nanditaxiyer

[nanditaxiyer]

Nandita stood poised beside him, her champagne flute catching the light, untouched for several minutes now. The low thrum of the gallery swelled behind them—soft jazz, murmured laughter, the occasional clink of glass against glass. She tilted her head slightly at Heath’s question, her gaze still fixed on a bold canvas in front of them, all texture and provocation, the kind of piece that sparked debate rather than admiration. “Art’s just another mirror,” she said, her voice calm, smooth like silk drawn over glass. “People don’t care about what they’re looking at until someone else tells them it matters. Then suddenly it’s worth bleeding for.” At his follow-up, she finally looked at him—level, unreadable, though her eyes held a flicker of something… sharper.

“The number’s not the interesting part,” she said, quietly. “It’s the timing that always makes me pause. How quickly someone scrambles to buy your silence tells you more than the zeroes ever could.” A beat passed. Her lips curled into the barest hint of a wry smile. “And for the record—I’ve never taken the money. If I kept quiet, it was by choice, not by price.” She turned her gaze back to the painting. “But the offers? You’d be amazed how high they climb when people start to get nervous.” She sipped her champagne, finally, and added—almost as an afterthought, “Though if you’re asking for a friend, tell him to aim higher."

closed starter: heath + nandita / @nanditaxiyer

"ain't it somethin' how folks'll claw and scrape for a paintin' they wouldn’t give a second glance to if it was layin’ in the middle of the damn street?" heath murmured, dragging his fingers along his temples, the beginnings of a headache tightening behind his eyes - wine always invited that particular guest "but ya know, what's always tickled my curiosity is…" he added after a beat, his gaze sliding to the woman beside him "what's the biggest pile of money someone's ever slid yer way just to keep somethin' unsaid" his tone wasn't accusing, more like a man collecting facts

[nanditaxiyer]

NANDITA IYER at The Eden Gallery.

Nandita didn’t come to bid — she came to observe. Her piece won’t be a simple art feature. Her sources tipped her off that something about the painting’s recovery felt… convenient. She’s not here to participate, but she’s already writing the headline in her head. And if she plays it right, this could be the kind of exposé that defines a legacy.

[nanditaxiyer]

Nandita offered a small, measured smile in return, the kind she reserved for moments when gratitude and concern shared equal weight. “Thank you, Dr. Levi,” she said, her tone soft but sincere. Her fingers were still curled slightly from the tension of the last hour, but she forced them to relax. “I appreciate how quickly you responded—and how kind you’ve been. She’s young, it’s her first job… and I think the scare shook her more than she’ll admit.” She glanced toward her assistant in the room, watching the slow rise and fall of her breathing, then looked back at Levi.

“And I’d say your mentor taught you well. Calm is a rare currency in a place like this.” A pause. Then, more gently, "thank you for treating it like it mattered. That doesn’t go unnoticed.” Her eyes met his with a flicker of warmth, restrained but genuine. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to. She’s more than just my assistant—she’s someone I feel responsible for.” And Nandita, after all, never took responsibility lightly.

Being an ER Doctor means that you had to be quick and you can't be slow because every second mattered. Levi had learned that in Med school and he did not want to wait and have this become more serious which will mean additional hospital stay and more worry for the patient and those that supported them. "No worries," he spoke with a warm smile. Levi had a smile that often seem to make people less worried, especially with kids. He had parents told him that he made them less worried and also made their kids less scared too. Levi did have a kind and warm smile even sometimes if he did not see it nor he did not believe it at all.

The nurse handed him the medication, "I understand totally. What your feeling is normal and so please don't feel bad at all. This could have happened to anyone. Allergic reaction due to cross contamination is something common I see a lot. Don't blame yourself okay," he added before giving the other's assistant the medication. "There, all set. I will like her to stay for awhile, just to be safe but she will be fine." he added.

"Nice to meet you Nandita. I don't remember if I said my name but I am Levi," he spoke extending his own and taking it before shaking it. "No worries. I had a good mentor who taught me how to move fast and also showed me that by staying calm helps the patient too."

[nanditaxiyer]

THE VAMPIRE DIARIES | deleted scenes

[nanditaxiyer]

This wasn’t how she imagined their conversation would go. Not here, not like this. And yet, maybe she didn’t want to revisit it any other way—suppressed emotions wouldn’t feel as real or honest as they did now.

