“Never mind.”
That wasn’t information she was meant to have. That was something she’d inferred quietly over months of carefully coordinated dinners she’d arranged herself.
Her mother appeared with tea she hadn’t asked for. “Drink. You look pale.”
The tea scalded her tongue but she drank it anyway, needing something to do with her hands. Outside their flat, footsteps paused by their door. Whispers. Then continued on.
The building was watching. Waiting. Judging.
At nine-thirty, her phone lit up with a notification.
“Vikram Khanna’s official statement released.”
Her fingers felt numb as she clicked it.
“Mr. Khanna values all members of his professional team and was simply escorting a colleague to her transportation after a long evening of work. Any romantic implications are baseless speculation.”
She read it three times.
Colleague. Baseless speculation.
The words were correct. Professional. Exactly what should be said.
So why did they feel like erasure?
She set the phone down carefully, as if it might shatter.
Her mother looked up from her own phone. “See? He’s clarified. It’s nothing.”
“Yes,” Divya said quietly. “Nothing.”
But the statement didn’t end things. It multiplied them.
New headlines appeared within the hour:
“Body Language Experts Decode Vikram’s Protective Gesture: ‘That’s Not How You Touch a Colleague”
“The Assistant He Couldn’t Stop Looking At: Timeline of Vikram’s Distraction”
Someone had compiled every photo from the wedding where Vikram’s attention had drifted toward her. Proof assembled from moments she’d thought were invisible.
Her mother hovered nearby. “You should stay home today. Let this settle.”
Divya looked up from the screen. “I need to submit my thesis. The deadline is noon.”
“But people will talk.”
“People are already talking.” She stood, suddenly certain. “My thesis won’t submit itself.”
She showered. Dressed in a simple blue kurta. Braided her hair with steady hands. Checked her thesis one final time. Six months of research, analysis, citations. Work that existed independent of scandal.
When she stepped into the corridor, three aunties fell silent mid-conversation. One adjusted her dupatta. Another pretended to scroll her phone. Their eyes followed her to the stairs.
The security guard avoided her gaze when she said good morning.
She walked to the bus stop without lowering her head, even as awareness prickled across her skin. She could feel the stares. The whispers starting the moment she passed.
Her phone vibrated as she reached the bus stop.