3. PINKY PROMISE
ADITYA
She looks smaller than she did in the bookstore.
Not physically—she is sitting the same way she stood then, straight-backed, shoulders squared as if she has trained herself to occupy as little emotional space as possible. But something about her presence feels quieter now, dimmer somehow, like the light that had briefly flickered in her eyes that day has been pushed back by exhaustion.
The woman who had laughed at my absurd proposal two days ago now sits across from me in the small meeting room of my office like someone carrying a weight that hasn’t let her sleep in days.
The room itself is simple—just a wooden table between us, a couple of chairs, and the wall-length shelves of books behind me that spill out into the larger library space beyond the glass door. Usually this room feels warm, almost comforting, but right now the air between us feels heavy with everything neither of us is saying out loud.
Her hands are clasped tightly together on the table. Fingers intertwined so firmly that the skin across her knuckles has turned pale. Every few seconds she presses her thumbs togetherunconsciously, like she’s trying to steady herself without anyone noticing.
Divya Rathi.
I repeat her name silently in my mind, tasting the sound of it again.
It suits her.
There’s something dignified about it. Strong. The kind of name that feels rooted in something older, steadier than the chaos she’s clearly living through right now.
Across the room, a small boy wanders slowly between the tall bookshelves that line the wall.
I assume he’s her brother.
Neel. As she introduced. He moves along the shelves with exaggerated seriousness, his small hands clasped neatly behind his back as he studies the rows of books one by one. Every few steps he stops, leans forward slightly, and squints at the titles like he’s conducting some kind of inspection.
It’s an oddly formal posture for a child.
Like a tiny old professor examining a library he’s responsible for maintaining.
Divya notices where my gaze has drifted.
She follows it over her shoulder and watches him for a moment before letting out a small, awkward laugh. It’s warm, but there’s nervousness under it.
“I might sound very desperate right now.”
Her voice carries that same tired edge I noticed the first time we spoke. It bothers me more than it should.
I lean back slightly in my chair, letting one arm rest loosely over the backrest as I offer her a small smile.
“I’m the one who’s desperate, Divya.” Her head lifts quickly at the sound of her name. For a brief second our eyes meet properly. I shrug lightly. “You’re actually solving a very large problem for me.” That’s the truth. If she assumes I am doing her some sort of heroic favor. That I’m stepping in to rescue her from a bad situation.
But the reality is much simpler than that. Without a marriage certificate, my father’s will takes away the one thing that has ever truly mattered to me.
Ink & Ivory.
The publishing house my grandmother built with nothing but stubborn faith in stories. The only place where I’ve ever felt like myself.
Divya exhales slowly, as if she’s been holding her breath this entire time. “I have a few conditions.” Her voice is steadier now. "And I know I am in no place-"
I interrupt her, "Please Divya," I smile softly, "there's no need to be this formal." I nod in encouragement, “Go on.”
She glances toward the shelves again where Neel has now crouched down near the bottom row, carefully pulling out a book and examining the cover with deep concentration.
“I will not move from my house,” she says. The words come quickly, almost rehearsed. “My brother has already lost too much.”
She gestures lightly toward him. “He’s so young..." Her voice softens when she says that. I follow her gaze again. The boy is now running his fingers slowly across the spine of another book, whispering the title under his breath as he reads it. “He doesn’t need more changes,” she finishes quietly.
