78
Dhruv sat in the cab, palms pressed flat against his thighs, the hum of the engine barely registering in his ears.
His mind was a carousel of thoughts—Vaani's words, the look in her eyes when she had stormed out, the sound of the car door slamming.
He replayed every moment with a helpless ache in his chest. She's angry, she's hurt.
.. and maybe she's right. But I can't let her stay away.
When the cab finally pulled up outside her parents' house, he paid the driver quickly, stepped out, and exhaled a long, steadying breath.
Adjusting his plain navy T-shirt and running his hand over the creases of his trousers, he tried to at least look put-together.
It felt ridiculous—he was coming to his wife, not a boardroom—but somehow, it mattered.
He walked up to the front door, heart hammering against his ribs. He lifted his hand and knocked once. No response. His pulse jumped. He pressed the doorbell.
Moments later, the door opened with a creak, and there stood Sunita, her face breaking into a wide, warm smile.
"Arre, Dhruv! Welcome, beta!" she exclaimed, stepping aside to let him in. "We were just asking Vaani why you didn't come with her."
A genuine, if tired, smile tugged at his lips. "Hi, Aai," he greeted softly, stepping inside. Her warmth washed over him, a familiar comfort that only deepened the ache of why he was here.
Inside, the hall was alive with homely warmth—the faint smell of dinner still lingering, a cricket match playing softly on the TV. Ramesh was sitting comfortably on the sofa, glasses perched on his nose as he scrolled through something on his phone.
"Dhruv, beta!" Ramesh looked up with a smile, removing his glasses. "How are you? Come, sit, sit."
"Hello, Baba," Dhruv said respectfully, walking over and bowing his head slightly before taking a seat.
"Jiju!" Vedant and Vihaan walked into the hall, their smiling widening as they engulfed Dhruv into a hug.
Dhruv chuckled as he reciprocated lightly. "Hi boys." He then paused as he looked at Vihaan, "Happy belated birthday, Vihaan. This is for you." He pulled out a small box in a bag and gave it to Vihaan.
Vihaan opened it, "Oh my God! Jiju! You didn't need to. This.... A Rolex! Jiju you really didn't need to."
Dhruv shrugged lightly, "Its your birthday. Of course I needed to. Besides, we Columbians like to wear the best," Dhruv finished, earning a chuckle from everyone.
"Come come, sit!" Ramesh said, as he guided Dhruv into the hall.
He was answering Ramesh's questions—about work, about his parents—when it happened.
She walked in.
Vaani entered the hall, completely unaware that he was sitting there. Her hair was tied up in a loose bun, her casual kurta fitting her perfectly, her movements unguarded until her eyes fell on him.
Dhruv felt his entire body relax in a way it hadn't for days. Just seeing her—seeing her safe, there, in front of him—loosened something that had been wound tight in his chest.
But the relief in his eyes didn't mirror hers. She froze, blinking, and then immediately looked away. Her jaw tightened.
Sunita noticed none of the tension, her voice cheerful as she said, "Arre, Vaani, look! Dhruv came!"
Vaani forced a polite smile, but her eyes never softened.
"Yes, beta," Ramesh added, chuckling. "She told us you were too tired to come, but now here you are."
Dhruv's lips quirked as he leaned back slightly. "I'm rested up now," he replied simply, though his eyes flicked toward Vaani as if daring her to meet them.
She didn't.
Sunita, ever the hostess, clapped her hands lightly. "Vaani, beta, go make him chai. He must be tired."
Vaani's sigh was quiet but not lost on Dhruv. She turned on her heel, heading into the kitchen.
A few minutes later, she returned with a steaming cup.
She bent slightly to place it on the table, and as Dhruv reached forward to take it, their fingers brushed.
Just for a second—warm skin against skin.
His lips twitched into a small, knowing smirk, while her eyes darted away, her grip tightening on the tray.
"Thank you," he said smoothly, his voice low enough that only she caught it.
Sunita leaned forward eagerly, her attention snapping back to Dhruv. "So, beta, how was your Delhi trip? Vaani said it was important."
