80
The drive back from the club was quiet, but not the kind of silence that weighed heavy like it had been for weeks.
No, this one was new. Light. Charged. Vaani sat by the window, her body angled ever so slightly away from him, her face hidden as she stared out at the blur of streetlights.
But he didn't need to see her expression to know what she was feeling.
The faint pink dusting her neck gave her away, the way her hands fiddled with the edge of her black dress, and how her breathing seemed a touch too uneven for someone who was simply "relaxing. "
She was blushing. Shy. Trying to hide from him, which only made Dhruv's lips tug into the smallest of smirks.
He rested his arm lazily against the door, keeping one hand steady on the steering wheel.
He could feel her presence more than he could see it—the way she was stealing glances at him when she thought he wouldn't notice.
The image of her lips against his was still fresh, almost seared into his mind.
He could still feel the press of her body, the way her fingers had curled into his shoulder, the way her voice had trembled when she whispered his name.
For a man usually so controlled, so deliberate, Dhruv felt almost reckless inside.
His heartbeat wasn't steady. It was still racing, almost impatient.
He wanted to turn the car around, to pull her close again, to kiss her until she'd never doubt his feelings for her.
But instead, he smirked to himself and stayed quiet.
He wanted to watch her squirm in that beautiful shyness, wanted to give her the space to feel all of this without overwhelming her.
When the city lights dimmed into quieter streets and finally to their neighborhood, he glanced sideways at her again.
Her head had fallen gently against the glass, her lashes resting against her cheeks, her lips parted slightly in sleep.
He blinked, caught off guard. She had been awake a few minutes ago.
But she had slipped into sleep so softly, so completely, as though her body had finally surrendered after a day of emotions, tension, laughter, and nerves.
"Vaani," he whispered softly, pulling the car into their parking. His voice was low, almost tender. "We're home."
She didn't stir. He leaned forward slightly, his hand brushing against her arm. "Vaani... wake up. We're here."
Still nothing. Just the faint rise and fall of her breathing. She was in deep sleep—so deep that even his touch and voice couldn't pull her out of it. He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head at her.
"You always choose the strangest times to fall asleep," he muttered quietly, but there was no real annoyance in his tone. If anything, it was fond.
Dhruv switched off the car and sat for a moment, watching her.
For all the frustration of the past weeks, for all the distance, he realized he had missed seeing her like this—unguarded, soft, at peace.
He could almost see the girl who used to chatter endlessly, the one who filled silence with her laughter.
Finally, he got out of the car and rounded to her side.
Opening the door carefully, he crouched a little and slid one arm under her knees, the other behind her back.
She stirred just slightly, her brows furrowing, but she didn't wake as he pulled her gently against his chest and lifted her into his arms.
Bridal style. She fit there as though she belonged, her head instinctively finding his shoulder, her fingers twitching against his shirt before going limp again. For a moment, he just stood there in the quiet night, holding her, his jaw tightening slightly as something tender tugged at his chest.
The trouble came when he realized he needed to open the front door.
Still carrying her, he managed to fish the keys from his pocket with some maneuvering, muttering under his breath about the challenge.
Balancing her carefully, he turned the lock and nudged the door open with his foot, stepping inside with her still cradled securely in his arms.
The apartment was dim and silent, exactly how they'd left it. But somehow, carrying her in like this made the place feel different—like it had shifted, softened. He took her straight to their bedroom, pushing the door open gently.
He laid her down slowly on the bed, careful not to wake her. The moment her head touched the pillow, she shifted, curling into the blanket as though it was instinct. Dhruv stood there for a moment, straightening, his hands falling uselessly to his sides as he just looked at her.
Her black dress was still clinging to her, makeup slightly smudged from the long night.
For a second, he frowned, wondering if he should do something about it.
Maybe get their female neighbor to help her change.
then he shook his head to himself. It's late.
It's fine. She's tired. Let her be comfortable.
What he could do, though, was ease her a little. He crouched down and carefully slipped off her heels, one by one, placing them neatly to the side. Her feet flexed slightly in relief even though she didn't wake, and that small unconscious reaction tugged another faint smile from him.
He pulled the blanket over her, tucking it just slightly at the sides, making sure she was warm.
Then he stepped back, his eyes softening despite himself.
For a man so used to hiding his emotions, Dhruv felt bare in that moment.
Watching her like this, he realized how much he had missed her presence, how much he had taken her patience for granted.
His fingers brushed against his jaw as he sighed quietly. He had promised himself he wouldn't lose control, that he'd keep work and home balanced. But looking at her now, asleep, after weeks of distance and anger—he wondered how he'd let it get this far.
Running a hand through his hair, he finally tore his gaze away. He grabbed his towel and headed into the bathroom. As he closed the door behind him, the sound of running water soon filled the silence.
In the other room, Vaani stirred slightly in her sleep, curling tighter into the blanket he had tucked around her, unaware of the way he had carried her in, unaware of the smile that had crossed his face when he looked at her.
