Chapter 8 – When the Door Opened
Two days passed quietly in Mumbai.
Not empty—just gentle.
Suhani settled into a rhythm she hadn’t expected to find so soon. Mornings began with the sound of distant traffic softened by palm trees, sunlight filtering through wide windows, and Niddhi’s habitual humming as she moved through the kitchen. The apartment breathed calm despite the city outside—an intentional pause in Mumbai’s relentless pace.
Suhani liked that.
She spent her days learning routes, understanding the city’s temperament, preparing mentally for work that would begin soon. Evenings were simple—tea by the balcony, conversations that wandered without destination, laughter that didn’t ask for reasons.
On the third evening, rain teased the sky without falling.
Suhani sat curled up on the couch, wearing a soft pink T-shirt and black pajamas, her hair loosely tied, a book resting forgotten in her lap. Niddhi lounged on the floor with her laptop open, dressed in a casual crop top and shorts, typing half-heartedly, scrolling more than working.
“You know,” Niddhi said suddenly, “Mumbai friendships happen faster than anywhere else. Maybe because everyone is tired of being alone.”
Suhani smiled. “Or maybe because everyone here understands survival.”
“True,” Niddhi agreed. “So… how are you really feeling?”
Suhani thought for a moment. “Unsettled. But in a good way. Like the ground is moving, but not breaking.”
Niddhi looked at her with soft curiosity. “Something good is coming,” she said casually, as if stating a fact.
Before Suhani could respond, the doorbell rang.
The sound cut cleanly through the apartment.
Niddhi froze for a second—then her face lit up.
“No way,” she whispered, already on her feet.
Suhani’s heart skipped unexpectedly.
She didn’t know why.
She hadn’t been waiting for anyone. Yet a strange warmth spread through her chest—an instinctive feeling that something new was about to begin. Not alarming. Not overwhelming.
Positive.
Life-altering.
Niddhi rushed to the door. “It can’t be—you didn’t tell me—”
She flung it open.
“BHAI!”
The shout echoed through the apartment.
Suhani stood up instinctively, her body reacting before her mind could. She saw a tall figure step inside, travel bag in hand. Niddhi ran into his arms without hesitation, hugging him tightly, her feet nearly lifting off the ground.
“You came!” she laughed, half crying. “You didn’t even tell me!”
“I wanted to surprise you,” the man said, his voice deep, warm, unmistakably calm. “But you look like you were already prepared to scold me.”
“You’re always late,” Niddhi complained, refusing to let go. “For me. For family. For everything except work.”
Suhani stood a few steps away, smiling at the scene, her chest filling with an unfamiliar softness. She couldn’t see his face yet—only his broad shoulders, the crisp lines of a formal suit, the quiet authority in his posture.
There was something reassuring about his presence.
Something… known.
Niddhi finally stepped back, still holding his arm. “You look exhausted.”
“And you look taller,” he replied dryly.
She laughed. “That’s because you’re never around to notice.”
Then Niddhi turned.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “You haven’t met yet.”
The man followed her gaze.
Suhani lifted her eyes.
Time slowed.
The face before her was unmistakable.
Dhruv.
The man from New York.
The man from quiet conversations and unfinished thoughts.
The man who had existed in her memory without a surname, without a future, without explanation.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
Dhruv’s expression shifted—recognition first, then stillness, then something deeper he masked instantly. His eyes held hers with controlled composure, but beneath it, surprise stirred unmistakably.
“Suhani,” he said softly.
Her name sounded different on his lips. Closer.
“Dhruv,” she replied, equally quiet.
Niddhi looked between them, confused. “Wait… you know each other?”
“Workshop,” Dhruv said smoothly. “New York.”
Suhani nodded. “Briefly.”
Briefly, she thought.
As if silence could be brief.
Niddhi blinked. Then smiled widely. “Of course. Of course you two would already be connected somehow. Mumbai does that.”
Dhruv set his bag aside. “I’ll freshen up,” he said, his voice steady. “Long flight.”
“Go,” Niddhi said. “We’ll make coffee.”
As he walked down the corridor, Suhani noticed his appearance properly now—tailored charcoal suit, white shirt slightly creased from travel, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal a steel watch. He looked every bit the global CEO he was rumored to be—composed, controlled, carrying the weight of decisions without advertising them.
When he disappeared into his room—the closed door at the end of the corridor—Niddhi turned to Suhani, eyes shining.
“You didn’t tell me he was handsome,” she teased.
Suhani laughed, a little breathless. “You didn’t tell me your brother was… *him*.”
Niddhi tilted her head. “Him?”
Suhani shook her head quickly. “Nothing.”
They moved into the kitchen, the familiar comfort returning slowly.
When Dhruv joined them again, changed into a soft grey shirt and dark trousers, the atmosphere shifted—subtly, undeniably. Coffee cups were poured. They sat together near the balcony, evening light casting warm shadows around them.
Niddhi took the first sip and sighed dramatically. “You don’t come often enough,” she complained. “Family sees you on newspapers more than in person.”
Dhruv smirked. “Someone has to fund your expensive taste.”
“I have a new roommate now,” Niddhi added proudly. “So I’m not lonely.”
Dhruv looked at Suhani. “So I see.”
Niddhi launched into the story eagerly—airport meeting, lost AirPods, tea, the decision to stay together. Dhruv listened carefully, his gaze occasionally drifting back to Suhani, as if confirming reality.
“And where are you working now?” he asked casually.
“Seafigure Essence,” Suhani replied.
He didn’t react outwardly.
Inside, something clicked into place.
“My company,” he thought.
But he said nothing.
Instead, he nodded. “That’s… impressive.”
Niddhi frowned. “What do you do again?” she asked Suhani.
“Research and strategy,” Suhani replied. “Market sustainability.”
Dhruv felt a quiet satisfaction settle in his chest.
“Stay here,” he said simply. “As long as you’re in Mumbai.”
Suhani looked surprised. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not,” Niddhi said immediately. “You’re family now.”
Dhruv met Suhani’s eyes. “She’s right.”
Silence followed—not awkward, not heavy.
Sweet.
Promising.
Outside, the city continued its restless rhythm.
Inside, something new had begun.
Not loudly.
But undeniably.