Dhruv sipped the chai, letting the warmth slide down his throat before answering. "Very hectic, Aai. Early mornings, back-to-back meetings, barely any time to breathe. But... it went well."
"That's good, that's good," Ramesh nodded approvingly.
Vaani, meanwhile, sat silently on the other side of the room, her arms crossed, her face unreadable. But Dhruv felt the storm under her calm exterior—the way her eyes occasionally flicked to him, sharp and unsoftened, the way her fingers tapped against her arm. She was still angry. Still hurt.
And maybe she had every right to be.
After a while, Dhruv set his cup down, wiping his hand on his trousers. "I think..." he began, eyes flicking briefly to Vaani, "we'll head home now."
His tone was casual, but there was intent behind the words. He was asking her without asking.
Vaani's response was immediate, her voice sharp but controlled. "Aai, I told you already—I'm staying the night."
Dhruv's lips curved upward into a small, amused smirk. He didn't push, didn't argue. He just looked at her, the silent challenge hanging between them.
Sunita chuckled lightly, shaking her head. "Arre, Vaani, don't be so ziddi. Dhruv has come all this way, and—"
"It's okay, Aai," Dhruv interrupted smoothly, his gaze never leaving Vaani. "If she wants to stay here, that's alright."
The subtle way his voice softened, the way he let her win this small battle, only confused her further. For a moment, her shoulders relaxed, though her eyes still held suspicion.
Then he added casually, "Would it be alright if I stayed too?"
Vaani's head snapped toward him, eyes widening slightly.
Sunita, of course, was delighted. "Of course you can! Is that even a question? Come, come, beta. This is your home too."
Ramesh nodded in agreement. "Of course, son. Always."
Dhruv smiled politely, murmuring his thanks, but his eyes were on Vaani, watching every flicker of expression.
She looked at him, her lips pressing into a tight line before she looked away again, frustrated.
"Vaani, go set up the room for Dhruv," Ramesh said, adjusting his glasses again.
She sighed—loud enough for everyone to hear—but stood up nonetheless. Without a word, she turned and headed toward her old room.
Dhruv leaned back into the sofa, sipping the last of his chai, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the heaviness in his chest. She was angry, yes. She was hurt, yes. But she hadn't shut him out completely. And tonight, under the same roof, he'd find a way—some way—to bridge that silence.
~·~
The clinking of plates and soft hum of conversation filled the dining room.
Sunita had made a spread—dal, sabzi, chapatis hot off the tava, papad, and even Dhruv's favorite kheer.
The long dining table was filled—Ramesh at the head, Sunita beside him, Vihaan and Vedant already bickering over who got the last papad, and Dhruv sitting across from Vaani.
The atmosphere was lively, warm, the kind of familial chaos that could make anyone feel at home. Anyone... except Vaani, who sat in silence, quietly tearing her roti, her gaze fixed on her plate.
Vedant leaned back in his chair, already laughing at his own joke. "Tai, today when I went to pick up Vihaan from his friend's place, he made me wait outside the gate for fifteen minutes. Fifteen! Standing in the heat like some driver."
Vihaan snorted. "Oh please. It wasn't fifteen minutes. And besides, I told you to come half an hour later. You don't listen."
"Arre, you should've seen his face," Vedant chuckled, turning to Dhruv. "He was grinning like an idiot, probably saying bye to his friends for the hundredth time."
Dhruv allowed himself a small smile. "Sounds about right."
"See, even jiju agrees!" Vedant said, pointing triumphantly at him.
Sunita tsked. "Bas, you two. Always fighting. Let the boy enjoy his time with friends. He's going far away soon. You'll miss him then."
"Exactly, Aai," Vihaan said, grinning. "At least someone's on my side."
Ramesh cleared his throat between spoonfuls of dal. "And when you're in the US, who will you annoy then? Poor Vaani won't get a break even on calls."
At that, Dhruv's eyes flicked across the table to Vaani. She was quiet, too quiet, her face carefully neutral as she reached for the water jug.
Wanting to keep the conversation moving, Dhruv asked casually, "So, Vihaan—when are you off to the US?"
Vihaan straightened, excitement flashing in his eyes. "End of next month, jiju. Classes start mid-August, but I want to get there a little early—settle in, get used to everything, you know?"