The sound of water echoed softly against the tiled walls, steam curling in the air, blurring the mirror and softening the harsh lights.
Dhruv stood beneath the steady stream of warm water, head tilted slightly back, letting it pour over his shoulders and chest. His hands pressed against the cool tiles, his jaw tense as if holding back everything that had been pushing at him for days—weeks, even.
But the moment he closed his eyes, the image that hit him wasn't his spreadsheets or contracts.
It was Vaani.
The club.
Her black dress.
The way her eyes had found his in that crowded room, wide and unguarded.
The flush of her cheeks. The way her lips had parted when she whispered his name—his name, not as if she were irritated or impatient, but as though she was pulled toward him by something beyond her control.
And then the kiss.
He swore under his breath, his fingers curling into fists against the tiles as the memory of it seared through him again.
Her lips soft and hesitant at first, but then.
.. yielding. Responding. Her grip tightening on his shoulder, her body melting against his when he pulled her closer.
For years, Dhruv had disciplined himself into restraint, into quiet control.
He had not kissed before. This—this feeling had been different.
Dangerous, almost. Because it hadn't been just heat.
It had been... something else.
He had wanted to protect her. To claim her. And at the same time, to never let go.
What are you doing, Dhruv? he asked himself, running a hand down his wet face. This wasn't the plan.
At the time, Dhruv had scoffed, brushed it off with his usual silence. Aarav loved to dramatize things. He was impulsive, always teasing. But tonight, standing here with water cascading down his body, Dhruv couldn't deny the truth in it anymore. Aarav had been right. He did care.
He cared that Vaani had been hurt by his silence.
He cared that she had gone to her parents' house just to escape him.
He cared that she had spent Vihaan's birthday without him, trying to smile through her disappointment.
And he cared that tonight—when she had finally laughed again, when she had let herself have fun—other men's eyes had lingered on her. That had nearly broken his composure.
Possessiveness was new to him.
The intensity of it was.
All this was new to him.
He turned off the tap for a second, dragging both hands down his face, taking a deep breath before switching it on again. The water wasn't enough to wash away the turmoil pressing against his chest.
He thought of his father then. Of the meetings, the deadlines, the endless pressure that had been mounting since the Delhi trip.
His team hadn't been cooperating, half the numbers hadn't aligned, and he'd been carrying the brunt of it because the last thing he wanted was to add stress to his father's shoulders.
His father was already juggling too much, and Dhruv had promised himself he'd handle it.
And he had—barely. By biting back frustration, by burying himself in late nights, by choosing work over sleep, over meals, over... her.
Is this what it's going to be? he wondered, letting the water stream over his tense shoulders. Work on one side, her on the other? Always having to choose?
For the first time in a long time, the thought didn't sit well with him. Normally, Dhruv had no problem prioritizing work, no problem compartmentalizing. But now, thinking about Vaani asleep in the other room—his wife, the woman he had carried in his arms tonight—he felt something shift.
She wasn't just "the other side" anymore. She wasn't just background.
She mattered.
And that realization both steadied him and unsettled him at once.
He remembered her face when she had finally broken down, yelling at him for never trying, for being so distant.
Her eyes had shone with hurt, her voice trembling with every word.
She had accused him of not caring, of being indifferent to whether she was alive or not.
He had been angry then, defensive. But alone now, under the rush of water, those words hit him harder than they had in the moment.
Because he hadn't meant for her to feel that way. Not even close.
He leaned forward, bracing both palms against the wall as the water beat down on him, his mind replaying the image of her smile—the tiny, reluctant one she had given when he finally made her speak at home.
When she had smirked after correcting him about sarees.
That smile had felt like the first crack of sunlight after weeks of storm clouds.
Somehow that gave him a bigger sense of victory than all the deals he'd cracked in his life.
And then the way she had looked at him in the club, her eyes wide and steady when she whispered, "Then don't." She trusted him. Even after all the silence. Even after all the hurt. She had still given him her consent, her faith.
Dhruv clenched his jaw, water dripping from his chin.
I can't lose this.
The thought was raw, almost foreign. Relationships had never been his focus—he had always told himself he wasn't built for this kind of emotional chaos.
But Vaani was different. She had been patient when he didn't deserve it, stubborn when he pushed her away, and strong enough to call him out when no one else dared.
And now she was his.
Not just on paper. Not just because their families had tied their lives together. But because, somewhere along the way, he had begun to fall.
But as soon as he made that silent vow, another weight pressed in—the company. His father. The mounting stress. If things fell apart there, how would he balance it here? How could he protect both—the business and her?
The thought twisted in him, frustrating, unanswerable. He slammed a hand lightly against the tile, tilting his head back.
But then, softer this time, he thought: One step at a time, Dhruv.
The water began to cool, but Dhruv didn't move immediately. He stood there for another few moments, breathing deeply, letting the mix of desire, guilt, and resolve swirl in him until it settled into something clearer.
Finally, he turned off the shower. He grabbed a towel and ran it across his face, his chest, shaking off the droplets. His reflection in the fogged mirror stared back at him, shadowed but steady.
