Doubts rarely arrive with the roar of a storm. Most often, they slip in quietly through an unlocked door, taking a seat beside you like an old friend, and begin asking questions in your own voice.
The house moved with its accustomed morning rhythm—the crisp rustle of newspaper pages, the melodic pour of tea, and the soft, golden light of the sun filtered through the curtains.
Divyansh was fastening his watch when his mother, Ridha Singh, entered the room. She looked thoughtful—not quite upset, not quite happy, but possessed by a stillness that made him pause.
"Maa, do you need something?" he asked.
She sat down slowly on the edge of the bed. "Divu... are you happy?"
He offered a faint, patient smile. "You ask me that every single day, Maa."
"And has the answer changed?"
He shook his head firmly. "No."
Ridha nodded, though her gaze remained distant. "That’s good. Avni is a good girl."
Divyansh didn't miss the nuance. A good girl. It was a statement of fact, but it lacked the warmth of saying she was perfect for him.
"Yes, she is," he replied simply.
Ridha continued, her voice dropping to a calm, almost clinical level. "It’s just that, sometimes... I feel like your lives are so different."
Divyansh didn't react. He couldn't, because that part was undeniably true.
"Avni has built a very structured life," Ridha added softly. "Everything is planned, everything is controlled. To truly understand her... one has to be on her level."
The line landed with a dull thud in his mind. Her level.
"Maa, I understand her," he insisted.
"I know," she said quickly, reaching out to pat his hand. "I’m not saying you don’t. It’s just..." She paused, seemingly absent-minded. "Vivek is just so composed, isn't he? His life is settled in that same precise way..."
Silence stretched between them. Divyansh didn't question her, and he didn't defend himself. But the seed had been planted.
Vivek? Why bring him into this?
He picked up his keys, the metal cold against his palm. "I’m going to be late."
"Divu—" she called softly, but he had already turned away. He didn't want to hear the rest of the sentence. He didn't want to know where that comparison ended.
In Avni’s world, there was no room for "almost" or "perhaps." It was a landscape of glass walls, sharp decisions, and a relentless forward momentum.
"Ma’am, the vendor is asking for an adjustment," a staff member said, leaning into her office.
"Approve it," Avni said without looking up from her screen.
"And the client call at three?"
"On time. No delays."
The machinery of her professional life never ground to a halt. It was a symphony of productivity that she conducted with a flick of her wrist.
"Ma’am, Mr. Divyansh is here."
For a split second, the gears paused. Avni looked up, her expression softening. "Send him in."
Divyansh walked in with his usual effortless grace, but today, his eyes were different. He wasn't just looking at her; he was observing the ecosystem she inhabited. He saw the way people jumped at her command, the way the clock seemed to tick more precisely in her presence.
"You run a tight ship," he remarked.
"I have to," she replied, offering a tired but genuine smile.
He nodded slowly. "Good."
The silence that followed was different from their usual comfort. When a staff member interrupted again to announce a meeting in five minutes, Divyansh watched her transition back into 'Boss' mode. He wasn't uncomfortable with her power—he was comparing it to his own stillness.
This is her world, he thought. Certain. Defined. Where do I stand in a world this structured?
"Coffee?" she asked, breaking his trance.
"Already had some."
"Without me?" she teased.
"I had to survive until now somehow," he joked back.
She smiled, and for a moment, the warmth of it was enough to melt the frost of his mother’s words.
Later that afternoon, they found themselves amidst the chaos of a shopping trip. Avni was in her element, discussing fabric weights and textures with a vendor, making decisions with a clarity that left no room for doubt.
Divyansh watched her, and the thought returned, unbidden. Would I ever be that certain?
"Divyansh?"
He blinked. Avni was standing close to him now, her brow slightly arched. "You’re quiet."
"Just observing," he said.
"Or overthinking?"
He gave in to a small smile. "A bit of both, maybe."
"Say it," she prompted, stepping into his personal space.
He hesitated, the question heavy on his tongue. "Do you ever feel like you’ve already figured everything out? Like there’s no room left for the 'unknown'?"
Avni frowned slightly, considering it. "No," she said after a pause. "But I suppose I make it look that way."
"Divyansh..." she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, "what are you really thinking about?"
He looked at her, and for a fleeting second, he almost told her. He almost confessed that he felt himself being measured against a ghost of a man named Vivek. He almost asked if he measured up.
Instead, he squeezed her hand. "Nothing important."
She didn't push him, but he could see the lingering curiosity in her eyes. She noticed the shadow even if she couldn't see what was casting it.
Across the city, the subtle games continued. Arti, playing her part with sweet precision, asked Avni over the phone, "You’ll manage everything, won't you? The Singhs have such high expectations, and you know how men like that can be."
Different voices, different houses, but the same underlying poison.
Late that night, Divyansh sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the glowing screen of his phone.
He typed: Do you think I’m enough?
His thumb hovered over the send button. The cursor flickered—a steady, judgmental pulse. He deleted it.
He tried again: Are you happy with us?
Deleted.
Finally, he typed: Reached home?
Avni’s reply came almost instantly.
Avni: Yes. You?
Divyansh: Yeah.
He stared at the screen.
Divyansh: Avni... can I ask you something?
Avni: Ask.
He watched the bubbles appear and disappear. He thought of his mother’s voice, of Vivek’s name, and of the sharp glass walls of Avni’s office. He deleted the text.
Divyansh: See you tomorrow.
In her own room, Avni looked at the screen, a sense of unease settled in her chest. Something had been left unsaid in that digital silence.
Avni: Okay. Good night.
That night, nothing was broken. No words were exchanged that could be retracted. But a quiet comparison had begun to take root. Because sometimes, the hardest question isn't whether they love you—it's whether you are becoming the person they deserve.
*************************
Thanks for reading and share your thoughts on the story so far and please follow the account for update
Write a comment ...