At night, she slept beside Vikram because he would not let her sleep on the couch. But she kept a measured space between them, her back turned, body curled inward. If he reached for her in his sleep, she did not pull away. She just did not lean in.
Present. But distant.
In the daytime, she buried herself in work. Production calendars. Script notes. Emails that could have waited but didn’t. Work was safe. Work had rules. Work did not ask her to feel.
The news about Professor Kashyap grew louder. What began as leave turned into suspension. Then an official inquiry. Then more students speaking up. His publisher announced a review of his academic papers
Divya read every update in silence. There was relief in it. And fear.
She never brought it up with Vikram. Never thanked him. Never questioned what he had done or how far he had gone.
She simply watched the fallout from behind the walls she had rebuilt.
And kept moving.
Meanwhile, the house began to feel different.
Conversations paused when she entered. Doors closed more often. Voices lowered. There were looks exchanged across rooms. Small, quick, loaded.
At the center of it stood Vikram.
Focused. Quiet. Intent.
She saw him speaking in low tones with Raghav in the study. Saw Ishani listening carefully in the garden, nodding instead of teasing. Once, she caught Harshit looking at Vikram’s phone and giving a slow, approving nod.
It had something to do with the Filmfare Awards. That much was clear. The nominations had been announced. Vikram was up for Best Actor, again. The house had started discussing stylists and seating charts.
Under normal circumstances, the whole family would attend.
Including her.
But nothing felt normal anymore.
“I’m not going,” she said four days before the ceremony, keeping her voice steady as Vikram arranged an appointment with the designer for Divya. “You should take your mother. It’ll look better.”
Vikram looked at her across the room. “You’re my wife.”
“I’m also your assistant,” she replied, calm and practical. “And as your assistant, I’m advising against another public appearance. The Kashyap issue hasn’t settled. It will draw attention.”
He held her gaze a moment longer.
Then, simply, “Fine. You’ll stay home.”
No argument. No pushback.
The easy agreement unsettled her more than resistance would have.
She nodded once and went back to reviewing his schedule, ignoring the small, sharp ache that came with it.
???
The night of the ceremony arrived.
The house filled with movement. Stylists hurried into Kavita's room. Harshit paced the hallway, phone pressed to his ear, arranging cars. Even Raghav and Ishani arrived early.
Divya moved through it all like she always did. Checking details. Confirming times. Staying busy. Staying safe.
Pista appeared suddenly, weaving between her feet as she crossed the foyer. He had grown since Raghav and Ishani brought him home, but he still moved with clumsy enthusiasm.