Page 121 of Okay Boss
Vikram's chest tightened. "Thank you."
Raju set down the cup, his composure absolute even as wonder flickered in his eyes. "Bring her back sometime. Tell her Raju remembers." He paused, then added with quiet dignity, "I would be honored to host the real you both."
The statement hung between them. Acknowledgment without announcement, recognition without spectacle. Raju understood who stood before him and chose discretion over drama.
Relief flooded through Vikram. He stepped forward and pulled the smaller man into a brief, genuine hug. "Thank you. For everything."
When he pulled back, Raju's eyes were bright but his face remained composed. Professional. As though teaching Bollywood's biggest star to make chai was just another Tuesday morning.
Vikram returned to the motorcycle, hands still smelling like ginger and cardamom, satisfaction settling into his bones.
He'd learned what he came for. And Raju had given him something more valuable than the recipe: the gift of privacy, of treating him like just another man learning to make tea for his wife.
???
The morning light had fully broken by the time Vikram arrived home. He showered quickly, changed into fresh clothes, and found Divya in the study, her textbooks spread across the desk, highlighter in hand.
"Ready?" he asked.
She looked up, surprised. "For what?"
"The set. We need to leave in twenty minutes."
Her brow furrowed. "But you said I should stay home today. Focus on my studies."
"I changed my mind." He leaned against the doorframe, casual. "People on set were asking about you. They miss having you around."
The statement landed between them. Divya's expression cycled through confusion to disbelief, settling on polite skepticism.
People miss me? On a film set?
The idea felt absurd. But she didn't argue. Just nodded and began gathering her things. "Give me ten minutes."
"Take fifteen," he said. "I'll be in the car."
They skipped breakfast. Kavita didn't object. She knew her son would take care of both himself and his wife.
The drive to the studio was quiet. Divya sat with her bag in her lap, textbooks inside, clearly planning to study between takes. She watched Mumbai traffic pass, oblivious to the fact that Vikram's hands still carried faint traces of spice, that his morning had been spent learning something specifically for her.
They arrived at the studio. The security guard waved them through with practiced efficiency. Crew members called out greetings as they walked toward the set. Some to Vikram, a few to Divya, most surprised to see her after several days' absence.
"Glad you're back," the assistant director said, passing them in the hallway. "The schedule's been chaos without you."
Divya smiled politely, still not quite believing it.
Inside, the set hummed with pre-shoot energy. Lighting technicians adjusted rigs, makeup artists hovered with powder brushes, Farhan stood near the main set piece gesturing broadly at the cinematographer.
Normal. Routine. Just another production day.
Divya found her usual workspace, a folding table pushed against the far wall. She set down her bag, pulled out her notebook, prepared to slip back into her familiar rhythm of managing calls and schedules from the periphery.
Vikram went through his usual pre-shoot checks. Makeup touch-up. Hair confirmation. A quick run-through of dialogue with Farhan.
Then, fifteen minutes before the scheduled start time, he stopped mid-conversation.
"I need fifteen minutes," he announced.
Farhan blinked. "We haven't started yet."
