One evening, Abhiram and Maithili were driving home from the office — their daily ritual of quiet companionship.

Then, Abhiram’s phone buzzed, breaking the calm.

He glanced at the screen. Vikrant.

“Give me a moment,” he murmured, already answering the call.

Maithili watched him. She noticed the subtle tension in his jaw, the slight furrow deepening between his brows. His voice, when he spoke, was low — clipped and deliberate. There was a pause. Then, a quiet hum of acknowledgment before he ended the call.

He turned to her but didn’t speak immediately.

Maithili was already studying his expression. “What is it?” she asked gently, sensing the shift before he said a word.

“There’s a meeting in Singapore,” he said. “A partner deal is facing complications. Vikrant and I need to be there. First flight tomorrow morning.”

She exhaled, lips parting in a quiet breath. “Is it... something only you can handle?”

Abhiram reached for her hand, giving her a soft, weary smile — full of warmth, and a hint of apology. “If it weren’t, I’d have said no in a heartbeat. But this is one of those situations I must see through myself.”

Maithili nodded slowly, her fingers tightening around his. The distance hadn’t even begun, but she already felt its weight pressing between them.

Without a word, she leaned sideways, resting her cheek against his arm. Their hands stayed entwined.

“I’m going to miss you,” she said softly, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. “And Myra... she’s going to miss you even more.”

Abhiram let out a breath, his other hand resting gently on her thigh. “It’s the first time I’ll be away from her this long.”

“You’ve never travelled before?” Maithili asked him, her voice tender.

“Not like this,” he said quietly. “No matter where I go, I always make it back in time to tuck her in. Even if it means going back to work afterward. That bedtime hug... it gets me through everything. And now... I don’t know how she’ll manage.”

Maithili reached across and laced her fingers through his. “She’ll miss you, yes. But I’ll be the quiet wind that tells her you’re near, the warmth beside her when the night feels long. She won’t feel alone.”
He smiled faintly. “And you?”

She looked at him then, her gaze steady. “I’ll miss you too, Ram. A lot. But I know how much this deal matters. Go. Do what you do best. We’ll be here waiting — when you return.”

That night, Abhiram broke the news at the dinner table. Rajesh and Amrutha nodded supportively, though they looked a little anxious. Myra, however, climbed into Abhiram’s lap and refused to get down for the rest of the evening.

“I don’t want you to go,” she said, small arms wound tightly around his neck.

“I know, princess,” he murmured, stroking her hair. “I’ll call you every day, okay? And mamma will be here to tell you all my stories.”

She sniffed. “You’ll miss my dance!”

“I’ll ask mamma to record everything,” he smiled. “And we’ll watch it together the day I come back.”

The next morning, Abhiram hugged his parents, his voice low with instructions. “Ma Papa don’t forget your vitamins.”

He turned, crouched down, and opened his arms. Myra came running and jumped into them.

“Princess,” he whispered, lifting her. “Be good, okay? And I’ll call you every single night.”

“Promise?” she asked, teary-eyed.

“Promise,” he said, kissing her cheek. “Now give papa a big kiss.”

She planted one on his cheek and clung to him tightly. “I’ll miss you, papa.”

“I’ll miss you more, Princess,” he whispered.

Finally, he turned to Maithili. Their eyes met for a long second.

She stepped forward, adjusting the collar of his coat. “Take care of yourself.”

“I will,” he said, cupping her face. “You too. Don’t skip meals while you’re drowning in meetings.”

She nodded, blinking faster than usual.

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Love you.”

Her voice was barely above a breath. “Love you too... and miss you already.”

He smiled at her, the kind of smile that said home then turned, stepped into the car, and was gone.

Maithili stood on the porch with Myra in her arms, watching the car turn the corner and disappear from view.

The house suddenly felt larger, quieter.

But she held Myra close and whispered, “We’ll count the days together, okay?”

And Myra nodded against her shoulder, her small voice muffled. “Okay, mamma.”

The moment Abhiram landed in Singapore, he messaged her.

Abhiram 💬: "Landed safe. Missing you both already."

Maithili, still in her kurta, hair tied in a hurried bun from the morning school rush, read the message while tying Myra’s shoelaces.

Maithili 💬: "Glad you're safe. We miss you. Myra wanted to know if your plane had Wi-Fi so she could say bye before school."

Abhiram smiled imagining his little daughter’s pout.

Abhiram 💬: "Tell her Papa’s calling tonight. I’ll make it up to her."

That night, as stars blinked above their quiet home, Maithili settled onto the bed, the blanket pulled high around Myra. The phone lit up. Video call.

“Papa!” Myra squealed, sitting upright, her messy braid flopping over her shoulder.