For the first time in weeks, he didn't just see exhaustion there. He saw something else too—determination.
And maybe, just maybe, hope.
The steam still clung faintly to his skin as Dhruv stepped out of the bathroom, a towel running through his damp hair, his fresh t-shirt clinging lightly to his shoulders. The bedroom was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the bedside lamp.
Vaani was still asleep.
She lay curled slightly on her side, her breathing even, her hair fanned across the pillow in soft waves.
The blanket he'd tucked around her earlier had slipped a little, and her bare arm rested against the sheet.
For a moment, Dhruv simply stood there, towel in hand, his chest tightening at the sight.
How strange, he thought, that only hours ago she had been in his arms on a crowded dance floor, bold enough to whisper "then don't" into his ear, her lips trembling with both defiance and invitation. And now here she was, fast asleep, her face unguarded, almost childlike in its peace.
Quietly, Dhruv moved closer. He reached for the blanket and tugged it gently back up to her shoulders, careful not to wake her. She stirred faintly at the touch, her brow furrowing for the briefest second before smoothing again, as if comforted without even knowing why.
He lingered for a second longer, watching her. His fingers flexed at his side, an itch to brush that strand of hair away from her cheek.
Switching off the lamp, he slipped onto his side of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He lay down carefully, turning slightly to face her. In the darkness, he could just make out the curve of her profile, the rise and fall of her chest, the faint shadow of her lashes against her skin.
Something in him softened, something that the weight of work and meetings had been hardening for too long. He let himself simply... look at her.
A small smile tugged at his lips without his realizing it. This—this was what he wanted to hold onto. Not the fights, not the misunderstandings. Just her, like this.
He shifted slightly, adjusting the pillow so he could see her better. Then, slowly, he slid his hand under the blanket, not to touch her, but to let the warmth reach him too, as if silently sharing space was enough.
"Goodnight, Vaani," he whispered into the dark, his voice low, meant for no one but himself.
Her breathing deepened. She didn't stir.
And for the first time in weeks, Dhruv felt a strange calm spread through him. Not because the problems had vanished, not because everything was solved, but because she was here—beside him, within reach.
His eyes closed gradually, his body relaxing inch by inch, and soon enough, sleep claimed him too, both of them lying side by side in the quiet, the distance between them finally, slowly, beginning to close.
~·~
The morning sun spilled through the half-drawn curtains, golden light washing the room in warmth. Vaani stirred first, blinking against the brightness before sitting up slowly. Her head felt light, her body unusually rested. She glanced down at herself and then froze.
She was still in last night's black dress.
Memories hit her in little flashes—the music, the way his hand had tightened around her waist, the heat of his breath on her ear, and then... the kiss. Her cheeks flushed instantly.
Biting back a smile, she carefully turned her head.
Beside her, Dhruv was still asleep, his breathing even, one arm resting casually against the pillow.
His hair was slightly messy from sleep, his jaw sharp even in rest, lips relaxed.
Something in her softened, and her heart gave a nervous little thump.
For a long moment, she just watched him. Then she leaned closer, hesitating halfway, her fingers curling into the bedsheet. Her pulse raced in her ears. Finally, gathering courage, she pressed the quickest, lightest kiss to his cheek.
Her face burned as she pulled back, almost scolding herself—what are you doing, Vaani?!—but the little smile wouldn't leave her lips.
Slipping out of bed, she padded to the bathroom. A hot shower later, dressed in comfortable shorts and a loose top, she felt lighter. She tied her hair up in a messy bun, humming softly as she moved into the kitchen.
She brewed chai, adding the masala he'd gone so far to bring her, the aroma filling the house. With her cup in hand, she sank into the couch, phone in the other hand.
Scrolling absentmindedly, she suddenly paused at yesterday's photos. Selfies in the car, a blurry shot of him frowning at the camera while she laughed, one where his arm was around her waist as Simran teased them. Her smile grew, cheeks heating again as she remembered everything that had followed.
An hour passed before the sound of the bathroom door opening made her glance up. Dhruv emerged freshly showered, his white t-shirt clinging faintly, hair damp, and his usual calm expression in place. He moved to the kitchen, poured himself chai, and then walked over to where she sat.
"Good morning," he said, his voice still rough from sleep.
Vaani smiled automatically, though her gaze dipped shyly back to her phone. "Good morning."
He stood there for a second, sipping his chai, then sat beside her, his eyes fixed on her face. When she avoided his gaze, he chuckled softly.
"Are you going to be shy the entire time now?" he teased, his tone low, amused.
Her head shot up, and she narrowed her eyes at him, though her blush betrayed her. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Serious. I'm just blushing at my first kiss."
Dhruv raised a brow, tilting his head. "It was my first too. You don't see me blushing."
She gaped at him, trying to process it, then narrowed her eyes again. "That's because you're not romantic."
The smirk deepened. "Not romantic, hmm? Come into the bedroom, I'll show you how romantic I am."
