The room they were given was simple — not adorned like a wedding chamber, but intimate in a way that made the silence louder.
A single lamp burned low in the corner, casting amber warmth across the bedsheets and the carved wooden panels. The scent of sandalwood lingered faintly, as if the air itself had been holding its breath for this moment.
Hiya sat at the edge of the bed, her back straight, her palms cold. Her wedding sari had been changed for a lighter cotton drape, ivory with a pale gold border. Her hair had loosened, tendrils curling around her face like shadows drawn by moonlight.
Dev entered quietly, closing the door behind him.
She didn't look up at first.
But she felt him — the shift in the air, the silent gravity he carried.
His footsteps paused. Then slowly, he walked to the table and poured water into a small silver cup. His movements were deliberate. Gentle. Like he, too, was trying to calm the tide rising inside him.
He handed her the cup. Their fingers brushed. Her breath caught.
"You didn't eat properly," he said softly.
She nodded, taking the sip more to steady her hands than quench thirst.
Silence again.
He sat beside her — not close, but not distant. Enough for the warmth between them to shimmer.
"Are you scared?" he asked, voice low, without teasing.
Hiya didn't lie.
"A little."
He looked at her — not with desire, but with an ache that had been building for months.
"You don't have to be," he whispered.
She turned to him then. And in her eyes was not fear, but a kind of surrender. A question that had no words, only longing.
He reached for her hand.
Not to pull her into an embrace.
But just to hold it. Thumb tracing the lines in her palm, as if memorizing her before ever undressing her.
"Do you remember the first time you ran after my car?" he asked.
She smiled faintly. "I was sweating. I tripped."
He chuckled, breathless. "I saw you in the mirror. Stuffing food into your cheeks… like a squirrel."
She giggled, the sound soft, shy. Her shoulders loosened.
Then — he leaned in.
Not with urgency.
But with reverence.
His lips touched her forehead, staying there. Breathing her in. She closed her eyes, her body trembling — not from fear now, but from the ache of closeness.
"Tell me if anything feels too much," he murmured against her skin.
She nodded, her fingers curling against his chest, finding their way through the fabric.
Dev lifted her face slowly. His thumb brushed her bottom lip — feather-light, as if asking for permission. She didn't pull away.
And then — the kiss.
Their second.
But this one… was nothing like the first.
This one was slow.
Lingering.
Not a storm, but a slow-burning fire that licked every edge of restraint and made it sweeter.
Hiya's hands reached for his shoulders, unsure at first, then bolder — as he pulled her gently into his lap, the cotton of her sari rustling like breath against skin.
He didn't undress her fast. He unwrapped her like a prayer. One pleat at a time. His fingers shook — not from desire alone, but from the holiness of the moment.
Her blouse slipped from her shoulder.
His lips followed the curve slowly.
Hiya gasped.
Not loudly.
A sharp, whispered sound — almost like a sob. But there was no pain. Only heat. Only wonder.
"I don't know what to do," she confessed, her voice breaking.
Dev leaned back just enough to meet her eyes.
"We'll figure it out. Together."
The rest of the night moved like poetry written in breath and touch.
Fumbling. Laughing. Pausing.
His hands mapping her softness like the pages of a book he had longed to read, but never dared to open.
Her body shy, but responding — to every kiss placed along her neck, every breath whispered into her navel, every pause that asked "Is this okay?" without saying a word.
When he finally entered her — slowly, hesitantly — she clutched him like a secret. Her eyes welled up, not from pain, but from the terrifying, beautiful truth:
She was his.
And he… was hers.
They didn't speak much after.
Only held each other.
Her head against his chest, his arms wrapped around her like a vow made in silence.
And before sleep claimed them, she whispered one thing into the hollow of his neck:
"Don't leave me."
His answer was not a promise.
It was a kiss, placed just above her heart.