Chapter 20: Between Permission and Promise
The email arrived at 6:42 a.m., quietly slipping into Suhani’s inbox like a held breath finally released. She saw it while brushing her hair, phone balanced against the mirror, half-awake and unprepared for how one subject line could rearrange the rhythm of her heart.
**“TISS Mumbai – PhD Admission: Document Verification Completed.”**
For a second, she only stared. Then she read it again. And again. Her fingers trembled—not dramatically, not with disbelief—but with the weight of certainty. This was real. This was happening.
She sat on the edge of her bed, the white bedsheet pooling around her knees, and let the meaning settle. Verification completed. Classes to begin from the 15th. Fieldwork orientation to follow. Rural Maharashtra. Extended stays. Shifting locations.
Her dream had officially stepped into her life—and it wasn’t asking politely.
---
Dhruv was already awake.
She knew because the kitchen lights were on, and there was that soft clink of ceramic against granite that meant he was making coffee, not rushing, not distracted. Just… present.
She walked in quietly.
“Good morning,” he said, without turning, as if he could sense her even without seeing her.
“Good morning,” she replied, then paused. “I got the mail.”
He turned then. One look at her face and he smiled—not wide, not celebratory, but deeply. Proudly.
“Verified?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes. Officially in.”
He lifted his mug slightly. “Congratulations, Doctor-to-be.”
She laughed, but it came out thin, tangled with nerves. “Don’t say that yet.”
“But you earned it already,” he said gently.
They sat at the dining table, sunlight slowly filling the room. For a while, neither spoke. Then Suhani folded her hands together, knuckles pressing into each other.
“There’s… something else,” she said.
Dhruv leaned back. “I figured.”
She took a breath. “My PhD work isn’t just campus-based. The topic is… social resilience among migrant women in drought-prone districts of Maharashtra. Long-term field immersion. Villages. Sometimes alone. Sometimes moving every few weeks.”
He listened carefully.
“They said,” she continued, “that the institute requires an immediate guardian or family contact. Someone who can be reached anytime. Someone… responsible.”
She looked at him then. Really looked.
“And my family is in Delhi.”
Dhruv didn’t answer immediately. He tapped his fingers once against the table, thinking—not avoiding, not deflecting.
“How soon do they need the details?” he asked.
“Within the week,” she replied. “Classes start in fifteen days. Fieldwork soon after.”
He smiled slightly. “Fast.”
She exhaled. “That’s one word for it.”
There was silence again, heavier this time. Then she spoke, softly.
“I was wondering… if you think… maybe you—or someone you trust—could be listed?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You mean as guardian?”
“Yes. Or maybe one of your friends. I don’t want to impose. I just—” Her voice broke. “I don’t want this opportunity to slip because of paperwork.”
Dhruv’s expression softened.
“You’re not imposing,” he said quietly. “You’re planning.”
She looked relieved, but uncertainty still flickered. “I don’t want people assuming things. Or you feeling responsible for—”
He interrupted gently. “Suhani. Responsibility is not a burden when it’s chosen.”
She swallowed.
After a moment, he chuckled lightly. “Besides, this isn’t new territory for me.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
He leaned forward. “Being listed as someone’s emergency contact. Being the one who gets calls. Who worries. Who waits.”
She hesitated. “Is it… difficult?”
He thought. Then smiled, nostalgic and honest. “Lonely, sometimes. But grounding. You’ll learn.”
She tilted her head. “Learn what?”
“How to miss home,” he said, eyes distant. “And still build something new. How to be independent and alone at the same time. You’ll hate it first. Then you’ll love it.”
She smiled faintly. “You make it sound poetic.”
“It’s not,” he said. “It’s messy. And real. And it changes you.”
She stared at her hands. Then, almost hesitantly, she asked, “Dhruv… that paper marriage we spoke about earlier… is it still—”
He didn’t let her finish.
“Yes,” he said simply.
She looked up, startled.
“If you want it to be,” he added.
She searched his face. “And if I don’t?”
“Then we find another way,” he replied without hesitation.
Her chest tightened. “Why are you so calm about this?”
He smiled. “Because this isn’t about binding you. It’s about protecting your choices.”
She blinked. “That sounds… heavier than paper.”
“Paper carries weight,” he said softly. “People just forget that.”
Later that evening, Suhani told Niddhi.
They sat on the couch, knees tucked in, tea cooling between them.
“I’ll be shifting. Often,” Suhani explained. “Villages. Research sites.”
Niddhi’s eyes widened. “That’s incredible.”
“And terrifying,” Suhani added.
Niddhi reached out. “You’ll be amazing.”
“But the guardian thing—”
Niddhi cut in. “You already know the answer.”
Suhani sighed. “I just don’t know if I’m ready for what that answer implies.”
Niddhi smiled knowingly. “Neither was bhaiya. Look how that turned out.”
Suhani laughed softly. Then grew quiet.
“Do you think I’m crossing lines?” she asked.
Niddhi shook her head. “You’re drawing them. That’s different.”
---
The next day, Dhruv drove her to TISS.
The sky was thick with clouds, grey and uncertain. He didn’t say much, just focused on the road.
“I checked the forecast,” he said once. “Didn’t want to risk you getting stranded.”
She smiled. “You sound like my mother.”
He smirked. “High praise.”
The campus welcomed her with quiet confidence—red brick buildings, shaded walkways, students carrying purpose in their steps.
The faculty were warm. Professional. Curious.
Her guide—a woman in her late forties with kind eyes and sharp questions—listened attentively as Suhani spoke about her topic.
“This work,” the professor said, “will change you.”
Suhani nodded. “I hope so.”
As they walked out, rain began to fall.
Dhruv held the umbrella steady above her. She didn’t miss the way he angled it more toward her side.
“They like you,” he said.
“They expect a lot,” she replied.
He smiled. “Good.”
As they reached the car, she looked at him.
“Dhruv?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. For not making this about fear.”
He opened the door for her. “Dreams don’t need fear. They need structure.”
She sat inside, heart full and unsteady.
As the rain drummed against the windshield, she realized something quietly profound.
This wasn’t about marriage. Or guardianship. Or protection.
It was about someone standing beside her while she stepped into the unknown—and never once asking her to shrink.
And for now, that was more than enough.