“How should I know what you regret, Julian?” she asked quietly, her gaze unwavering. “You left when things got hard—for my family. So do you blame me for thinking those years together were nothing more than time lost to you?”

A small, almost wry smile flickered at his question about what she might expose. It was as if he forgot that her career was built on uncovering truths—and half-truths—about the powerful. “You’re taking that for granted,” she said softly when he mentioned her always being by his side.

Then his question came. She paused, searching his eyes for something beneath the words. “Yes, I did vote for you. Not blindly. Not without reservations. But I believed—in what you promised, in the possibility of what you could become.” Her fingers brushed the stem of her glass, filling the quiet space between them with unspoken truths. “Belief is a fragile thing, Julian. But sometimes, it’s the only thing that keeps us going.”

Nandita's being honest, he can tell. And honesty, in their world of politics, is worth more than gold.

I spent a long time filling the silence with hope, she tells him. Making excuses for all the things you never said. There are things he isn't telling her even now, even all these years later. All the turmoil in his head that only had a fraction to do with his career; an entire universe underneath the surface that he never brought up at the dinner table.

Julian stares down at his bourbon. What would it take? Three more of these — a whole bottle? If he were to ever be entirely truthful, he doesn't think he should be sober for it.

"I don't regret dating you, Nandita. Why would I?" Then, he scoffs. "What would you expose about me? That I forget to put my mugs away at the sink, or that I don't believe in folding laundry?" Beat. "Or is there something larger I can't remember?"

He shakes his head, "You've always been by my side, I know that wouldn't change now. Or would it?"

A long beat takes place, then. His mind tangos around a question, specific, and perhaps a little self-centered. Yet, he needs to ask — needs to know, if she still believes in him as she had years before. His eyes meet hers, "...Did you vote for me?"

[nanditaxiyer]

Nandita held Kitty’s hands a moment longer, her touch steady but gentle, an anchor in the swirling storm of emotions. “It’s never their fault,” she said softly, her voice thoughtful. “A home isn’t just a place or an address. It’s the love and safety you give your children, the constant in their world even when everything else feels like it’s crumbling. That’s what they’ll carry with them—always.” She watched as Kitty’s strength slowly returned in her voice, and for a moment, Nandita allowed herself to reflect quietly. Sometimes, leaving isn’t about losing something—it’s about reclaiming what you didn’t realize was slipping away. She met Kitty’s eyes gently. “Leaving the Upper East Side… maybe it’s not an ending, but a beginning. Change is hard, yes, and frightening. But it’s often what we need to heal, to grow, to find ourselves again.”

When Kitty asked if it would look bad—that people might speculate—Nandita’s gaze softened with empathy. “People will always speculate. That’s part of their nature. But you have the power to shape the narrative. Leaving your home? It’s not a sign of defeat or failure. It’s a sign of courage. Choosing your peace, protecting your family, prioritizing your well-being. That’s strength, not weakness.”

Her voice grew quieter, more intimate, as she responded to Kitty’s gratitude. “You don’t need to thank me. I’m here because you matter. And I’m not going anywhere. This isn’t just a moment; it’s a promise. Whatever comes next, we face it together.” Nandita gave her friend’s hands one last reassuring squeeze, letting the silence between them hold a steady, unspoken vow—a beacon of hope in the uncertainty ahead.

At Nandita's words, Kitty's weeping settles albeit slowly. Despite her relationship coming to a close, there was no form of gratitude for Nandita she could ever express to the extent that it truly meant to her. The reassurance that the optics would be appropriately handled brought immense relief to Kitty's shoulders. If this could all come out without being a scandal, her world might just turn out alright.

'And I'm not leaving.'

Those words to a woman who had now been left continued lapping at her wounds. She knew that her family would flock to her with support but to have a friend like Nandita pour her support was exactly what was needed for the moments now where she was bobbing between being recast into her thoughts and reeling herself back in. "More than anything, I just want Sebastian and Laurel to know that none of this is their fault. That our home hasn't changed."

To be very clear, her children were always much more attached to her than they ever were to their distant father. What Kitty did not yet know was that in the coming years, her children would consequently cling to their mother and grow protective of her as she always was of them. It was impossible to envision now, that Kitty once shared a fairytale romance with the man in question.