Her eyes widened, and she smacked his arm, scandalized. "Dhruv! Kuch bhi!"
He chuckled, sipping his chai like nothing had happened, enjoying how flustered she looked.
She shook her head, muttering under her breath, then quickly changed the topic. "Anyway—what's the plan today?"
He set his cup down, his tone shifting slightly. "I need to go see Mom."
Her face fell just a little. "Oh... I see."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Dhruv looked at her, something unspoken in his eyes. He exhaled softly. "Vaani, I—"
She shook her head quickly. "No, Dhruv. I'm sorry. I don't want to be that person. I don't want to complain that you're not spending time with me when it's about your mom. That's unfair to you."
His jaw clenched. He looked down at his hands, then back at her. Finally, he said quietly, "She was in the hospital."
Vaani's world tilted. Her cup nearly slipped from her hands. "WHAT?" she burst out, her voice echoing in the quiet room.
Dhruv sighed, his tone calm but heavy. "Yeah. It was nothing too serious, just a small issue. She was unwell for a couple of days. That's why I wanted to visit her that day. But—"
She cut him off, her voice trembling. "But I yelled at you. I accused you. I—I didn't even let you finish." Her eyes glossed with guilt, her breath shaky. "Dhruv, I'm so sorry. I should have listened. I didn't even give you a chance..."
Her shoulders slumped, sadness radiating from her. "God, I feel horrible."
Dhruv looked at her quietly, his eyes unreadable for a moment. Then, gently, he said, "Vaani. It's alright."
"No, it's not!" she cried, guilt lacing every word. "You were trying to go see Maa and I made it about me. I yelled at you. I—"
"Vaani," he interrupted firmly, his gaze steady. "My mother's husband took care of his wife. And my duty was to take care of mine."
Her lips parted, her breath catching at the quiet conviction in his voice. He held her gaze, steady, unwavering.
Her chest ached. Slowly, she whispered, "But we're family. We're supposed to take care of each other. And I failed you. I didn't even ask properly, I just... fought."
Her voice broke on the last word.
Dhruv shook his head softly. "No one failed anyone. We were both upset. It happens."
She blinked rapidly, still struggling against the wave of guilt. "I'm sorry, Dhruv. Truly. I will come with you to see Maa. Please. I want to."
He studied her for a long moment, then nodded once. "Okay."
She exhaled shakily, relief flooding her face. Her hands twisted in her lap as if she wasn't sure if she should reach for him. Dhruv noticed, and though he didn't close the distance, the warmth in his eyes said enough.
For the first time in weeks, Vaani felt like maybe—just maybe—their cracks were starting to heal.
The day moved slower than usual. After their conversation, Vaani felt restless, the weight of guilt still sitting heavy in her chest, but there was a strange sense of clarity too. She wanted to make it right—not just with Dhruv but with Maa too.
She stood in front of the mirror, carefully draping a soft pastel kurti over herself, her hair tied back into a neat braid.
She wanted to look presentable, respectable, not like the girl who had been screaming at her husband just a few days ago.
She added small silver earrings and kohl around her eyes, giving herself a final look.
From the doorway, she felt his presence before she saw him.
Dhruv leaned against the frame, adjusting the cuff of his light blue shirt, paired with dark trousers.
His hair was styled in that effortless way she secretly admired, neat yet slightly tousled.
For a moment, his eyes lingered on her, and though he didn't say anything, the faint flicker of approval in his gaze made her straighten her shoulders.
"Ready?" he asked simply.
She nodded, clutching her dupatta nervously. "Yes."
The ride to the Deshmukh villa was quiet. Vaani stared out of the window, her thoughts circling in endless loops, while Dhruv drove with one hand loosely on the wheel, his jaw set in calm focus. Every now and then, she'd steal a glance at him, wondering how he stayed so composed.
When the car rolled up the familiar driveway, Vaani's chest tightened. The villa was warm and welcoming as always, its whitewashed walls gleaming under the sun. She remembered the countless times she'd visited with Dhruv, but today it felt different—like she had to earn her place all over again.
The heavy wooden door creaked open, and there stood Mahesh Deshmukh. Tall, broad-shouldered, with the air of a man who'd carried responsibility his whole life, he broke into a wide smile the moment he saw them.
"Arre, Dhruv! Vaani! Come, come inside."
Dhruv touched his father's feet respectfully. Vaani followed, bending down too, murmuring, "Namaste, Dad."
"Khush raho, beta," Mahesh blessed warmly, patting her head. His eyes crinkled with fondness. "It feels good to see you both together."
As they stepped into the hall, Vaani's gaze immediately went to the couch. Jaya sat propped up against soft cushions, a shawl draped lightly around her shoulders. She looked pale but graceful, her warm eyes lighting up as soon as she saw them.
"Arre beta, hi!" Jaya greeted cheerfully, her voice softer than usual but full of affection.
"Maa," Dhruv hurried forward, concern etched across his face as he bent slightly. "What happened? Why didn't you call me sooner?"