Dhruv nodded approvingly. "Smart. Gives you time to adjust." He took another bite, then added, "Who's going to take you?"
For a moment, the table went quiet. Just a fraction too long. Vedant glanced at his mother, Ramesh cleared his throat, and Vaani's hand stilled halfway to her mouth.
It was Sunita who spoke up quickly, her tone light. "We're still deciding, beta. Some formalities are pending, so once those are clear, we'll plan. Don't worry about that."
Dhruv studied her face for a moment. The quickness of the answer, the way everyone avoided his eyes—it wasn't lost on him. But he didn't press. Not now. Instead, he gave a small nod. "Fair enough."
The moment passed, and Vedant jumped in again, as if desperate to fill the silence. "Anyway, jiju, you should see Vihaan's packing list. He has ten different shoes lined up. Ten! Who even needs ten pairs?"
"Fashion matters, bro," Vihaan defended immediately. "You wouldn't get it."
"I wouldn't get it?" Vedant scoffed. "You're acting like you're walking the New York ramp, not going to class."
Sunita shook her head, muttering affectionately. "Pagal bacche."
The table burst into chuckles. Everyone except Vaani.
Dhruv's gaze drifted to her again. She was eating mechanically, her lips pressed thin, eyes never lifting from her plate. Her silence was so loud to him, louder than Vedant and Vihaan's banter, louder than the clinking of dishes.
He wanted to say something. Anything. But not here, not with all eyes on them. So he sat back, listening to the family's chatter, nodding when addressed, and stealing glances at the woman who seemed to be building walls higher with every passing second.
Vihaan turned to Dhruv again, excitement bubbling. "Jiju, you'll visit me in the US, right? You and tai both?"
Before Dhruv could answer, Vedant piped up, "Don't bother inviting tai. She'll cry the whole time about missing Aai's food."
Vaani looked up sharply then, glaring at her younger brother. "Shut up, Vedant." Her tone was clipped, edged with irritation, but it was the first real spark she'd shown all dinner.
Vedant blinked, taken aback, then raised his hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine, no jokes today."
The tension lingered for a second before Sunita jumped in again, smiling at Dhruv. "And you, beta? How's work now? Still hectic?"
Dhruv exhaled softly. "Still busy. There's a lot going on, but we'll manage."
Ramesh nodded sagely. "That's life, son. Work never ends. But balance—that's what matters."
Dhruv's eyes flicked once more to Vaani at those words. She was chewing slowly, deliberately, refusing to look at him.
The rest of dinner passed in much the same way—Vihaan and Vedant's back-and-forth filling the air, Sunita fussing over everyone's plates, Ramesh giving occasional fatherly wisdom, and Dhruv responding when prompted.
But through it all, Vaani remained quiet. Not withdrawn enough to draw questions from her family, but silent enough that Dhruv noticed every second of it.
And every time his eyes lingered on her, she kept hers firmly down, as if the food in front of her was the most fascinating thing in the world.
By the time plates were cleared and Sunita ushered everyone toward tea and sweets, Dhruv leaned back in his chair, hiding his sigh. The family might not have noticed—but he did. He felt it. The wall between them had only grown taller tonight.
The house slowly wound down after dinner.
Sunita fussed around, making sure everyone had eaten enough, while Ramesh retreated to the living room with his newspaper.
Vihaan and Vedant were still talking in the hallway about some inside joke, their voices trailing off as they headed toward their room.
Sunita turned to Dhruv before she disappeared into her own. "Beta, if you need anything at night, don't hesitate to wake us, alright? You're family. Don't be shy."
Dhruv gave her a small smile and nodded. "Of course, Aai. Goodnight."
She patted his arm warmly before going. Soon after, Vihaan popped his head out. "Goodnight, jiju! Sleep well."
Vedant added with his usual cheekiness, "Yeah, don't let tai snore too loud."
"Vedant!" Vaani's sharp voice cut in, making him laugh as he ran off down the hall. "Goodnight!" he yelled over his shoulder.
"Idiots," Vaani muttered under her breath, but there was no heat in it. Still, she didn't look at Dhruv once.