"I think this is just what I needed to eject me from the Upper East Side. Maybe it's been too long. It's the only part of Manhattan I've ever lived.." She was starting to sound more confident as she spoke, that it might work itself out. It was Nandita's words that helped her find it. "Time for change and all. Does it look bad if I leave our home, though? ...what does that tell people? Does it make them speculate?" Her mind was picking up its pace again. Though she had calmed down considerably, there remained that hint of shakiness to her voice.

Her hands found Nandita's, as did her eyes. "Thank you, Dita." Her sound cracked at the last syllable, nearly inaudible. "You mean so much to me." This was the sort of moment that would leave a permanent impression on their friendship.

@nanditaxiyer

[nanditaxiyer]

Nandita’s fingers curled lightly around her glass, but she didn’t drink—just studied him, quietly, with that rare stillness she reserved for moments that mattered. “You didn’t waste my time,” she said, voice soft but certain. “You shaped it. You mattered—deeply. That’s not something I can forget.”

She let out a quiet breath. “I knew what I wanted. And I would’ve changed pieces of it for you—if you’d just said the word. But you didn’t. So I didn’t.” Her gaze held his, steady. “I spent a long time filling the silence with hope. Making excuses for all the things you never said. And maybe that’s on me.” She took a sip then, slowly, before adding, “Still, I don’t regret us. You cracked something open in me—and the woman I became needed that. I built a life. A good one. But don’t think that makes me immune to the ache of what could’ve been. But somewhere I'm beginning to wonder if regret that time in your life. Is it because the feelings were a little too real? Or because you know I hold enough stories to do an entire exposé if I wanted to?”

A small, wry smile touched her lips. “You always mattered, Julian. That was never the question. I just wish—once—you’d made me part of the answer.”

"Yes," he finds himself agreeing. "The price is quite high. But as I've found, worth it."

Nandita voices all her thoughts, and speaks all her words. Only half-way through them does Julian realize that this avalanche of honesty was his own doing. He had been the one to ask.

"I didn't say it, because I didn't know. My concept of a future... well, I suppose I didn't have one. And you had plenty." Julian had always wanted children, yet struggled with the idea of marriage. He'd always wanted power, but it took decades to link it to the right roots. "I was making mistakes that either you didn't notice, or you didn't think worth bringing up. I wasn't sure of anything, let alone our relationship." Beat. "I am sorry, for wasting your time."

Sigh. "But if our demise meant the opportunity of building what you have today — I can't, in good conscience, mourn it too badly."

[nanditaxiyer]

Nandita’s smile grew—subtle at first, then settling into something real, the kind that softened her features in a way few people got to witness outside of close circles. She turned the book over again in her hands, this time not examining it so much as holding it like it had already earned a place on her nightstand. “You’re right,” she said after a moment, her tone quieter now. “Fiction can be both. A mirror or a balm. Sometimes both at once.” Her gaze flicked back to him, contemplative. “I think I used to read to stay ahead of people. Now I read to feel behind the noise. Maybe that’s just the nature of age… or burnout.”

She paused, then let out a light breath that almost passed for a laugh. “And I suppose you’re not wrong about the flocking. Though lately I’ve begun to realize that impressing someone and connecting with them are very different instincts—and far too many people confuse one for the other.” Her thumb traced the book’s cover thoughtfully. “You get better at spotting the difference. Eventually.” At his quip about attracting criminals, her laugh came freely this time, low and melodic. “Well, if it’s any comfort, most of the people I attract tend to speak in metaphors, make dramatic exits, or ghost me entirely.” A wry smile. “Maybe I should try criminals next. At least they tend to stay in the room when it gets complicated.”

And then, his suggestion. She gave him a look—not skeptical, but measured, almost playfully stern. “Turn my phone on silent,” she repeated, as if testing the words. “That might be the most radical thing I’ve heard all month.” Still, she tapped the book lightly against her palm and added, “But I said I trusted you, didn’t I?” A beat. “I’ll do it. One evening. No headlines, no screens. Just this.” She held up the book. “Let’s see what it softens this time.”