Jaya shook her head with a gentle smile. "Arre, it was nothing. Just an infection. The doctor said I need to rest and take antibiotics now. That's all."
Still, Dhruv frowned, his hand resting on the back of the couch near her. "You should have told me, Mom. You know I would've come back immediately."
Before Jaya could respond, Vaani stepped closer, her voice trembling slightly. "Maa, I'm so sorry we didn't come sooner."
Jaya's eyes softened as she reached out, taking Vaani's hand in hers. "No, beta, it's alright. Really. There was nothing serious. I didn't want to trouble you two."
But Vaani shook her head, guilt tightening her throat. "Still, Maa. I should have insisted. I—I'm the reason we didn't come sooner."
For a moment, the room grew quiet. Dhruv glanced at her, his jaw tightening. He spoke firmly, his tone leaving no room for blame.
"No one's the reason," he said, looking between them. "Let's just live in the present. We're here now. That's what matters."
Jaya smiled faintly, nodding. "Exactly. Listen to him. Always thinking with his head, this one." She patted Dhruv's cheek, and though he pretended to be stoic, Vaani caught the tiny flicker of warmth in his eyes.
Mahesh cleared his throat, his deep voice filling the room. "Now, enough of this serious talk. Sit down, both of you. Vaani, beta, you must be tired from the drive. I'll ask Shanta to bring tea."
"No, Papa, I'll do it," Vaani said quickly, eager to be useful. "Please, let me."
But Jaya squeezed her hand again. "No, no, beta. You sit. You came here to relax, not to work. Shanta will handle it."
So, reluctantly, Vaani sank into the sofa beside Dhruv. She glanced at him, noticing the way his shoulders relaxed just slightly as he sat near his mother, as though being close to her steadied something deep within him.
The conversation gradually drifted away from illness and guilt, meandering into lighthearted chatter. Mahesh began recounting a story about his youth—about how he once tried to impress Jaya by cooking, only to nearly burn down the kitchen.
Jaya chuckled, shaking her head. "He put salt instead of sugar in the kheer. Imagine my face when I took the first bite!"
Dhruv smirked softly, and even Vaani couldn't help but smile. "That sounds... unforgettable, Dad."
"Unforgettable indeed," Jaya teased, nudging her husband. "Thirty years later and I still remind him."
Mahesh raised his hands in mock surrender. "Arre, a man can make one mistake in life!"
The room erupted in gentle laughter, the atmosphere lighter now. Vaani felt the tightness in her chest easing bit by bit. Watching Dhruv laugh with his parents, the way his eyes crinkled slightly when he smiled—it warmed her in ways she couldn't explain.
Soon, Shanta entered with a tray of tea and snacks. As the steaming cups were passed around, the conversation shifted again—this time to Vihaan and Vedant.
"Vihaan is leaving for the US next month," Vaani said proudly. "Classes start mid-August, but he wants to settle early. And Vedant, on the other hand, is giving us a headache with his cricket obsession."
Jaya smiled, sipping her tea. "He's good though. Maybe he'll surprise you one day."
"Arre, if he surprises me by passing his exams first, I'll be happy enough," Vaani joked, making Jaya chuckle.
The hours slipped by in easy conversation, the Deshmukh villa echoing with warmth instead of worry.
Vaani felt herself gradually relaxing, guilt giving way to gratitude.
She couldn't stop sneaking little glances at Dhruv—at how gently he checked if Jaya's shawl was tucked properly, at how intently he listened to Mahesh's stories, and how every now and then, his eyes flickered toward her as though making sure she was comfortable too.
And every time, her heart gave a small, traitorous flutter.
By the time the clock edged toward early afternoon, the house no longer felt heavy with illness or tension. It felt alive, full, almost like it was breathing along with them.
~·~
The living room felt warm and lively, sunlight streaming in through the gauzy curtains, catching little specks of dust that floated lazily in the golden beams. Mahesh had set aside the newspaper, Jaya had leaned comfortably into her cushions, and Vaani sat perched on the edge of the couch, her dupatta folded neatly over her lap.
They'd been talking about everything—about Vihaan's upcoming plans for the US, about Vedant's cricket obsession, about how markets were becoming unbearable with the heat. It was the kind of chatter that made time pass without anyone noticing.
Then, as Jaya reached for her cup of tea again, she tilted her head toward Vaani. "Acha beta, some of my friends are coming over in the evening for chai. Old friends from my ladies' circle." She smiled fondly, a hint of anticipation in her eyes. "Would you like to stay and meet them?"
Vaani opened her mouth to answer, her instinct to agree out of politeness and genuine affection. But before she could speak, Dhruv's calm baritone cut through.
"No, Mom," he said, leaning back slightly in his seat. "I'll head out before that."
Vaani blinked at him, her words frozen mid-breath. She turned slightly, catching the sharp but neutral expression on his face. It wasn't rude, but it was definite. Almost as though he had planned his escape route the moment Jaya mentioned friends.
