Chapter 16: Where Futures Are Handed Quietly
Mumbai woke up slowly that morning, as if aware that something important was about to be decided—not in boardrooms or headlines, but inside one woman’s heart.
Suhani stood near the balcony of the Bandra apartment, watching the city stretch itself awake. The sea was calm, pretending it had no storms to offer today. She wrapped her dupatta around her shoulders, not because it was cold, but because she needed the familiarity of something that felt like home.
Today was not about work.
Today was about choice.
Behind her, the apartment hummed softly—cutlery clinking, the kettle whistling faintly. Niddhi moved around the kitchen in oversized pajamas, scrolling through her phone, occasionally smiling at something on the screen.
“You’re quiet today,” Niddhi said casually. “That usually means you’re either very sure or very scared.”
Suhani smiled faintly. “I think… both.”
Niddhi leaned against the counter, studying her. “TISS, right?”
Suhani nodded.
“PhD application. Offline submission. Interview rounds later.” She paused. “If they take me.”
“They will,” Niddhi said without hesitation. “You belong in places that ask hard questions.”
Suhani looked at her gratefully. “I spoke to my parents last night.”
“And?” Niddhi asked, suddenly serious.
“They were quiet at first,” Suhani said softly. “My mother asked me if I was running away from something.”
Niddhi waited.
“I told her I wasn’t running,” Suhani continued. “I was choosing. I told them Mumbai has given me work, perspective… and maybe the courage to sit with myself.”
Her voice dipped slightly. “They agreed. Not happily. But honestly.”
“That’s love,” Niddhi said. “The kind that lets you go even when it aches.”
Suhani smiled. “My father said, ‘Study well. Make us proud. Marriage can wait.’”
Niddhi laughed. “Legend.”
They shared a quiet moment before Suhani picked up her bag, checking her documents again—certificates, SOP, recommendation letters. Everything was in place. Except her heart, which felt heavier than paper.
The taxi ride took longer than expected.
Mumbai traffic had no respect for nervous anticipation. The car crawled past streets bursting with life—vendors shouting, children running, buses groaning under weight. Suhani watched it all with a strange detachment, her mind rehearsing possible futures.
*Doctoral research.*
*Social policy.*
*Fieldwork.*
*Independence.*
And somewhere, uninvited but persistent, a thought drifted in.
*Dhruv.*
She pushed it aside gently. Today was not about him.
The campus of **Tata Institute of Social Sciences** greeted her with quiet dignity. Red brick buildings stood firm, not trying to impress. Trees lined the pathways, their leaves whispering stories of students who had arrived anxious and left transformed.
Suhani stepped out of the taxi and stood still for a moment.
Something about the place felt… welcoming. As if it already knew her questions.
Inside the administrative block, students waited with files pressed to their chests, eyes flickering between hope and fear. Some spoke softly, others rehearsed answers under their breath.
Suhani took her place in line.
A girl ahead of her smiled nervously. “PhD?”
“Yes,” Suhani replied.
“Good luck,” the girl said sincerely. “This place changes people.”
Suhani nodded. “I hope it changes me gently.”
The submission process was formal, methodical. Papers checked. Forms stamped. A clerk adjusted his glasses and looked at her statement of purpose longer than necessary.
“You’ve worked in corporate,” he said.
“Yes.”
“And now academia?”
“Yes.”
He nodded slowly. “That shift takes courage.”
Suhani smiled—not proudly, but with relief.
When she stepped out of the building, the sky had changed its mind.
The first drop of rain landed on her wrist like a warning.
Within minutes, Mumbai opened its skies without mercy. Rain fell in sheets, drowning roads, swallowing sounds. People ran for cover. Auto drivers disappeared. The world shrank into umbrellas and impatience.
Suhani stood under the porch, checking her phone.
No network.
Battery: **7%**
She booked a cab. Waiting time: *Unavailable.*
She tried again. And again.
The rain showed no intention of stopping.
Time slipped.
Students slowly disappeared. Offices shut. The campus lights flickered on.
At **7:45 p.m.**, her battery dropped to **3%**.
She called Niddhi.
No answer.
Another attempt.
*Call failed.*
Her throat tightened.
She stood closer to the road, watching vehicles rush past like indifferent rivers. The rain soaked her dupatta. Her bag felt heavier. For the first time that day, fear crept in—not dramatic, not loud, but cold.
*I should have left earlier.*
*I should have charged my phone.*
*I should have…*
The phone died in her hand.
The screen went black.
Suhani exhaled slowly, forcing calm into her limbs.
“I’m okay,” she whispered to herself. “I’m okay.”
---
At the Bandra apartment, Niddhi stared at her phone.
Five missed calls.
No response.
Her casual mood evaporated.
“She always calls back,” Niddhi muttered.
She tried again.
Nothing.
A knot formed in her stomach.
By **8:15 p.m.**, she was pacing the living room.
“This isn’t like her,” she said aloud.
She dialed another number.
The call connected.
“Where is she?” Niddhi asked urgently.
On the other end of the line, a pause.
Then: “Madam hasn’t returned yet.”
Silence stretched.
“I want you to inform Bhaiya,” Niddhi said, her voice suddenly firm. “Now.”
---
Thousands of miles away, Dhruv Khanna was stepping out of a meeting when his phone rang.
He almost ignored it.
Almost.
The words that followed cut through him.
*Madam is missing.*
His chest tightened.
“Where?” he asked sharply.
“She went to TISS. Phone unreachable.”
For the first time in years, Dhruv Khanna did not think.
He reacted.
“Book me the earliest flight,” he said. “Now.”
---
Mumbai continued to rain.
Unaware.
Unapologetic.
And somewhere between ambition and fear, Suhani waited—unknowing that the city had already set something irreversible into motion.