Selim flashes her an understanding grin. He couldn't say that he'd read it when he was trying to prove something, more so, when he was trying to propel himself forward after constant setbacks that made the abandonment of his parents really sting. "I think the beauty of fiction is that for one person, it can sharpen while for another it softens." Selim says, tilting his head in a concessive manner "Though, I guess in some ways, when I read it, I was also trying to prove something to myself."

A chuckle shakes him. "Only lately? I can't imagine there are many people you're surrounded by that haven't tried at least once to impress you. You're an impressive person, unfortunately, both well-intentioned people and their opposites tend to flock in your direction." Goofiness overcomes him then. "I wouldn't know personally, of course, most of the people I attract are criminals, not aspiring journalists." Then comes a wild suggestion. "Turn your phone on silent when you read it. I know it sounds counter-intuitive but if you trust my favourites, trust me on this too."

[nanditaxiyer]

Nandita had heard heartbreak before—had navigated it, written around it, managed its optics like an art form—but there was something about Kitty’s voice, raw and frayed, that bypassed every filter she’d ever learned to keep intact. No headlines here. No press statements. Just a woman unraveling in real time. She didn’t rush to speak. Instead, she let Kitty cry—held her through it, anchored her in silence. When Kitty clung to her, pressing her face into Nandita’s chest like a child clinging to certainty, she wrapped both arms tightly around her friend. Nandita's embrace was steady, full of a quiet but formidable strength. She didn’t shush her. Didn’t offer platitudes. She simply held.

Only once Kitty had poured out every broken syllable, only when the sobbing had softened into tired breath, did Nandita guide her gently to the kitchen. The lights here were softer. The space calmer. The closeness to the children’s room just far enough that Kitty didn’t need to worry. “I know,” she said at last, pouring a glass of water and placing it in Kitty’s hand with care. “Of course you're tired. You’ve been holding your breath for weeks, haven’t you? And now the floor's dropped out, and you're still trying to keep everything else standing.”

Nandita settled opposite her, her voice low and even—but never cold. “Kitty, you are not dumb. You are not at fault. He left because he couldn’t be honest, not because you did something wrong. You were brave enough to ask. He didn’t have the decency to stay.” She let that hang for a second, let the truth of it take root.

“You’ve been the one holding this family together for years, in ways people didn’t always see. I saw it. I still do. And now, you're asking me how to protect your children, how to protect him, even—because that’s the kind of woman you are.” Her gaze softened. “And I will help you. Every step of the way. Not because you have to make it look perfect, but because you deserve to feel like something is still in your control.”

A pause. “We’ll shape the story so no one questions your dignity. We’ll keep it clean, gracious, quiet if we can. And when the time is right, we’ll tell them—Laurel and Sebastian—in a way that doesn’t turn their world upside down. They’ll have questions, sure. But they’ll also have you. And I promise you, Kitty, they’ll be okay.”

Nandita leaned in then, her hand covering Kitty’s. “You are grieving the life you built, not just the man you married. Of course it hurts. Of course it feels impossible right now. But you are not alone. You never were. You called me—and I came. And I’m not leaving.” Her voice dipped just slightly, not dramatic but full of quiet resolve. “We’ll write the story together, Kitty. One sentence at a time. And when you’re ready, we’ll figure out what the next chapter looks like.”

"I–I confronted.. I heard it from s–someone else.." Kitty finally blurted, stuttering at every other word, "But then I, um, it's been weeks. I've known for weeks and, well, I asked him about it and– He got really upset, screamed that it was absurd, and then.. And then he packed a suitcase and he left." So, no, she did not have any shred of evidence or real knowledge and facts about it all. But historically, it had been Kitty's role to leave—to prefer to tackle things without tackling them at all. Her husband leaving her was going to leave a wound she wasn't sure would ever heal.

In Nandita's arms, there was but a moment where Kitty did feel like things might turn around. But that lasted for all of just that one moment. She leaned her head straight into the bosom of her friend, clinging to her arms for support as she continued to shake from her emotions. Kitty took her time, sobbing through her thoughts quietly, as Nandita warmly embraced her. She could not have hoped for a better friend in someone in that moment.

"I am tired." The admission lifted a weight off her chest, as she and Nandita moved into the kitchen—the perfect place to dissect more of her pain, and the perfect distance from her children's bedrooms. "I need your help." Her voice—still quivering. "How do I even ask this of you? — Dita, I'm so embarrassed. I–I need it to look like something amicable. We need to...we need to control the narrative that this isn't some broken family, just a new one with differences."

