Chapter 18 SCENTS AND STORIES
DIVYA
The car slows in front of the building and my stomach immediately tightens.
It’s ridiculous how nervous I suddenly feel.
From the outside the publishing house looks elegant in a way that feels very different from the quiet office space I had imagined. Warm lights glow through the tall windows, and people are gathered near the entrance in clusters, talking and laughing in low voices.
I smooth my hands over the fabric of my dress for the fifth time.
Aditya notices. “You’re going to wrinkle it if you keep doing that.”
I glance at him. “I’m not nervous.”
“You’ve adjusted your sleeve three times since we parked.”
“I’m just making sure I look presentable.” He leans back in the driver’s seat, watching me with the faintest hint of amusement.
“You look beautiful.” The words land so easily that I don’t even process them for a second.
Then my face warms. “You didn’t even look properly,” I mutter.
“I’ve been looking at you since you stepped out of the room, baby”
I turn toward him sharply. “You’re saying things like that very casually.”
“That’s because they’re very true.” He smirks. I hate how effortlessly he does that.
How he says something simple and my entire brain forgets how to function for a moment. He steps out of the car and walks around to my side before I can respond.
When he opens the door he offers his hand. I stare at it.
“You do realize this is not necessary.”
“I like doing unnecessary things.”
I place my hand in his anyway. The moment our fingers intertwine the tension inside my chest loosens slightly.
He squeezes my hand once. “Ready?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Why good?”
“Because the best evenings start with mild panic.”
I roll my eyes. But I don’t let go of his hand. The moment we step inside the building, conversations around us shift.
Not dramatically. Just enough that I notice. A few people glance toward Aditya with recognition. Someone waves.
Another man approaches us almost immediately. “Aditya! Finally.”
Aditya smiles politely and shakes his hand. “Arjun.”
Then he turns slightly toward me.
“This is my wife, Divya.”
The word wife still feels new every time I hear it. Arjun smiles warmly. “Nice to meet you.”
I return the greeting, trying not to look overwhelmed by the number of people in the room. Aditya keeps his hand loosely wrapped around mine the entire time.
He doesn’t let go once. And somehow that small thing makes it easier to breathe. We move through the room slowly.
Every few minutes someone stops to speak to him.
Editors. Authors. Colleagues. He introduces me to each of them the same way. “My wife, Divya.” No hesitation. No awkwardness. Just quiet certainty. After the fifth introduction I realize something else.
People respect him. Not in the loud, flashy way some powerful men demand attention.
But in a steadier way. People listen when he speaks.
They laugh when he makes small comments.
Several people ask his opinion about manuscripts or upcoming releases.
And every time he answers thoughtfully. I find myself watching him more than I expected.
He stands slightly angled toward me the entire evening.
Like he’s making sure I never feel left out of the conversation.
At one point an older woman says warmly, “you finally brought someone to one of these events.”
Aditya shrugs lightly. “Divya improves my reputation.”
I nudge his arm. “That is not what you told me in the car.”
The woman laughs. “I like her already.”
Later someone asks me about the attar shop downstairs. I explain a little about how my father started it and how the blends are made. Aditya listens quietly beside me. And when the conversation moves on he leans closer and whispers near my ear. “You explained that beautifully.”
My chest warms in a way I don’t quite understand.
For a moment I forget we’re surrounded by people.
Eventually I excuse myself to find the washroom.
The hallway upstairs is quieter than the main hall.
The sound of the event fades into a distant murmur behind the closed doors.
Inside the washroom the lighting is softer.
I rinse my hands slowly, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are still slightly pink.
Probably from nerves. Or maybe from the way Aditya has been looking at me all evening. I dry my hands and step toward the door. That’s when I hear voices. Two women are standing near the sinks further inside the room.
I recognize one of them immediately. Rhea. She smiled a lot when we talk at the office. She had seemed kind. Her voice now sounds slightly different. Lower. More casual. “I’m telling you,” she says, adjusting her lipstick in the mirror. “Aditya married her because she needed money.”
I stop walking. The other woman frowns. “You’re serious?”
“Of course.”
“How do you know?”
Rhea shrugs. “Everyone heard about it eventually.”
The other woman studies her reflection thoughtfully. “Well… men like him don’t marry girls like that unless there’s a reason.”