Mahesh immediately let out a chuckle, the sound rich and booming. "Of course. If it's avoiding aunties, Dhruv will be the first one out. Hasn't changed since childhood."
Jaya's eyes twinkled with laughter too. "Arre, true! From school days only. Whenever the colony aunties came, Dhruv would disappear into his room like a mouse. I had to drag him out by the ear sometimes."
Vaani, caught between amusement and surprise, pressed her hand to her mouth and chuckled.
She could imagine little Dhruv, scowling in his room while Jaya called after him.
"Really, Maa?" she teased lightly, her eyes flickering toward Dhruv, who gave a tight smile in return. "You never liked aunties?"
"Mom is exaggerating," Dhruv muttered, though the corner of his mouth betrayed the faintest twitch of amusement. "I just... didn't like all that talk. Still don't."
Mahesh chuckled again, tapping his son on the arm. "That's why you'll never win, Dhruv. If you can't handle a few aunties' gossip, how will you manage corporate politics?"
"Corporate politics I can handle," Dhruv said dryly, smoothing his shirt cuffs. "But aunties asking when I'll get married, and now when I'll have children? That's where I draw the line."
Even Vaani burst into laughter at that, her eyes shining as she tried to stifle it with her dupatta. She hadn't expected that kind of blunt humor from him.
Still chuckling, Jaya reached out and patted Dhruv's hand. "Fine, fine. You don't have to stay. But at least have lunch before you go."
"I will," Dhruv replied evenly. Then, turning toward Vaani, he added, "But I need to visit the office afterward."
The sudden shift in tone—from playful to businesslike—wasn't lost on anyone, especially Vaani. He always did that, she thought. Slipped right back into work talk, as if switching gears was the easiest thing for him.
"Vaani," he said, his voice softer this time, "if you want to stay, then stay. I'll pick you up once I'm done."
She looked at him, surprised at the consideration in his words. He didn't assume she would leave with him; he gave her the choice. And truthfully, she loved being in the Deshmukh villa. Something about the place made her feel warm, cared for—like her presence actually mattered.
And, besides, she didn't really have much work today. Her heart leaned toward staying.
"Okay," she said, giving him a small nod. Then, turning toward Jaya, she asked gently, "If that's okay with you, Maa?"
Jaya beamed instantly, her hand pressing over Vaani's. "Of course, beta. We love having you here. You brighten up the house."
That warmth seeped into Vaani's chest, melting away the last remnants of hesitation. She smiled back, shy but genuine.
"Alright then," Dhruv said, rising to his feet. "I'll go."
As he adjusted his watch and moved toward the door, Mahesh chuckled again, his voice teasing. "Run, run before the aunties catch you, ha!"
"Dad..." Dhruv muttered, shaking his head, though a small, helpless smile tugged at his lips.
Vaani caught that smile and held onto it quietly, tucking it away in her heart as he left. The door shut behind him, and with it, the weight of his businesslike energy seemed to lift.
"Now," Jaya said, clapping her hands softly, "where were we? Ah yes, Vedant's cricket tournament..."
And just like that, the chatter resumed.
The afternoon flowed in gentle rhythms. Jaya told Vaani stories about her school friends, Mahesh teased his wife for remembering the smallest details from thirty years ago, and Vaani found herself laughing more than she had in days.
She sat cross-legged on the sofa, sipping the second cup of tea Jaya had insisted she drink, her shoulders relaxed, her heart lighter.
Every so often, she thought of Dhruv—probably in his office, frowning at files or scolding his team—and wondered if he was alright. But she didn't let it weigh her down this time. For once, she let herself simply be.
By the time the clock ticked toward evening, the house was buzzing again—Meera running about setting trays, Jaya adjusting her dupatta in preparation for her friends, Mahesh pretending to retreat to his study only to hover nearby, listening in.
And Vaani, right in the center of it all, felt... at home.
~·~
The Deshmukh villa had a different kind of energy that afternoon.
Meera bustled around, laying out plates and arranging little bowls of farsan, her silver anklets tinkling faintly as she moved.
The air carried the fragrance of freshly fried bhajiyas, the hint of elaichi from the chai simmering on the stove, and that faint nervous excitement that came with hosting company.
Vaani, dressed in a pale lavender kurta with her hair tied loosely, stood beside Jaya near the entrance. She felt oddly like a daughter welcoming guests into her own home.
The bell rang, and Meera darted off, but Jaya caught Vaani's hand lightly. "Beta, you go. You welcome them."
Vaani blinked. "Me?"
Jaya smiled knowingly. "Of course. You're the bahu of this house. Go on."
A warmth spread through Vaani's chest, and she gave a small nod before opening the door.
On the threshold stood four women—dressed in elegant cotton sarees, bangles jingling, the faint smell of mogra gajras wafting from their hair. They immediately broke into wide smiles.
"Aree Vaani!" one of them said warmly. "We've heard so much about you."
Another clasped her hand. "And you're even prettier than Jaya described."
Vaani laughed softly, a blush rising to her cheeks. "Namaste, Aunties. Please come in."
