The next few days passed in a carefully maintained distance. Vikram began leaving the house earlier than usual, often before the morning had fully settled into its routine rhythm. By the time Esha woke up properly and wandered out of the room holding Vaidehi’s dupatta sleepily, the dining table would already be cleared, his presence reduced to small traces — an empty cup near the sink, the faint smell of coffee that slowly disappeared into the morning air.

At night, the pattern remained the same. Vikram returned late, sometimes so late that most of the lights in the house had already been switched off. The house help would quietly serve dinner, and the sound of utensils touching the plate would be the only interruption in the silence. Conversations were no longer necessary. There was nothing that required discussion.