Her chest grew heavy with more grief for her marriage but she carried on as best she could, trying to refrain from another bout of being inconsolable. "I don't know how to even do this. It's going to be public and I don't– Laurel and Sebastian don't get to choose whether– I don't even know how to tell them." The streams begin again. A hopeless wreck, for now. "How am I supposed to have that conversation? How do I explain Mommy and Daddy are 'staying friends though' and– an– Why did this happen?"

@nanditaxiyer

[nanditaxiyer]

Nandita’s expression didn’t shift right away. Her fingers tapped a quiet rhythm against the side of her coffee cup, her eyes trained on Joshua—not guarded, exactly, but sharply focused. She listened the way she always did: like every word mattered, like she was filing it all away under categories he hadn’t realized he’d labeled out loud.

When he finished, she leaned back slightly, her posture deceptively relaxed. “You say I put too much prestige on your byline,” she said, her voice even but dry, “but prestige isn’t a gift, Joshua. It’s an accumulation. You earned it. You’ve also dodged it when it suited you, which is what makes your work interesting—and dangerous. That’s why this matters.” She set the cup down then, gently but decisively. “You’re right. Jul--Berkeley is slippery. Clean suits and cleaner narratives. But people like that… they depend on the world believing their story because it’s been told the same way for too long. They never think the quiet things will unravel them. Not oil. Not foreign permits. Not a leak from a mid-tier agency no one’s watching closely.”

A beat.

“I’m thinking breadcrumbs,” she said finally. “Not because we’re timid—but because we’re exact. We make the public lean in before we hand them the full picture. We make them want the headline before we run it. If we drop the full piece now, they’ll say it’s too complex, too buried in policy. You’ll get pushback, not traction.”

Her gaze met his again, cool but charged. “But if we build it—slowly, methodically—with pieces they can’t ignore? If we give them the pattern and let them connect the dots themselves?” She exhaled, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. She folded her arms. “We don’t light the fire just yet. We show them where the smoke is coming from. And when they start asking questions—their questions—then we give them the match. Thoughts?”

Conversations like these were deceivingly laid back but utterly volatile. Nandita, of course, was right. It's not that this story wouldn't be potentially explosive; it was guaranteed. Well, that is, if Berkeley's name was in it. With anyone else, Joshua would be questioning if the person was really after the clicks and five minutes of fame, but this was Nandita.

"You put too much prestige on my byline, Nandita," he said with a sigh before shaking his head. "Oh, I wasn't expecting it to be."

Skipping her question for now, he leaned towards her with his gaze piercing hers. "Can you?" he asked, quickly continuing when he realized what the question sounded like. "I'm not questioning your ability. You are far more experienced in this than I am, but..."

He chewed his lip as honks blared. Joshua looked up at the skyline as he thought of his words carefully. "You know of Berkeley's reputation—and now he's President. The guy is damn good at staying clean, and now he's got even more resources to do so."

Joshua shrugged. "Sure, oil drilling isn't sexy. It's not scandalous. He could just shrug it off. But the angle..." He went silent again as he put his hands behind his head. "A tweak here and there and Berkeley is center stage. Suddenly it's different. Suddenly, it's about the President of the United States being negligent—that or actively complicit."

He heaved another sigh as Nandita's question came back to him. "Go full out or leave breadcrumbs? Honestly, I'm not convinced with either choice... yet."

He sat back. "What are you thinking? And I know I just threw your question back at you, but I'm not sorry."

[nanditaxiyer]

Nandita turned the book over in her hands slowly, her thumb brushing edge of the spine. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. She had read it—years ago, on a long, uncertain flight back from a failed negotiation in Geneva. But something about the way Selim presented it now, quiet and thoughtful, made her see it differently. She looked up at him, a soft smile playing at her lips. “I have,” she said gently. “But not in a long time. I don’t think I appreciated it properly back then. I was too busy trying to prove something—to myself, mostly. That I could only make time for books that sharpened me.” Her smile curved with something wistful now. “I forgot that some books are meant to soften us.”

