Chapter 10 – Between Waiting and Becoming
Mumbai learned Suhani’s footsteps quickly.
Within a week, the city no longer felt like a stranger brushing past her shoulder. It felt like a presence—observant, demanding, but not unkind. Each morning, she woke before the alarm, the sound of distant traffic mixing with the faint call of birds that still dared to exist between concrete towers. She stood by the balcony with her tea, watching the city stretch awake, and somewhere in that movement, she found herself stretching too.
Workdays were full now—full in the way that left no room for unnecessary thoughts, yet somehow created space for deeper ones.
At the office, Suhani was no longer “the new transfer.” She was becoming *Suhani*—the one who noticed gaps before they turned into problems, who listened more than she spoke, whose questions were quiet but precise. Aarav often sought her opinion during analysis meetings, valuing her calm logic. Kavya had already declared her a lunchtime companion, filling breaks with stories and laughter. Neel teased her gently for her seriousness, while Pallavi observed approvingly, offering guidance without intrusion.
Still, amid the hum of productivity and the glow of accomplishment, there were moments—small, unannounced—when Dhruv’s presence returned to her mind.
Not dramatically. Not insistently.
Just… there.
Sometimes it was when she paused mid-sentence during a meeting, wondering how he would frame the same thought. Sometimes it was when she found herself appreciating silence instead of filling it. And sometimes, it was in the most unexpected moments—like when she stood alone by the office window, watching rain blur the city, and remembered the stillness of an elevator in New York.
She never spoke his name aloud.
At home, Niddhi noticed everything.
---
### **Days Passing, Bonds Forming**
Evenings in the Bandra apartment took on a rhythm. Niddhi cooked when she felt like it, ordered food when she didn’t, and insisted Suhani stop being “professionally responsible” after 9 p.m. They shared the couch, shared desserts, shared stories.
“So,” Niddhi said one night, scrolling through her phone, “my brother is currently in São Paulo.”
Suhani looked up from her notebook. “Brazil, right?”
“Yes. Meetings, inspections, saving the corporate world one country at a time.”
She glanced at Suhani. “You know, he never talks about people. But he mentioned you.”
Suhani’s pen stilled. “Mentioned… me?”
Niddhi nodded casually. “Just said you were ‘sharp’ and ‘unusual.’ For him, that’s practically poetry.”
Suhani smiled faintly, unsure how to respond.
They let the conversation drift elsewhere—movies, food, office gossip—but the words stayed with her. *Sharp. Unusual.*
Not beautiful. Not impressive.
Real.
---
### **Across Oceans**
Dhruv’s life moved at a different speed.
Brazil greeted him with heat, urgency, and expectations that refused to wait. Meetings bled into dinners, strategy sessions into site visits. He moved through them with his usual composure, absorbing information, making decisions, leaving impact quietly behind.
Yet, in hotel rooms that looked identical across continents, something unsettled him.
He found himself thinking—not of outcomes, but of conversations left unfinished. Of silences that had not demanded resolution. Of a woman who did not try to be seen, yet remained visible.
One night, after a particularly long day, he stood by his hotel window, city lights reflecting off glass, and checked his phone.
No missed calls.
No messages.
And strangely, he was relieved.
Some connections, he had learned, survived best without constant reassurance.
---
### **Mumbai, Midweek**
Midweek arrived with exhaustion and accomplishment intertwined. Suhani handled her first independent presentation, her voice steady even as senior managers questioned her projections. She answered calmly, acknowledged gaps honestly, and defended her reasoning without arrogance.
Afterward, Pallavi stopped by her desk.
“Well done,” she said simply. “You don’t rush to prove yourself. That’s rare.”
Suhani smiled, gratitude softening her tiredness.
That evening, she returned home later than usual. Niddhi was sprawled on the couch, half-watching a show, half-asleep.
“Long day?” Niddhi murmured.
“Good one,” Suhani replied, dropping her bag.
She stood by the locked room for a brief second—the one that belonged to Dhruv. The door remained closed, quiet, patient. She turned away without touching it.
---
### **The Call**
The call came unexpectedly on a Friday night.
Suhani was in her room, folding clothes, when her phone buzzed. An unknown international number.
She hesitated.
Then answered.
“Hello?”
There was a pause on the other end—brief, controlled.
“Suhani,” Dhruv’s voice said. Calm. Familiar.
Her breath caught, just slightly. “Dhruv.”
“I hope I didn’t disturb you.”
“No,” she replied honestly. “I was just… home.”
Another pause. Comfortable.
“I spoke to Niddhi earlier,” he said. “She mentioned you’ve settled in well.”
“Yes. Mumbai has been… kind.”
“I thought it would be.”
She leaned against the bed, grounding herself. “How is Brazil?”
“Loud,” he said. “Efficient. Temporary.”
She smiled. “Everything sounds temporary when you say it.”
“Because it usually is.”
They spoke then—not as CEO and employee, not as strangers, but as two people navigating parallel paths. He asked about her team, her work. She asked about his travel, his exhaustion. No one crossed boundaries. No one named emotions.
Yet something shifted.
Before ending the call, he said quietly, “I’ll be back in Mumbai soon.”
She didn’t ask when.
“Okay,” she said instead.
The line disconnected.
Suhani sat still for a long moment, her heart oddly steady.
---
### **Growing Into Herself**
The following days tested her endurance. Deadlines tightened. Expectations rose. Yet Suhani felt stronger—not hardened, but steadier. She was learning when to speak, when to listen, when to hold her ground, and when to let go.
One afternoon, as she walked through the office corridor, she overheard two colleagues discussing leadership styles.
“Some people command attention,” one said. “Others earn it.”
Suhani kept walking, the words echoing quietly.
That night, she wrote in her journal:
*I am not here to arrive loudly. I am here to last.*
---
### **Niddhi’s Observation**
Niddhi watched Suhani carefully over the weeks.
She noticed how her laughter came easier now. How she no longer apologized before speaking. How her silences had changed—not heavier, but fuller.
“You’re different,” Niddhi said one evening, handing her a cup of tea.
Suhani looked up. “Different how?”
“Like you trust yourself more.”
Suhani considered that. “Maybe I do.”
Niddhi smiled knowingly. “Mumbai effect. Or maybe… my brother effect.”
Suhani laughed, shaking her head. “Don’t start.”
But later that night, alone in her room, Suhani wondered—not about Dhruv specifically, but about timing. About how some people entered your life not to claim space, but to mirror it back to you.
---
### **A Quiet Promise**
Far away, Dhruv boarded another flight, files neatly organized, mind equally ordered—except for one thought that refused to be categorized.
He remembered Suhani’s voice on the phone. Calm. Grounded. Unchanged.
Somewhere between departure lounges and destination boards, he accepted something he had not allowed himself before:
That some journeys were not about control.
They were about patience.
And somewhere in Mumbai, a woman was becoming herself—quietly, steadily—unaware that her becoming was already altering the trajectory of another life.
Not dramatically.
Not urgently.
But inevitably.