“There’s my princess,” Abhiram beamed on the screen, face a little tired but eyes lighting up the moment he saw her.

Maithili lay beside Myra, smiling softly, letting their daughter do most of the talking.

“Did you eat, Papa?”
“Did your plane have movies?”
“You missed my rhymes today. But I’ll sing them again tomorrow.”

Each morning began with a routine — Myra’s school prep, a brief call from Abhiram before he headed to meetings, and quiet breakfasts with Amrutha and Rajesh.

"Eat something before work, Maithili," Rajesh said, handing her toast.

She smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Papa.”

Later in the week, Maithili brought Myra to her mother's home. Observing Myra play, Swapna smiled and remarked, "You are doing exceptionally well with Myra, Maithili. Before your wedding, I had concerns about whether you could manage the responsibilities of raising a child, but seeing her now, I can say you are an excellent mother," she added, gently patting Myra's hair.

Maithili laughed. “To be fair, Ma, Myra makes it easy for me. I never found it hard raising her. And Abhi makes it easier—he’s such a hands-on father. Myra is so lovable, and I truly enjoy spending time with her.”

Swapna said, “I understand that you care for Myra deeply, but you and Abhiram may also want to consider having children together. While Myra is Abhiram's child as well, having your own children with him would be a different experience, though it does not diminish your care for Myra.”

Maithili simply smiled and shifted the topic. She never revealed Myra’s birth to anyone—not even her mother—honoring Abhi’s trust and keeping the secret to herself.

When they returned home, the quiet moments became more vivid — bedtime stories without Abhiram’s interjections, dinners where his empty chair said everything, and text exchanges that felt like borrowed time.

It was past 10 p.m., the house finally quiet.

Myra had insisted on waiting up for Abhiram’s call.

When the phone lit up, Maithili answered with a knowing smile, already turning the screen toward their daughter.

“PAPA!” Myra shouted,  “Shhh, princess,” Maithili laughed, brushing Myra’s hair off her forehead.

Abhiram appeared on screen, his tie loosened, hair ruffled from the long day. But his eyes — they crinkled with pure joy.

“There she is! You still awake?”
“Just for you,” Myra said proudly, climbing into Maithili’s lap.

They talked about everything: her drawing of a one-eyed elephant, what she ate at school, the fact that her teacher wore mismatched socks.

When her eyes started fluttering closed mid-sentence, Maithili gently eased the phone from her hand.

“She’s out,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to Myra’s forehead.

“Lucky,” Abhiram murmured. “She got her goodnight hug.”

A few minutes later, after tucking Myra into bed, Maithili stepped out onto the balcony. The breeze carried the scent of night jasmine, and the city below hummed softly in the dark.

She called him again.

“Hey,” she said, softly, when he picked up. Her face was lit only by the warm yellow glow of the balcony light and the screen.

He leaned back in his hotel chair, laptop closed beside him. “Hey you.”

She exhaled. “You look tired.”

“So do you,” he said, voice low. “But you look beautiful, even like this. Messy bun and all.”

She rolled her eyes. “Flatterer.”

He smiled. “Not flirting. Just missing.”

A beat of silence passed between them, comfortable and aching at once.

“I hate the quiet after she sleeps,” Maithili admitted, voice almost a whisper. “That’s when I feel your absence the most.”

“I know,” he said. “I feel it too. I keep reaching for you without realizing. For your hand… for your warmth.”

Her fingers curled instinctively, as if trying to find his in the air between them.

“Do you sit and think about our nights together?” she asked suddenly, a smile teasing her lips.

Abhiram chuckled. “The way you used to steal the blanket?”

“I did not!” she gasped.

“You did. Every night. And then you’d mumble something about cold feet and wrap yourself around me.”

Tugging the shawl around her shoulders. “I’m still cold. Just not… in your arms.”

He grew quiet for a moment. “If I close my eyes, I can almost feel you next to me.”

“Ram…” Her voice broke slightly.

“I miss the way your hair smells when it’s damp after a shower,” he continued. “The weight of your head on my chest. That little sigh you give when you finally fall asleep.”

She blinked hard, eyes stinging.

“I’m sleeping in a bed that smells like hotel soap,” he said. “And I’ve never felt lonelier.”

She looked down, brushing a tear away with the edge of her sleeve. “Come home soon.”

“2days more, Maithili,” he whispered. “I love you more than I ever said out loud.”

She leaned her head against the balcony wall, lips curving gently.

“I love you too,” she whispered. “But until you’re back…”

“Sleep hugging my pillow” he smiled.

She laughed, wiping her eyes. “Now who's stealing my lines?”

He smiled tenderly, letting the moment linger.

Under the stars, a screen and distance between them, two hearts stayed warm — stitched together by longing, memory, and a love that spoke louder than distance ever could.