There was a pause, and then she added, more quietly, “Thank you—for this. For not trying too hard to impress me. I’ve been surrounded by people who do, lately.” Her fingers closed around the book more firmly. “It’s refreshing.” She exhaled, glancing around the quiet little bookstore that already felt more like a reprieve than she’d expected. “I think I’ve had enough of the heavy things for now. The headlines, the commentary, the conversations that turn transactional halfway through. This…” she lifted the book slightly, “feels like an antidote to all of that.” Then, her gaze returned to his. “And I trust your favourites more than I trust most people’s certainty.”

Unfortunately, he understood. As much as he loved reading crime novels, being surrounded by it at work too often made him wish to reach for something lighter; something that didn't remind him of all the negative in the world around them. Selim nods, disappearing for a couple of minutes before he returns holding a small book in his hands. "A personal favourite." The man says, placing 'A Tree Grows in Brooklyn' by Betty Smith within her reach. "- It doesn't tick all the boxes and it's definitely below your reading level but...I have a feeling that you'll like it, if you haven't read it already."

[nanditaxiyer]

Nandita hadn’t hesitated. One word from Kitty—Dita—had been enough to have her out the door and in a cab within ten minutes, a wool coat thrown over whatever she'd been wearing while reading proofs on her couch. By the time she reached the penthouse, her mind was already turning over the possibilities—What's happening? Who knows? What’s out? What can be contained?

But all that calculation fell quiet the moment she saw Kitty crumble. Nandita moved fast, the way she always did in moments like these—kneeling down without a second thought, catching her friend’s shoulder with both hands to steady her, not caring that her own knees hit the cold marble floor. “No,” she said, low and firm, the kind of voice that had calmed newsroom chaos and held its own in boardrooms. “No, Kitty. Don’t do that. Don’t start with blame—not to yourself.”

Her hands moved to smooth Kitty’s hair back from her face, a quiet, maternal gesture. “You are not dumb. You are not at fault. And you are absolutely not the reason he couldn’t hold his end of the marriage together.” She took a breath. Measured. Anchoring. “Let’s start with the facts. Is there proof? Did he say anything to you directly—or are we filling in the blanks with every insecurity that was never your burden to carry in the first place?” She softened the words only slightly, not to sound harsh—but to make sure Kitty heard her over the voice in her own head.

The sobs cracked her heart, but Nandita didn’t shy away. She leaned in closer, arms wrapping around Kitty’s shoulders, holding her with the kind of quiet fierceness only old friends knew how to deliver. “You have not lost. You’re not ruined. You are hurt, and tired, and probably running on adrenaline and sleepless nights—but you are still Kitty fucking Kaplan, and no blonde with a fresher gym membership is going to take that from you.”

A beat. “And you don’t have to be okay tonight. But you don’t get to say you’re alone, either. I’m here. I’ve got you. And we’ll figure this out—strategically, surgically, and with a little style.” She pulled back just enough to meet Kitty’s eyes. “But first? I’m making tea. You cry if you need to. I’ll put the kettle on.”

𝗦𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 ⸻ Kitty & her husband ex's penthouse, c. 2016 𝗔𝗩𝗔𝗜𝗟𝗔𝗕𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬 ⸻ closed ＊ @nanditaxiyer

Her children, 11 and 9, were sleeping soundly in bed while she was restless and away from hers. How was she going to break the news? All she knew was that she needed mitigation and she needed it now. Nandita came to mind immediately, partly because she had already seen the fragility that had always existed between Kitty and her husband– Soon-to-be ex-husband. The other part was that if there was anyone who was well-connected enough to contain a fire in a media frenzy, it was going to be her.

Pulse racing and head throbbing, it felt like the world around her was crashing down. "Dita," she breathed at the first sight of her friend around the corner. She was the first phone call she made and the only one. Nandita would be the first and hopefully last to learn about what had just become of Kitty's family she had built up for all of twelve years.