They filed in with easy chatter, the clinking of purses and rustle of sarees filling the hallway. As they entered, Jaya rose from the couch, her eyes lighting up.
"Arre, Sunanda, Leela, Kavita, and Rekha—you finally made it!" Jaya exclaimed, hugging each of them in turn. "You know Vaani, right? Our Vaani."
"Our Vaani, haa," Rekha Aunty said, patting Vaani's cheek with affection. "Jaya keeps bragging about you. Says you make chai better than her."
Everyone laughed, including Vaani, who tried to hide her smile with her dupatta. "That's not true, Aunty. Maa makes the best chai."
The women settled onto the couches, adjusting their sarees, setting purses aside, and immediately filling the room with a comforting kind of chatter—the kind where everyone spoke over each other but it somehow still made sense.
"Vaani beta," Leela began, sipping water, "Jaya tells us you're working too. What do you do?"
"I'm an interior designer," Vaani replied politely, but her tone warmed as she continued. "We mostly handle interiors—residential and a bit of commercial. It's fun, actually. I like seeing spaces transform."
"Oooh, interiors," Rekha said with mock drama. "Then you must come see my house. My husband insists on keeping the sofa that looks like it belongs in a government office. It's been twenty years!"
"Arre Rekha, stop," Kavita interjected, laughing. "Your sofa is fine. It's your curtains that are outdated. Vaani, don't listen to her—come to my house first."
Vaani giggled, glancing at Jaya, who rolled her eyes playfully. "See what I deal with, beta? They'll fight over you like you're a prize."
"I don't mind," Vaani said softly, her smile genuine. "Actually, it's fun listening to you all."
Sunanda leaned in conspiratorially. "So tell us, Vaani, how is Dhruv as a husband? Does he irritate you as much as he irritates Jaya with his silence?"
That earned a ripple of laughter. Vaani blinked, caught off guard, but her lips curved upward. "He's... quiet," she admitted carefully, then added with a shy smile, "but he cares in his own way."
"Ohhh," the aunties chorused knowingly, teasing grins spreading across their faces.
"Arre wah, Jaya, she's already defending him," Kavita teased. "That's love."
Jaya chuckled, giving Vaani's hand a squeeze. "That's patience, which I never had when he was younger."
More laughter filled the room, and Vaani relaxed, sipping her chai as the conversation flowed. The aunties reminisced about their children, about old trips they'd taken together, and about random neighborhood gossip.
At one point, Sunanda was shaking her head dramatically about a neighbor's son. "He went to America, came back with tattoos all over his arm! His poor mother nearly fainted."
Leela snorted. "At least he came back. My nephew went and married a firang! Didn't even tell anyone. We found out through Instagram!"
The group erupted into laughter again, and Vaani, caught in their rhythm, added softly, "At least you found out. Once, one of my college friends disappeared for months, and we only realized she got married when she changed her surname online."
That sent the aunties into another round of delighted cackles. "Arre wah, these kids, na!" Kavita said. "We used to wait for proper announcements, invitations. Now everything is Instagram!"
"Exactly," Jaya said, joining in. "And if you don't like or comment, they'll call and ask why you're ignoring them."
The room shook with laughter again, and Vaani found herself laughing till her eyes watered. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this light, this... included.
Soon, snacks were passed around—crispy pakoras, dhokla, bowls of chiwda. The aunties teased Jaya about overfeeding them, and she swatted at them with mock sternness.
"Eat, eat! You'll go home and complain otherwise," she said.
Rekha stuffed another pakora into her mouth and mumbled, "I'm not complaining!" making everyone burst into giggles again.
As the evening deepened, the chatter grew softer, more reflective. They spoke about old memories—picnics at the beach, their kids' school events, the times they'd all leaned on each other in hardships.
"Arre, those were days," Sunanda said wistfully. "Now all our kids are grown. And look, Jaya, your son married such a sweet girl. You're lucky."
Jaya glanced at Vaani with a soft smile. "I know. I am."
The words touched Vaani more deeply than she expected. She smiled back, lowering her gaze to her cup, hiding the warmth in her chest.
By the time the aunties left, hugging Vaani like she'd been part of their circle forever, the villa was filled with the comfortable silence of a day well spent.
"See, beta?" Jaya said as she and Vaani cleared the cups. "They already adore you. You're one of us now."
~·~
The Deshmukh villa was still alive with chatter when Dhruv pushed the door open and stepped inside. His crisp shirt was slightly wrinkled from a long day at the office, but he still carried that quiet presence that always drew eyes.
The sound of laughter reached him before he even entered the living room.
Jaya and her friends were still gathered, cups of chai in hand, plates of snacks scattered across the coffee table.
And right in the middle of them sat Vaani—curled slightly forward, her dupatta slipping casually from her shoulder, her eyes glowing as she laughed at something Rekha Aunty had just said.