The words land somewhere deep inside my chest. For a moment I think I misheard them. But the silence that follows tells me I didn’t.
Something tightens in my throat. I step forward before I can talk myself out of it. “Excuse me.”
Both women turn. Rhea’s expression freezes for half a second when she sees me. Then she smiles politely. “Divya.”
I walk closer.
“Did you just say Aditya married me because I needed money?” The other woman suddenly looks very interested in the tiles on the floor.
Rhea sighs softly. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“That’s not an answer.”
She crosses her arms. “I didn’t mean it as an insult.”
“It sounded like one.”
Rhea studies my face calmly. “You’re lucky, you know.” I stare at her.
“What does that mean?”
She tilts her head slightly. “Men like him don’t marry girls like you unless there’s a reason.”
The words settle between us.
Cold.
Heavy.
I don’t respond immediately. Because I’m suddenly not sure what to say. Rhea picks up her purse. “Enjoy the party.”
Then she walks out. The other woman follows quickly behind her. The door closes. And the room feels very quiet. I stand there for several seconds staring at my reflection. The same thoughts circle in my mind over and over.
What if she’s right?
The idea slips in slowly. Like water finding cracks in stone.
I press my palms against the sink. Aditya is kind. Too kind sometimes. He helps people without thinking twice. He helped me. The memory of the early days flickers through my mind.
The debts.
The stress.
The situation that brought us together in the first place. A knot forms in my chest. What if he’s just… too good of a person to admit he’s stuck?
The thought hurts more than I expect.
Because somewhere along the way something changed for me.
I didn’t plan it.
I didn’t even notice when it happened.
But now the truth sits clearly in my chest.
I love him. The realization feels both terrifying and strangely peaceful.
If Rhea is right…If he’s only staying because he feels responsible… Then I can’t let that continue. The idea of him feeling trapped makes my stomach twist painfully. I straighten slowly.
I splash cold water on my face and dry it carefully.
When I walk back into the hall the noise of the event returns around me.
Laughter.
Music.
Conversations overlapping.
I find Aditya across the room speaking to two men. The moment his eyes land on me he stops mid-sentence. Something in my face must give me away. Because his expression changes instantly. Concern replaces the easy smile he had earlier.
He excuses himself from the conversation and walks toward me. “Divya.”
I try to smile. “I think I should go home.”
His eyebrows draw together. “Why?”
“Neel.”
“What about Neel?”
“He might need me.”
Aditya studies my face carefully. “You left him with three adults and a cake.”
“I know.”
“Divya.”
“I just feel like I should go.” He doesn’t move.
He just keeps looking at me.
And the longer he looks the harder it becomes to hold the smile on my face.
“Something happened,” he says quietly.
“No.”
“Yes.”
I shake my head.
“I’m fine.”
He reaches for my hand. His fingers close around mine firmly. “Come with me.”
“Aditya—”
“Please.”
There’s something in his voice that makes arguing pointless. He leads me down the hallway and up the staircase toward the offices. The building is quieter here. The sounds of the party fade behind us.
He opens a door and steps inside. His office. He closes the door gently behind us. Then he turns toward me. “Now tell me what happened.”
I look down at my hands.
“Nothing.”
“Divya.”
“Really.”
He takes a step closer. “You’re shaking.”
I hadn’t noticed until he said it. But now I do. The room feels smaller suddenly. The pressure inside my chest builds until I can barely breathe. He reaches out and cups my face gently.
“Talk to me.” The kindness in his voice breaks something inside me.
My vision blurs. “I heard something in the washroom.”
His expression sharpens.
“What?”
I swallow. I take a shaky breath. “Men like you don’t marry girls like me unless there’s a reason.”
The words feel even worse saying them out loud. I look away from him. My voice trembles despite my effort to keep it steady, "what if marrying me started as kindness…and now he’s just making the best of it?"
I swallow the lump in my throat, “What if you just feel responsible for me?” I inhale deeply, “what if you’re only staying because you’re too kind to admit you’re stuck?”
The tears come before I can stop them. “If that’s true…” I whisper, “I’ll let you go.”
Because loving someone sometimes means freeing them. Even when it hurts. And right now it hurts more than I imagined possible.