Written Between the Lines - Chapter 4

 

Chapter 4: The Cold War Begins

The newlyweds returned to Mumbai in silence — not just in their voices, but in their hearts.

A sprawling penthouse awaited them in Carmine Heights, a gift from both families, equipped with the finest luxuries. But even the grandest spaces can feel cold when the people inside it have built walls higher than the ceilings.

They began their new life… as strangers sharing a house.

Aditya woke early, left for office, returned late.
Aditi maintained her own schedule, working on the joint CSR project her father had assigned her post-marriage.

They shared a roof, a dining table, even public appearances. But their lives ran in parallel lines — never touching, never clashing.

Until one morning.

Aditya walked into the kitchen to find Aditi sitting at the island counter with blueprints and notes spread before her. She had tied her hair up, sleeves rolled, face glowing in morning sunlight.

He froze for a moment, surprised.

“You’re working… here?” he asked.

“I didn’t know your home had zones marked for business and personal.” She didn’t look up.

“My home doesn’t. This is our home now.”

She paused and looked at him. For a second, the ice cracked.

“Do you ever stop pretending this marriage doesn’t exist?” she asked softly.

“Do you?” he shot back.

Silence again. The moment passed. The walls rebuilt.

At the Office

The company was now officially Mehra-Singhania Global, a powerhouse partnership, with the world watching their every move.

Aditya and Aditi were asked to co-lead a major acquisition. The board was divided — some rooting for Aditya’s assertive strategies, others admiring Aditi’s diplomatic touch.

They disagreed.
They debated.
But slowly, unknowingly, they began to understand each other.

He noticed how she calmed aggressive clients with a single line.
She observed how he never made emotional decisions — until it involved someone loyal to him.

One day, during a heated argument about a pitch, Aditi challenged him.

“You think ruthlessness is power. I think empathy lasts longer.”

“And you think softness wins battles? This isn’t a charity.”

“No,” she whispered. “But I didn’t marry a robot either.”

The room fell silent.
He looked at her. She looked back — hurt, proud, and glowing with quiet strength.

Something shifted.

That night, they shared dinner for the first time — in silence again, but not out of anger. Out of something else... something new. A curiosity, a flicker of warmth.

They didn’t speak. But their eyes did.

This wasn’t war anymore. It was the beginning of something far more dangerous... attachment.

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