Finally, the house was quiet. Too quiet.
Vaani slipped into the guest room that had been set for Dhruv. She walked past him without acknowledgment, heading straight for the small side table. She placed a bottle of water there with deliberate care, her movements neat, efficient, almost mechanical.
"Thanks," Dhruv said softly.
She didn't reply.
She just walked to her side of the bed, slipped under the blanket, and turned away from him, facing the wall. Her back was stiff, her silence louder than words.
Dhruv stood for a moment, looking at her. He had rehearsed a dozen things in his mind all through dinner—apologies, explanations, even just small words to bridge the growing gap—but now, faced with her cold shoulder, they all seemed stuck in his throat.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, loosening his watch, then quietly settled on his side. The dim bedside lamp cast soft shadows on the wall. He turned toward her, staring at her still figure, her hair spilling across the pillow.
"Vaani," he said gently. No response.
He waited, then tried again, a little firmer. "Vaani, can we talk?"
Her body didn't move. Her eyes stayed shut, though he could tell she wasn't asleep. Her breathing wasn't steady enough, wasn't slow enough for sleep. She was awake—just refusing him.
"Vaani, please," he said again, quieter this time, his voice carrying a hint of something raw, almost desperate.
But she gave him nothing. Not a word. Not a glance. Only the stillness of someone who had decided silence would speak louder than anything else.
For a long while, Dhruv stared at her back, fighting the frustration rising in him. He wanted to shake her, to make her look at him, to tell her he wasn't ignoring her on purpose, that he was drowning in work and hadn't known how to balance everything. But the words sat heavy on his tongue.
And she... she didn't want to hear them.
Finally, he let out a sigh. It echoed softly in the quiet room. "Fine."
He reached over, switched off the bedside lamp, and the room plunged into darkness.
For a while, he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint noises of the house settling. Beside him, he could feel her shift slightly, curling into herself. After some time, her breathing evened out, soft and steady.
She had fallen asleep.
He turned his head toward her in the darkness, his eyes adjusting just enough to make out her silhouette. She looked so small like that, curled up, her hand tucked under her cheek.
Something inside him softened. Despite the frustration, despite the silence, his hand reached for the blanket and gently pulled it higher over her shoulder, tucking her in properly. She stirred slightly but didn't wake.
He lay back down again, staring at the ceiling once more, his mind heavy.
He couldn't sleep.
The weight of her silence pressed down on him harder than any argument could have. He didn't know how to fix it—not yet. So, for now, he simply lay there, listening to the rhythm of her breathing beside him, and let the night pass slowly, one aching minute at a time.
~·~
The morning light slanted through the thin curtains of the guest room, warm and soft.
Dhruv hadn't really slept much; the night had been restless, filled with tossing, turning, and staring at the ceiling.
By the time the faint sounds of movement filtered through the house—pots clinking, a door opening and shutting—he gave up on trying altogether.
He slipped out of bed quietly, noticing the empty space beside him. He lingered for a moment, his eyes on where she had slept last night, then shook himself and went to shower.
By the time he came downstairs, freshly changed into a crisp polo and jeans he had packed, coming prepared to stay the night, his hair still damp, the house felt alive. The smell of breakfast wafted through—fresh poha, coriander, and the faint hint of masala chai.
In the living room, Ramesh sat with his reading glasses perched on his nose, the morning paper spread wide open in his hands. He looked up as Dhruv entered, smiling warmly.
"Good morning, beta," Ramesh said.
Dhruv offered him a polite smile, inclining his head. "Morning, Baba."
Just then, Sunita appeared from the kitchen, a tray in her hands with two steaming cups of chai. "Ah, you're awake, Dhruv. Come, have some chai before breakfast."
Dhruv accepted the cup with both hands. "Thank you, Aai." He sat down across from Ramesh, inhaling the familiar fragrance. It reminded him faintly of evenings at his own home when Geeta aatya made chai, though here it was gentler, sweeter.
He sipped quietly, his mind still half-occupied, when he asked, "Where are Vedant and Vihaan?"