For a second, Dhruv just stood there. Watching. Listening. It was rare for him to see her like this—unguarded, carefree, part of the flow instead of standing on the edges. Something warm, and a little possessive, tugged at his chest.
"Arre Dhruv!" Sunanda Aunty's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. She waved dramatically. "Come, come! We were just talking about you!"
Dhruv stepped into the room, his lips quirking faintly. "That sounds dangerous."
All the aunties laughed. "Look at him," Leela Aunty teased. "So serious still, even after marriage. Beta, at least smile more in front of your wife. She's not our Jaya, she won't scold you!"
Even Jaya joined in, chuckling. "They're right. You should've seen him, Vaani, when he was young. He'd vanish upstairs whenever they visited. He hated auntie-company."
"Still does," Mahesh called from the hallway, making everyone burst into another round of laughter.
Vaani turned her head, trying to suppress her smile, but her eyes betrayed her amusement. Dhruv noticed. And though he rolled his eyes slightly, he smiled politely at the women before taking a seat on the edge of the sofa.
For the next half hour, he let them tease him, prod him about work, ask him mundane questions about life in the office. Dhruv answered calmly, sometimes dryly, sometimes with a flash of humor that had even Vaani chuckling quietly beside him.
When the aunties finally rose, gathering their purses and adjusting sarees, the villa echoed with a flurry of affectionate goodbyes. Each of them hugged Vaani warmly, patting her cheek like she'd always belonged.
"You're lucky, Jaya," Sunanda said at the door, smiling. "She's a gem."
"I know," Jaya said, squeezing Vaani's hand.
Dhruv caught that moment, his chest tightening as he watched the two women. A strange protectiveness surged in him—towards his mother, towards Vaani, towards this fragile thing building between them.
When the last car drove off, Dhruv cleared his throat. "We should leave too."
Vaani nodded, saying a soft goodbye to Jaya and Mahesh before slipping on her sandals.
The car ride began quietly, the late evening breeze slipping through the half-open window. But silence never lasted long with Vaani.
She turned to him, her face still glowing from the evening. "You know, I had such a great time. Your mom's friends are hilarious. Rekha Aunty kept complaining about her sofa, and Kavita Aunty—oh my God—she kept roasting Rekha Aunty back. I thought I'd burst out laughing."
Dhruv just hummed, eyes on the road.
"And your mom—she's so loved. The way they spoke to her, it's like they've all been together forever. I really liked how warm it felt. I mean, it wasn't formal, you know? It was just... easy."
Her hands moved as she spoke, her voice dancing between excitement and softness. She scrolled back through the memories, her lips curving in little smiles as she recalled details.
"And they made me feel included, Dhruv. Like I was really part of them. No awkward questions, no judgment, just... genuine warmth. I didn't realize how much I'd missed this feeling."
Her words flowed like a stream, tumbling one over the other.
Dhruv stole glances at her in the dim light, her expressions shifting from animated to tender to thoughtful.
She didn't notice the way he looked at her—how his jaw tightened, how his fingers flexed on the steering wheel, how his chest felt heavier and heavier.
Because in his head, only one thought repeated: I want to kiss her again.
He tried to push it away, tried to focus on the road, but every time her laughter spilled into the air, every time her lips curved into another soft smile, his restraint frayed further.
At a red signal, the car slowed to a stop. The night outside was quiet, the faint glow of streetlights casting shadows across the dashboard.
Vaani was still talking, still describing some silly anecdote about Rekha Aunty's obsession with mismatched curtains. Her voice was light, but Dhruv wasn't hearing the words anymore. He was hearing only the rise and fall of her tone, the softness beneath it.
"Vaani," he said suddenly, his voice low, urgent.
She blinked, mid-sentence. "Hmm?"
"Shut up for a second," he muttered, leaning closer.
Her brows furrowed. "What—"
But before she could finish, his lips were on hers.
It wasn't tentative this time. It was sure, intense, pulling every ounce of silence between them into something electric. His hand came up, cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin with a gentleness that clashed with the urgency of the kiss.
Vaani froze for a heartbeat, her eyes wide.
Then, slowly, her lashes fluttered down.
Her lips softened under his, parting slightly, and she kissed him back.
The world outside melted—the honk of a bike in the distance, the glow of the signal, the cool night air—all of it faded until there was only the two of them, bound together in a car on a quiet street.
Dhruv pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against hers, his breath uneven. His voice was hoarse when he whispered, "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
Vaani's heart pounded in her chest, her lips tingling, her mind spinning. She opened her mouth, but no words came. Instead, her cheeks flushed crimson, and she dropped her gaze, suddenly shy.
The signal turned green, but Dhruv didn't move right away. He lingered there for a moment, eyes still on her, before finally shifting back in his seat and driving forward again.
The silence that followed wasn't empty—it was charged, full, the kind of silence that wrapped itself around them like a secret only they knew.
Vaani pressed her hand lightly to her lips, stealing a sideways glance at him. Dhruv caught her looking and smirked faintly, eyes back on the road.
Neither of them spoke. They didn't need to.
The night had said enough.
??