Page 74 of Okay Boss
“There.” He looked up at her from his crouched position, something dark and intent in his eyes. “Better?”
She stammered something that might have been yes, then stood abruptly, putting distance between them.
“Come on.” He took her hand before she could spiral into overthinking, gently pulling her toward the massive walk-in closet. “Let me show you around.”
He pushed open the double doors.
Divya froze.
The closet was double the size of her living room at home. One entire wall held Vikram’s clothes, suits, sherwanis, casual wear organized by color and occasion.
But the other wall...
Her breath caught.
Sarees in jewel tones. Salwar kameez sets in soft cottons and silks. Western wear she would never have bought for herself. Everything in her size, chosen with obvious care, hanging in neat rows.
But it wasn’t the quantity that made her chest tight. It was seeing those clothes hanging next to his. In the same space. Sharing the same air. An intimacy she hadn’t prepared for.
“Mom had them delivered yesterday,” Vikram said, watching her face carefully. “She has excellent taste. Though if you don't like any of it...”
“They’re beautiful.” The words came out smaller than she intended. She moved forward almost unconsciously, fingers reaching to touch a deep blue saree, then pulling back before making contact. “But this is too much.”
“It’s not enough.” The words came out more intense than he meant. He softened his tone quickly. “You’ll need more as we go. Events and things.”
He pulled her back into the bedroom before she could argue, toward the seating area near the windows.
A desk sat positioned to catch morning light. Beside it stood a bookshelf.
Divya moved toward it as if drawn by invisible strings.
Her fingers traced the spines. Media production textbooks. Industry analyses. Biographies of directors she admired. Books she’d put on wish lists she thought no one had seen.
“The Evolution of Indian Cinema,” she whispered, pulling out a rare volume she’d been trying to find for months. Her throat worked as she swallowed. “How did you...”
“I pay attention.” Simple words. Carrying weight he didn’t fully express. “You’ll need to finish your degree. And this room is yours, Divya. Your space. No one enters without permission. Not even me.”
She turned to face him, clutching the book like a lifeline. “You got these for me.”
“Some of them. Mom helped track down the rare ones.” He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching for her. “I wanted you to have something familiar. Something that’s yours.”
Her eyes had gone too bright. She blinked rapidly. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything.” He nodded toward the small stack of fresh clothes laid out on the chair. “Just get changed. You must be exhausted.”
She looked at the clothes, simple cotton nightwear, then back at him. “I should...”
“Sit first.” He nodded toward her hair and gently pushed her toward the vanity. “This looks uncomfortable.”
Before she could protest, he positioned her on the cushioned seat facing the mirror. Her eyes met his in the reflection, wide and uncertain.
His fingers found the edge of her dupatta where it was pinned near her shoulder. “Let me help with this.”
“It’s fine.”
“Divya.” His voice held gentle amusement. “Stop being professional for five minutes.”
He carefully unpinned the dupatta, the heavy fabric sliding free. Set it aside.