Sunita, who had settled herself on the sofa, replied, "Vedant left for school early, poor boy had some project due. And Vihaan's at the university. He's got practicals today."
Dhruv nodded, then after a pause, asked, "And... Vaani?"
Ramesh folded the newspaper, setting it aside. "She went to get some groceries. She'll be back soon."
Almost as if on cue, the door opened. The clinking of keys and the rustle of bags sounded, followed by the quick shuffle of sandals against the floor.
"Shambhar varsha aayushya aahe re, (you'll live a hundred years,)" Sunita exclaimed with a teasing smile, looking over her shoulder. "We were just talking about you, and here you are."
Dhruv's gaze immediately lifted. Vaani walked in, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail, a simple kurta and jeans on, a shawl looped carelessly over one arm. She carried two grocery bags, her cheeks slightly flushed from the sun.
Their eyes met briefly, and Dhruv opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, she simply gave him a curt nod and looked away.
Something inside him pinched, but he masked it, taking another sip of his chai.
"Come, beta, put the bags down," Ramesh said warmly. "Join us, we're about to eat."
Vaani set the groceries aside, brushing her hands together, and walked to the dining table. She didn't sit beside Dhruv—she chose the chair opposite instead.
The four of them gathered around the table as Sunita brought in bowls of poha, fresh cut onions, and a plate of hot parathas.
"Smells good, Aai," Dhruv said politely, reaching for the poha.
"Eat, eat," Sunita urged, serving everyone with practiced hands. "You're becoming thin, Dhruv. Work shouldn't consume you like this."
Ramesh chuckled. "She says this to everyone. Even Vihaan, who eats like a horse."
"Vihaan has been eating too much junk," Sunita scolded, making Dhruv smile faintly.
As they began eating, conversation flowed easily among the three of them. Dhruv contributed here and there, but he noticed how quiet Vaani was. She ate silently, her eyes lowered to her plate, contributing only when directly asked something.
"Vaani," Ramesh said at one point, "did you get everything from the market?"
"Yes, Baba," she replied softly, without looking up.
"And the mangoes?" Sunita added, glancing at her.
"Yes, Aai. They're in the bag by the counter."
Sunita nodded approvingly. "Good. I'll make aamras tomorrow then."
Dhruv glanced at her, waiting for her to smile at least at the thought of her favorite dish, but her expression stayed unreadable.
He cleared his throat gently. "The aamras here... it's always better than anywhere else."
Sunita beamed at him. "That's because it's made with love, beta."
But across the table, Vaani didn't respond, though he saw her hand pause on the spoon for just a second before she continued eating.
Ramesh began talking about some new policy changes at his office, and Dhruv listened, nodding occasionally, giving his opinion when asked. Sunita chimed in with updates on neighbors and extended family—who bought a new car, who was building a house, whose daughter was engaged.
Dhruv responded politely, his tone respectful, but part of him kept drifting toward the silent figure across the table. Vaani's quiet was louder than all the chatter around him.
Finally, Sunita turned to her. "Vaani, beta, you're eating so little. Are you alright?"
Vaani gave a small smile, forced but polite. "I'm fine, Aai. Just not very hungry."
Ramesh frowned slightly. "You've been working too much again, haven't you?"
She shook her head quickly. "No, Baba. I'm okay."
Dhruv wanted to say something—wanted to tell her to eat properly, to take care of herself—but he kept his lips pressed shut. After last night, after the coldness, he wasn't sure if his words would comfort her or only push her farther away.
Breakfast ended with Sunita fussing over everyone, and Ramesh wiping his mouth with a satisfied sigh.
"Good poha, as always," Ramesh said.
Dhruv nodded in agreement. "It was very good."
But as the plates were cleared and everyone slowly got up, he noticed how Vaani slipped away almost immediately, retreating to the kitchen with a stack of dishes, her back to them. She didn't linger, didn't try to speak, didn't even glance at him again.
And that silence—it weighed heavier than any argument could have.
The sun had climbed higher by the time the family breakfast wrapped up. The air outside shimmered faintly with heat, and from the open windows of the house, the sound of neighbors starting their day drifted in—children's laughter, a vendor calling out, the distant rumble of a scooter starting.
