The morning sun over Charles de Gaulle Airport was a pale, honeyed gold, but for Divyash, it was merely a backdrop to the hazy aftermath of a ten-hour flight. While he had spent the journey cocooned in the plush blankets of business class, drifting through a series of effortless naps, Avni had been a whirlwind of silent productivity. Beside him, her laptop had hummed with the energy of a woman about to conquer a boardroom, her brow furrowed as she finalized the details of a deal that had brought them across oceans.
As they deplaned, the crisp Parisian air bit at their skin. Avni, ever the protector, didn't give him a chance to shiver. She descended upon him with a collection of layers—a heavy wool coat, a plush scarf, and a cap pulled low over his ears.
"You’ll freeze if you aren't careful," she murmured, adjusting his collar until he felt like a well-insulated package.
"I’m fine, Captain," Divyash teased, his voice muffled by the scarf, but he didn't resist. He loved the way she took charge, the way her pragmatism anchored his idealism.
They hailed a cab, and as the vehicle wove through the peripheries of the city toward the heart of the Arrondissements, Divyash was pressed against the glass. He watched the limestone facades and the wrought-iron balconies flicker by with the wide-eyed wonder of a puppy on its first car ride. Paris wasn't just a city; it was a film set, and he was finally in the lead role.
Their suite was less of a room and more of a sanctuary. When the bellhop swung open the heavy oak doors, Divyash froze. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed the Eiffel Tower so perfectly it looked like a painting.
"Avni..." he breathed, the sheer scale of her gesture hitting him.
Seeing the sheer delight on his face, Avni felt the weight of the expensive booking lift. Every rupee spent on the business class seats and the luxury suite felt justified by that single look of awe. Divyash, losing his battle with gravity, flopped onto the king-sized bed, burying his face in the cool, high-thread-count linens.
"I am so tired," he groaned into a pillow.
Avni began unzipping her luggage with practiced efficiency. "You slept from Mumbai to the Mediterranean, Divyash. Are you tired of sleeping, or just tired of being pampered?"
He rolled onto his back, grinning. "Both are exhausting work."
"Well, keep your strength up," she said, checking her watch. "The meeting is downstairs in the conference wing. It starts in two hours. You can stay here and nap, or head out—but stay close."
By noon, Divyash was wandering the cobblestone streets of the Seventh Arrondissement. The air smelled of yeast and roasted coffee. He found a small, tucked-away café with wicker chairs spilling onto the sidewalk. He ordered a hot chocolate so thick it was practically melted ganache and a croissant that shattered into buttery shards at the first bite.
He was busy framing a photo of his pastry for Avni when a voice broke his concentration.
"Hi, sorry to disturb you... but are you Indian?"
He looked up to see a young woman, her accent carrying the familiar lilt of home. "Yes, I am. Can I help you?" He stood up, a reflex of politeness.
"Oh, actually," she said, her cheeks reddening slightly, "you’re really handsome, and my friend over there..." she pointed to a girl at a nearby table who was studiously looking away, "...she really liked you."
Divyash didn't skip a beat. A playful but firm smile touched his lips. "Well, let me stop you right there. I’m very much married. So, sorry, ladies."
The girl’s eyes widened in surprise. "Oh! Sorry. You were sitting alone, so we just presumed..."
"My wife is busy winning a corporate war nearby," he said, settling back into his chair with a proud glint in his eye. "We’re actually here on our honeymoon."
The girls retreated with sheepish apologies, their disappointment palpable. Divyash, however, barely noticed. He was already typing a frantic, laughing message to his best friend, Rishab, recounting the encounter with a mix of pride and amusement.
His walk eventually led him past a boutique window that seemed to glow. On a mannequin sat a dress of liquid fire—a bright red satin piece, backless and sleeveless, with a thigh-high slit that promised to turn every head in the room. It was bold, elegant, and screamed Avni.
Inside, the price tag gave him a momentary heart attack: 450 Euros. Nearly fifty thousand Indian Rupees. He hesitated, thinking of his own bank balance, but then he thought of Avni—how she had carried the weight of the trip’s logistics, how she looked after him. Her birthday was in two days.
"I'll take it," he said, his heart racing.
But as he walked out with the shopping bag, his gaze fell on a jewelry store across the street. The dress needed something. He spent an hour looking at necklaces that felt too clunky or too cheap until he saw it: a Cartier diamond necklace, a single brilliant stone on a delicate chain. It was 1,000 Euros—nearly a month’s salary—but he didn't hesitate. He had his savings, and for once, he wanted to be the one providing the luxury.
When Avni finally returned to the suite that evening, the "Corporate Warrior" looked defeated. She slumped against the doorframe, her heels in her hand.
"How was it?" Divyash asked, immediately taking her files and setting them aside.
"We got the deal," she sighed, falling onto the bed with a muffled thud. "But I feel like I’ve been run over by a freight train."
"Rest," he commanded gently. "Change into your pajamas. We’re ordering room service tonight."
As she moved toward the bed, she caught his eye. "So, tell me, Dimples. Did you have a good day in the city?"
Divyash sat beside her, his eyes shining. "Jaana, I had a spectacular day. I was roaming the streets feeling like the lead in an Imtiaz Ali movie. I missed you every second, but I took a thousand pictures."
He scrolled through his phone, narrating the "behind the scenes" of every monument and alleyway. Avni watched him, her exhaustion melting into a soft, private smile. She loved this version of him—the storyteller, the dreamer.
"And," he added, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, "I was approached at a café. A girl told me I was handsome and that her friend wanted my number."
Avni’s posture shifted instantly. Her eyes narrowed, the "boss" persona returning with a vengeful edge. "And what did you say?"
Divyash suppressed a laugh at her blatant jealousy. "I told her to step back. I told her I’m a married man, and I’m very loyal to my beautiful wife."
Avni stared at him for a second, seeing the mischief in his dimples, before she burst out laughing. The tension broke. "Good boy," she teased, reaching out to ruffle his hair.
"Hey! Don't treat me like Scooby," he complained, though he was beaming as he tried to fix his hair.
"Order the food, Ansh," she said, grabbing her silk robe and heading toward the bathroom. "I’m starving."
As the door closed, Divyash looked at the wardrobe where the red dress and the diamonds were hidden. He couldn't wait for her birthday. He couldn't wait to see her shine.
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