CHAPTER 46
ADITI
I don’t cry easily.
It’s something I’ve taught myself over the years—to be composed, professional, and in control. But today, I cry like a child in Abhimaan’s arms, my fingers clutching the front of his shirt, my face buried in the warm, familiar crook of his neck as he holds me without asking questions. Without judgment. Just… there. Solid and steady. Like he always is for me.
Rudrani had called me last night, too excited to form complete sentences. Her annual function. Her first ever stage performance. “You’re coming, right, bua? You promised.” Her tiny voice echoed with the kind of blind faith that only kids can have. That unwavering belief that I’ll show up. That I always will.
But I won’t. Because there’s a meeting. Not just any meeting—a four-hundred-crore deal. The kind that can change the trajectory of a quarter. The kind Abhimaan trusts me to be a part of.
He told me to go. “It’s one meeting, Aditi. I built this company. I can handle it.”
But how can I leave him now? How can I add to what I’ve already taken? He may have forgiven me, but I already cost himone deal because of my mistake. But I remember how he covered for me, smoothed it over, and took the fall. And how he never mentioned it again. I haven’t forgotten. I can’t forget.
So I chose the meeting. Even if it crushes me. Even if I feel like the worst Bua in the world. Which I might be. I pull away from him slowly, wiping my face with the back of my hand. His palm stays cradled against my cheek. Warm. Patient. He doesn’t say anything, and somehow that feels worse than if he had scolded me.
“I’ll get ready,” I whisper. He doesn’t stop me. He just watches me walk into my room.
When I walk out of the room a while later, dressed in a pale lavender blouse and black trousers, my hair tied in a low bun, and I find him already ready. Sitting on the couch, phone in hand, casually scrolling like we haven’t just had one of the most emotionally gutting mornings. He looks up when he hears me, eyes scanning my face for longer than necessary.
I force a smile. “Let’s go.”
He stands without a word, slides his phone into his coat pocket, and opens the door for me like he always does.
He holds my hand as we enter the elevator, my office bag in his other hand. He squeezes my hand as if saying it will be okay, but all I can think of is Rudrani’s red face from crying and her not talking to me, and it breaks my heart a bit more.
We get into his car. He doesn’t speak, and neither do I. The silence between us is never uncomfortable—it’s just thick. Laced with too many unsaid things. But when he turns left at the signal, instead of the usual right toward the office, I frown and glance at him.
“This isn’t the way to the office.”
“I know,” he says, eyes on the road.
My heart skips. “Then… where are we going?”
“Jaipur.”
I blink. “What?”
He shifts gears, still not looking at me. “You said Rudrani’s function is at 11. We’ll make it on time.”
I stare at him, stunned. “Abhimaan…”
“I know what you’re going to say.” His voice is calm, like he’s discussing something as mundane as the weather. “Yes, I had a meeting. Yes, it's worth a lot. But I’ve made it clear to you before—I can land a hundred such deals. I’ll never get another you. Or another chance to see you smile like you did the night she called you her hero.”
My throat closes. I turn to him fully now, watching the side of his face like I’ve never seen it before.
“Are you insane?” I whisper.
He smirks. “Might be. For you? Definitely.”
I shake my head, my heart thudding too loud in my chest. “You don’t have to do this.” He exhales a soft chuckle, eyes still fixed on the road, one hand relaxed on the wheel. “Of course I have to. You think I could sit through a boardroom presentation knowing you’re somewhere else, heartbroken, pretending not to be? You think I’d choose a deal over the look on your face when you talk about that little girl like she hung the damn stars?”
My throat tightens again, but this time for an entirely different reason. My eyes sting, not from guilt—but from the overwhelming, bone-deep ache of being seen.
“You didn’t even ask me,” I murmur, my voice shaking. “You just decided.”
“Yes, because you would agree even if I begged you. You had still put this meeting first.” He shrugs. I don’t say anything. I can’t. Because of the weight of what he’s saying and the way he’s saying it—not with grand declarations but with quiet, deliberate care—it’s too much. Too intimate. Too beautiful.