Dhruv lingered in the hall a moment longer, chatting politely with Ramesh about work and nodding along to Sunita's reminders to eat well, sleep on time, and not drown himself in stress.
But all the while, his eyes flickered toward the kitchen where he could hear the clink of plates.
Vaani was in there, clearing things up, deliberately staying away from the circle of conversation.
After a pause, he cleared his throat softly. "Aai, Baba... we should head out now."
Sunita looked up, slightly surprised. "So soon, beta? Stay a little longer. It's been so nice having you both here."
Dhruv smiled faintly. "It was lovely, truly. But... I think we should go. Gotta get started on work too." His words were carefully chosen, calm and respectful, but his glance slipped briefly toward the kitchen again.
Almost as if she had heard, Vaani emerged from the kitchen with her shawl fixed neatly over her shoulders, her face composed. She didn't argue with him or even acknowledge the suggestion—she just stood there, waiting.
Sunita sighed softly, patting his arm. "Alright then. Come again soon, both of you. The house feels lively when you're here."
Ramesh folded his newspaper and got up as well, offering Dhruv a firm handshake and then pulling him into a brief hug. "Drive safely. And beta—don't overwork yourself. Life's more than meetings and flights."
"Yes, Baba," Dhruv said with a small nod.
Vaani stood off to the side, her lips pressed together, until her mother pulled her into a hug. "Call me when you reach, okay?"
"Hmm," Vaani replied softly, then hugged her father too.
The goodbyes were warm, but there was a distance in the air that only Dhruv seemed to notice—or maybe it was only him who felt it so heavily. As they stepped outside into the bright morning sun, the door closing behind them with a soft thud, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
The car was parked right outside, its metallic paint gleaming under the heat. Vaani headed toward it immediately, her strides brisk, her eyes fixed ahead.
"Vaani," Dhruv called after her, his voice even but carrying an undertone of concern.
She didn't turn.
He quickened his pace, catching up a little. "Vaani, where are you going?"
Her hand was already on the car door handle. She paused, her back to him, her shoulders stiff.
"Vaani, I should know where you're going," he said, his tone quieter this time, almost pleading.
For a second, he thought she would ignore him entirely. The silence stretched thin, the heat pressing down around them. Then, without turning to face him, she spoke in a clipped, cool voice.
"Work."
The single word cut sharper than anything else could have. She slipped into the driver's seat, shut the door firmly, and started the engine. The hum of it filled the air as Dhruv stood a few steps away, watching.
She didn't glance back at him, not once.
The car rolled forward smoothly, the tires crunching against the gravel of the driveway before merging onto the road. In seconds, she was gone—just a trail of heat shimmer left behind on the asphalt.
Dhruv stood there, rooted in place, the morning sun bearing down on him. His hand lifted halfway as if to stop her, but then fell uselessly to his side. His chest felt tight, a strange heaviness sinking into his stomach.
He pressed his lips together, muttering something under his breath, a wordless curse that carried more frustration with himself than with her. Then he dragged a hand across his face and exhaled slowly.
There was nothing else to do. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and opened the cab app.
His thumb hovered over the screen for a moment—half tempted to call her, half tempted to just drive after her himself.
But he knew. She needed distance. Maybe she needed the silence she thought he wanted.
"Fine," he murmured softly, as if saying it to himself more than to her. "You need space, I'll give you space."
The cab arrived three minutes later. Dhruv climbed in, sinking into the backseat. He straightened his polo shirt automatically, pulling his shoulders back, his expression unreadable. The driver asked him for his address, and he gave it in a steady voice.
But his eyes were on the road ahead, on the empty stretch that her car had taken minutes ago.
As the cab pulled away from her parents' home, Dhruv leaned his head back against the seat. He closed his eyes, the image of her stiff back, her clipped "work," replaying again and again. A part of him burned with annoyance, another part with guilt.
But mostly, he just felt the echo of her absence sitting heavy in his chest.
The city blurred past the windows as the cab sped toward his home, and all he could do was sigh, silently, deeply, the weight of the morning pressing down harder than the exhaustion of any flight ever had.
??