Toward Divya.
Chapter 14
The lobby of Shanti Niwas froze when they entered.
Three women by the mailboxes stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening with confusion, recognition, then shock.
Vikram didn’t look their way. After years of fame, these reactions meant nothing to him. But here, in Divya’s building, the silence felt personal. These weren’t fans. They were her neighbors. People who might have been gossiping about her for days.
The elevator felt cramped. Vikram’s shoulders too wide, the walls too close. Or maybe it was just the weight of what he’d come to do.
As they rose to the third floor, the sounds began.Ping. Ping-ping. Ping.
WhatsApp notifications spread through the building like wildfire, echoing through thin walls.
By the time they reached the third floor, the digital whispers had followed their every step.
Vikram stared at door 306.
A camera shutter clicked from a cracked door across the hall. He kept his eyes forward. This short walk felt longer than any red carpet.
His father stepped ahead. Vikram fell back, letting him take over while his heart hammered against his ribs. It was just aconversation, a solution. Yet his mouth went dry. His hands kept clenching and unclenching at his sides.
Harshit knocked three times. The silence stretched. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. Then footsteps approached. The door opened.
Divya stood in the doorway, hand still wrapped around the knob.
The sight of her hit Vikram with physical force.
Four days. Ninety-six hours that felt like years.
She looked nothing like his assistant, steady, precise, composed. She looked like someone who had been dragged through a storm and left standing only because there was nowhere to fall.
Her skin was dull, dark circles spreading beneath her eyes like bruises. Her wire-rimmed glasses sat slightly askew, lenses smudged with fingerprints. Her hair, usually in a neat braid, hung limp in a messy ponytail. The simple cotton kurta had wrinkles set deeply into the fabric, as if she’d slept in it. Or not slept at all.
She looked broken. Beaten down.
A casualty of his unthinking moment.
And yet, something inside him tightened at the sight of her. Even now, especially now, the feeling that washed over him had nothing to do with guilt or obligation. It was something deeper, more primal. The simple fact of her existence, her breathing, her standing there alive and real after four days of silence.
He could breathe properly for the first time since the photo went viral.
Her eyes met his for a fraction of a second before sliding away, fixing somewhere around his shoulder. The quick glance held no warmth. No recognition of even their professional relationship.
Just wariness. Fear, even.
“Divya,” his father said gently. “We apologize for coming unannounced. May we speak with your parents?”
Her throat moved as she swallowed. Her grip tightened on the door.
“They’re inside,” she answered, voice rough, as though words had scraped her on the way out.
She stepped back.
Vikram entered, acutely aware of how large he felt in the narrow apartment. The air carried the scent of spices and something recently cleaned. A wall clock ticked with sharp insistence.
Divya closed the door behind them with a soft click. The sound felt like a seal being broken. Two worlds colliding.