She stood to greet her before falling weak at the knees and crashing to the floor. "Fuck," she cursed quietly, wary of waking anyone her kids. "Dita, I'm not okay. I–I don't know what to do. He.. She's.. She's younger, prettier, dumber, blonder– Probably." Right, because there was an important piece to be said here which is that: she doesn't really know for sure anything's happened. But in her head, her marriage is over. There was no coming back from this. Left to her imagination, he definitely left her for another woman and she couldn't stick around to be embarrassed about it. Her voice trailed off until it became a light sobbing. "I'm dumb, right? It's my fault this happened. I've been away, an– and–"

[nanditaxiyer]

Nandita followed close behind as Levi led them into the empty room, her eyes flicking toward her assistant, who still looked rattled—clearly trying to stay composed, maybe for her sake, maybe just to not make a scene. Nandita knew that look too well. She’d worn it herself more than once in rooms where being vulnerable felt like a luxury she couldn’t afford. “Thank you, Dr…” She trailed off for just a second, the space between their introductions never quite filled, but her tone was genuine as she continued, “Thank you for being quick about it.”

Her gaze lingered on her assistant for a moment longer before she folded her arms—not out of impatience, but the way one does when their body finally realizes it has nothing left to do but wait. A soft breath left her. “She’s only been working with me a few months. Brilliant girl—driven, organized, and somehow remembers my entire calendar better than I do. I just didn’t want to take any chances.” There was a quiet edge of guilt threading through her voice, though she tried to temper it. “I made her stop for lunch because she’d been running meetings back-to-back all morning. One hour later, her arm looked like it belonged to someone in a dermatology case study.” She gave a small, self-aware smile, something faintly wry but not performative. “That’ll teach me to insist on self-care.”

Her eyes flicked to Levi then, thoughtful. “I imagine you see a lot worse than this on the regular, but you still didn’t brush it off. That matters.” A pause. “I’m Nandita, by the way,” she added, extending a hand, polished but unpretentious. “Thank you again—for moving fast, and not making it more dramatic than it needed to be.”

Levi was talking to the nurses, discuss some orders and also getting updates on some of the patients when the other had walked toward the nursing station. Levi listened as he observed the assistant, he had dealt with a lot of a allergic reaction in patients and most of them anaphylaxis. He walked toward her and breath a bit when she said that she was not having any breathing issues. He examined her first a bit before looking and turning to one of the nurse.

"Please get me .03 mg of Epinephrine," he asked one of the nurses before he lead them to an empty room. "Your assistant will be fine. The Epinephrine should help once we give it to her."

[nanditaxiyer]

Nandita's smile deepened, touched by the rare gentleness in Selim’s tone. It was the kind of ease she seldom encountered anymore—where the conversation wasn’t angled or charged, just... thoughtful. Her fingers absently traced the edge of the book she held, though she’d already forgotten the title. Something about being here, among spines and paper and silence, allowed her to exhale a little more slowly.

"Fiction," she replied after a beat, her voice softer now. “I have enough non-fiction in my daily life to last me a lifetime.”

There was a wistfulness in her gaze when she met his. “Something that still knows how to tell the truth, though. Just not so literally. I think I’m looking for a book that reminds me the world can still surprise me.” She paused, then added, almost like a confession, “Something that makes me feel a little less... sharpened.”

Headphones in, the soft melodies of Adele soothe his nerves as he peruses the new additions lining the middle shelves of his favourite used bookstore in Manhattan. For the first time in weeks, he'd felt confident enough to leave the comforts of Tristan's apartment, alone, to not only run errands but to find a new read for the week ahead; perhaps even something that would spark the younger man's interest. Between songs is when he hears it, a soft voice in greeting. His smile is instant and beaming, nearly bashful and he takes one ear bud from his ear in order to tune into the conversation. Normally, he tried his best to steer clear of any and all media for the sake of himself and his sanity, however, this particular person was okay in his books. "It is with honour that I receive your interruption, Ms. Iyer." He teases, his brows knitting together in thought.

"Thought provoking but not too dense....Non-fiction or fiction?"

[nanditaxiyer]

Nandita let his words settle, each one leaving its own quiet imprint. The music behind them swelled just enough to remind her of the kind of place they were in—gilded, polished, full of important people playing important parts. But none of that mattered as much as the man seated across from her, asking questions now that, once, he hadn’t dared to. She lifted her gaze to meet his. “You still are a force,” she said softly, “only now it’s one everyone’s trying to contain, or control. That’s the tax, isn’t it? For becoming what you once only dreamed of.” There was no trace of mockery in her tone—only the solemnity of someone who knew exactly what ambition could take from you, especially when you refused to name the things you were giving up.

