The silence in the car was thick, a heavy veil that Divyash finally decided to pierce. “So, how was your day?” he asked, his voice gentle.
“Fine, I suppose,” Avni replied, her gaze drifting toward him. “There were so many files to sign. It’s strange… I never imagined I’d actually prefer staying home to being at the office.”
Divyash offered a playful grin. “Maybe it’s not just the house you like. Maybe you just like staying home with me.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she said, her tone unexpectedly sincere. “Maybe I just like being with you and hearing you talk.”
The joke died on Divyash’s lips. He looked at her, caught off guard. “I—I was just kidding. I know how much I probably bore you, rambling on about books and movies.”
“No, I mean it,” Avni said softly. “Spending this time with you has made me realize that the rat race isn't everything. It’s important to stop sometimes. Honestly, listening to you ‘yap’ about a book I’ve never heard of is actually… relaxing.”
She didn’t say it aloud, but she had genuinely missed him at the office today. She found herself wishing she were back home, watching him play with Scooby, seeing him tucked away with one of those ‘hopeless romantic’ novels he loved, or standing on the balcony as he talked about the most wonderfully random things.
Flattered and momentarily speechless, Divyash scrambled to regain his usual teasing composure. He didn’t want her to see how much her words had affected him. “Well, well. It sounds like you missed me a little too much, Mrs. Singh,” he said, trying to diffuse the growing intimacy.
Avni stiffened slightly. “It’s not that. I’ve just settled into a routine with you, and going back to work made me realize I missed that rhythm. And please,” she added, her voice dropping, “stop calling me ‘Mrs. Singh.’ All morning, people at the office wouldn’t stop. If anyone accidentally said ‘Miss Sinha,’ they’d practically trip over themselves apologizing.”
She was trying to maintain her professional armor. She didn't want him—or anyone else—to think she was just a lovestruck newlywed who couldn't function without her husband.
“You don’t like being called Mrs. Singh?” he asked, a hint of amusement returning. He had called her that before, and she had never seemed to mind.
“It’s not the name,” she clarified, looking at him earnestly. “I am your wife. I am Mrs. Singh. But that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped being a Sinha. It’s the fuss people make that I can't stand.” She looked away. “I liked it when it was just you saying it. When everyone else does, it feels… wrong.”
“Then how about a nickname?” he suggested. “Something only I call you.”
Avni felt the heat climb her neck. “No, that’s not what I meant!”
“How about ‘Boss’? Or ‘Commander’?” he laughed.
“Stop it, Divyash, or I’ll find a nickname for you too!”
“Oh, you think that’s a threat? I’d love that,” he countered.
Avni took the bait. “Fine. From now on, I’m calling you Ansh.”
Divyash beamed. “Ansh. I love it. Everyone else calls me Divu, but you… you get Ansh. And in return, I’ll call you… Avi.”
“Fine,” she whispered, her heart doing a frantic dance. “But don’t you dare say it in front of anyone. I don’t need more gossip.” Despite her protest, she felt like a teenager again. His dimples were on full display, and she had a sudden, irrational urge to lean over and kiss one.
The moment was shattered by the shrill ring of her phone echoing through the car’s Bluetooth. The display showed ‘Chachi.’ Avni’s brow furrowed; her aunt only called when there was trouble involving her or her children.
“You should answer,” Divyash said.
Avni pressed the button on the dashboard. “Hello?”
“Avni! Where are you?” her aunt’s voice exploded into the car. “I’ve been trying to reach you, but I keep getting your secretary!”
Avni sighed. Her aunt never called her directly unless she wanted something, usually preferring to go through Priya. “What happened, Chachi?”
“It’s Amol! The police arrested him just for speeding on his bike! How can they do that? It was just a little speeding!”
“Calm down,” Avni said, her voice weary. This wasn't Amol's first brush with the law. “Put an officer on the phone.”
A deep, stern voice took over. “Miss, this is Senior Inspector Vishal Nayar. Your brother, Mr. Amol Sinha, was charged with reckless speeding and, more seriously, for assaulting an on-duty constable who tried to stop him. This isn’t his first offense. We are filing an official complaint. You may want to hire a lawyer.” The line went dead.
Divyash looked concerned. “If you want, I can talk to my brother. He might be able to help.”
“No,” Avni said, her frustration boiling over. “Leave it. He deserves this. He needs to learn that his actions have consequences. I can't believe he slapped a police officer. I’m done handling his messes.”
“Are you sure?” Divyash asked softly. “I know your aunt. She isn’t the type to let this go. She’s going to make things difficult for you.”
“Let her try,” Avni said, the exhaustion plain in her voice. “Amol is the way he is because of her. I won’t let her nonsense trouble you or your family anymore.”
“Avi, you could never trouble me,” Divyash said firmly. “I just don’t want you to be stressed. I’d do anything to prevent that.” He pulled the car to a stop. “We’re here.”
He unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for his bag. When Avni moved to open her door, he stopped her. “Wait.” He climbed out, walked around the car, and opened the door for her.
“I can do that myself, Ansh,” she said, stepping out.
“I know you can,” he replied, taking her bag from her hand. “But you don’t have to. I’m here now.”
As they walked toward the entrance, Avni felt a lump in her throat. For the first time since her parents' death, someone was looking after her in a way that felt entirely selfless. She had spent so long being the one everyone relied on, never having a shoulder of her own to lean on. She wasn't sure if she loved him yet, but he was quickly becoming a necessity—a beautiful, steady habit she didn't want to break.
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