Chapter 21: What Only a Few Hearts Knew
The house was unusually quiet that night.
Not the comforting kind of quiet that followed laughter or the tired silence after a long day—but the kind that settled in when something important had already happened, and the world outside had no idea.
Suhani stood near the window of the Bandra apartment, the city lights blurring through the glass. Somewhere below, Mumbai continued breathing—horns, conversations, life moving forward without pause. Inside the room, however, time felt suspended.
Dhruv sat at the dining table, sleeves rolled up, papers spread neatly in front of him. He wasn’t in his CEO mode tonight. There was no laptop, no phone buzzing, no assistant hovering. Just him. Ink. Paper. And a decision that was not meant for the world.
Suhani turned slowly.
“Do you think it’s strange,” she asked softly, “that something so big can be known by so few people?”
Dhruv looked up. His eyes met hers, steady and calm.
“No,” he said. “I think it’s rare.”
She walked toward him, barefoot, each step hesitant.
“Your grandparents,” she said. “They know.”
He nodded. “They always know when something real happens in my life. Even when I don’t say it.”
She smiled faintly. “They were… kind.”
“They adore you,” he replied. “They don’t see contracts. They see intent.”
That word lingered between them.
Intent.
Suhani sat opposite him, folding her hands.
“And no one else?” she asked again, as if needing reassurance.
“No one,” Dhruv said firmly. “Not my parents. Not the board. Not the world.”
She exhaled, relief and fear tangled together.
“So on paper, we are married,” she said quietly. “But in reality…”
“In reality,” he interrupted gently, “you are Suhani. A researcher. A woman choosing her own path. Nothing else changes unless you want it to.”
Her eyes softened. “You always say that.”
“And I will keep saying it,” he replied. “Until you believe it without needing reassurance.”
There was a pause. Then Suhani glanced at the papers on the table.
“That’s the agreement?” she asked.
“Yes,” Dhruv said. “But we won’t finalize anything unless you’re comfortable.”
She reached out, fingertips brushing the edge of the document.
“I want to read it,” she said. “Not as a formality. As a choice.”
He slid the papers toward her.
Before she could begin, the front door opened.
“Okay, before you both start looking like characters from a serious legal drama—” Niddhi’s voice rang out as she stepped inside, backpack slung over one shoulder. “I have news.”
Suhani looked up. “You’re early.”
“I was too excited to be late,” Niddhi said, dropping onto the couch. “I decided something.”
Dhruv raised an eyebrow. “That sounds dangerous.”
She grinned. “I’m applying for internships.”
Suhani’s face lit up. “Really?”
“Yes. Enough of confusion. I’m doing an internship aligned with my degree. Marketing analytics. There’s a firm in Lower Parel that actually values learning.”
Dhruv smiled, proud and restrained. “Good. Independence suits you.”
Niddhi glanced at the table. “Am I interrupting something… serious?”
Suhani hesitated. Dhruv answered calmly.
“Something important. Not secret. Just… selective.”
Niddhi studied them for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. I trust that.”
She stood. “I’ll let you two finish. I have forms to fill and a life to build.”
As she disappeared into her room, the apartment returned to stillness.
Suhani looked back at the document.
“Read it aloud,” Dhruv suggested. “If something feels wrong, we change it.”
She nodded and began.
---
### **The Paper Marriage Agreement**
**Clause 1: Nature of Marriage**
This marriage is a legal arrangement entered into by mutual consent, without expectation of romantic obligation, physical intimacy, or emotional dependency.
Suhani paused.
“That sounds… cold,” she said.
Dhruv replied gently, “It’s meant to protect you. Not define you.”
She continued.
**Clause 2: Privacy and Disclosure**
The marriage shall remain private. Disclosure is limited to Dhruv Khanna’s grandparents and any authority strictly requiring documentation.
She looked up. “No social pressure.”
“Exactly,” he said.
**Clause 3: Personal Autonomy**
Both individuals retain complete autonomy over personal, professional, and academic decisions.
Suhani smiled. “I like this one.”
**Clause 4: Residence**
Shared residence does not imply shared personal space. Separate rooms, separate lives.
She glanced at him. He smiled faintly.
**Clause 5: Financial Independence**
No financial dependency shall arise. Each party remains responsible for their own income and expenses.
She nodded firmly. “Important.”
**Clause 6: Guardian Role**
Dhruv Khanna may act as legal guardian/emergency contact solely for academic and safety requirements during Suhani’s PhD fieldwork.
Her voice softened reading this.
“You’re really okay with this?”
He met her gaze. “I already am.”
**Clause 7: Duration**
The agreement remains valid for five years or until mutually dissolved.
She stopped. “Five years is a long time.”
“It’s also respectful,” he replied. “No sudden endings.”
**Clause 8: Emotional Boundaries**
Neither party owes explanations for feelings that may or may not develop.
Suhani swallowed. “This one scares me.”
Dhruv leaned forward. “It scares me too. That’s why it’s honest.”
**Clause 9: Exit Clause**
Either party may exit the agreement without justification, provided dignity and privacy are maintained.
She exhaled. “Freedom.”
**Clause 10: Respect Clause**
Mutual respect, trust, and protection of reputation are non-negotiable.
She placed the paper down.
Silence filled the room again, but this time it was warm.
“This doesn’t feel like a contract,” Suhani said quietly. “It feels like… space.”
Dhruv nodded. “That was the intention.”
She looked at him, eyes glistening.
“Why are you doing this for me?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Then he said, honestly,
“Because once, someone believed in me when I didn’t know who I was becoming. This feels like returning that faith.”
She reached out, not touching him, just resting her hand near his.
“And if someday this paper stops being enough?”
He smiled softly.
“Then we’ll talk. Like we always do.”
Outside, the city kept moving.
Inside, two lives stood quietly aligned—not bound by love yet, not defined by promises—but held together by respect, intention, and a truth only a few hearts were allowed to know.
And sometimes, that was the strongest beginning of all.