When he spoke of fighting for his place, of scrutiny, of the burden of visibility, her expression didn’t shift in judgment. She understood. Perhaps too well. “I never doubted that you earned it,” she said after a moment. “But I think back then, you were still convincing yourself. And maybe that’s why it all felt so… volatile. Like being close to you meant standing too near a fuse.”

At his comment about the brownstone, her smile flickered with a hint of genuine warmth. “That place was a chapter I had to finish,” she said. “I stayed longer than I should’ve, trying to rewrite the ending. But you know as well as I do—some stories don’t want to be softened.” And then came the question. The one she’d always known he might ask, even if it took him years to give it voice.

Would you have done it?Abandoned your position to support me in mine?

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached for her glass again, letting the crisp taste of champagne fill the silence as her gaze drifted momentarily toward the chandelier above them. Then—quiet, unwavering—“Yes,” she said. “I would’ve. If you had asked. If you had wanted me in it… even a little.” Her eyes returned to his, clear and unflinching. “You didn’t have to promise me forever. But if you’d looked me in the eye and said, I want you next to me—I would’ve packed my life into boxes and followed you to the ends of the world, Julian. Not because it would’ve been fair. But because it would’ve been with you.”

A beat passed. She didn’t look away, though part of her wished she could. “But you never said it. Not in words. Not where it counted. And I think, in some way, that told me everything.” Her voice wasn’t bitter. It was simply... resolved. The quiet resignation of someone who had long since made peace with what she didn’t get. Her fingers traced the base of her glass again, a gesture of habit now. “We make choices. We wear the consequences. I chose a life I could shape with both hands, without waiting for someone else to name it.” Then, a faint, rueful smile—tinted with memory. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t love you enough to give it all away. I just didn’t get the chance.”

"Here's to hoping I still am." A force, that is.

A brief raising of his glass, a lazy toast. Julian shakes his head then, laughing slightly, "That's not true. Maybe some of this came naturally to me, but not all. I fought my way into this space, and I do keep fighting still." Beat. "I'm under more scrutiny than most politicians I know — even before presidency. It is a game, sometimes, but more than a job."

He listens to Nandita as she narrates her own life, keeping track of everything that remained the same, and all aspects which are now different.

"Not the brownstone," he comments, albeit in a joking manner. "That place was beautiful." It had personality; it had been chosen with purpose, and kept alive with personal taste. As an adult, all the places he'd lived in were government homes; a diplomat's apartment, a governor's mansion, the White House.

"...I didn't know what I wanted, back then. I couldn't possibly propose that you spend your future with me, if I couldn't tell you what that future would look like. What if you agreed to a quiet diplomat's life, and one day, I dragged you to the White House for nearly a decade?" His life is ever untraditional, and Julian knows it. "Would you have done it? Abandoned your position to support me in mine?" He asks honestly. "It wouldn't have been fair."

[nanditaxiyer]

closed for @adabasi

Nandita glanced over the rows of bookshelves, her fingers lightly brushing the spines of a few titles before settling on a volume of poetry. Just then, she noticed a rather familiar face nearby, peering over a display in a way that almost made her feel bad about going to disturb him.

Clearing her throat softly, she approached, keeping her voice measured but warm. “Hi, Selim. I hope I’m not interrupting. I was wondering if you might have a recommendation—something thought-provoking, but not too dense. I’m in need of a bit of inspiration.” She offered a small, genuine smile. “I’m still getting to know this particular bookstore, and I trust your taste.”

[nanditaxiyer]

closed for @thedocxlevi

Nandita pushed open the heavy glass doors of the emergency room, her younger personal assistant trailing slightly behind, rubbing at their arm where a rash had started spreading rapidly. “My assistant had an unexpected allergic reaction this afternoon,” Nandita said calmly but firmly as they approached the nurses’ station. “It started with some swelling and itching after lunch—something she must have eaten. I wanted to make sure she got checked out immediately.”

She'd thought about calling 911 but she knew how it would go for something like a potential allergy situation, they'd go through some stupid list and her assistant would be left suffering. "So far she's not having too many issues breathing but...she has been breathing heavier than normal."

Her eyes scanned the busy room until they landed on a steady figure moving purposefully nearby. Nandita gave a subtle nod. “If you could take a look, please—thank you.”