The Softer Devraj

Chapter 30: The Fragile Flower

The final blessings of the pooja had settled over the gathering, leaving in their wake a sense of tranquil conclusion. 

As guests began to murmur their goodbyes and slowly filter out into the night, Mrs. Devraj, with the strategic mind of a seasoned general, surveyed the scene. 

Her eyes landed on her son, who was already looking for an escape back to his office, and then on Nans, who was quietly collecting her shawl, her posture radiating a desire to disappear.

This would not do.

She moved with purpose, intercepting Arnav just as he reached for his car keys. 

"Arnav," she said, her voice brooking no argument. 

She looped her arm through his, steering him firmly toward where Nans stood.

"Nans, beta, wait," she called out, her tone sweetening into maternal concern. 

"It's much too late for you to be driving home alone. Arnav will take you."

Arnav stiffened beside her. "Maa, I'm sure Nans is perfectly capable—"

"Nonsense!" Mrs. Devraj cut him off, her smile never wavering though her grip on his arm tightened. 

"It's on his way. Besides," she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper meant only for him, 

"I need to have a very important conversation with Mr. Malhotra, and I cannot do that if I'm worrying about his daughter driving on these dark roads. You will see her home safely. It is the least you can do."

The unspoken weight of "the least you can do" hung heavily in the air, a clear reference to the months of neglect and the palpable tension she had undoubtedly sensed between them all evening.

Before either could offer another protest, she turned her back on them, effectively closing the discussion. 

"I'll call you tomorrow, Nans! Drive safe, beta!" she trilled over her shoulder, already making a beeline for Mr. Malhotra.

And so, they were left standing there in the emptying hall, bathed in the fading scent of marigolds and incense. 

The command was a gavel strike. The silence that fell between them was thicker and more charged than any that had come before. 

The short, confined journey home now loomed before them not as a simple car ride, but as a forced confrontation in a moving steel box, with nowhere to run.

The silence in the car had become a suffocating entity, thick with unspoken accusations and the ghosts of memories. 

Finally, Arnav cleared his throat, the sound rough and unnatural in the quiet cabin.

"So," he began, his voice deliberately casual, grasping for the safest topic he could find. 

"The new year is almost here. I suppose... Nans will be a bride by next year?" 

The words felt like shards of glass in his mouth.

She didn't look at him, her gaze fixed on the passing streetlights. A simple, silent nod was her only response. The gesture was more dismissive than any words could have been.

Then, she spoke, her voice soft but laced with a steely resolve. 

"Yeah. I think... it's time I finally settle down. Stop all this... chasing."

The word hung in the air, ambiguous and painful. Arnav's grip tightened on the steering wheel.

"Stop chasing?" he repeated, his tone sharpening.