwise disciplined, orderly world.
??