The rain had come at dawn — not loud, not fierce, but soft, like a memory returning. The hill cottage blurred beyond the fog, and the scent of damp lavender crept in through the open window.
Abir sat on the wooden floor, bare-chested, guitar resting across his lap. He strummed lazily, chords not meant for any song in particular — just something to fill the hush between hearts that had learned to rest.
Maholi stood near the mirror, brushing her hair. She wore his flannel shirt, the hem brushing her thighs, and nothing else. He watched her through the glass — not just her body, but her softness. Her peace.
She turned, sensing his gaze.
"Take a picture," she teased, "it'll last longer."
He chuckled. "I don't need to. You're printed on my ribs."
She padded over, barefoot, and sank down beside him, curling her legs into his lap.
"I used to wonder," she whispered, fingers tracing his collarbone, "if I was meant to be forgotten. If my story would end in someone else's shadow."
He tilted her chin gently.
"You were always meant to be the light."
She kissed him — a slow, open-mouthed kiss, tender at first, but deepening into something hungry. His hands slid beneath the shirt, rediscovering skin he already knew by heart. She pressed closer, gasping as he kissed the hollow of her neck, the curve of her breast, her stomach…
He paused there.
Soft. Still.
His lips hovered. Then pressed.
Again.
And again.
She closed her eyes. Tears gathered, unspilled.
"I took a test yesterday," she whispered.
He looked up, startled.
Her voice shook.
"It's positive."
For a moment, the world stopped.
Rain tapped softly against the roof. The fire cracked in the hearth.
And then — Abir laughed.
Not out of shock. Not out of fear.
But with the joy of a man who never believed he'd get this far — and suddenly, impossibly, had everything.
"Maholi," he said, voice thick with awe, "you're— We're—"
She nodded, wiping a tear with the back of her hand. "We're going to be parents."
He pulled her into his lap, burying his face in her neck. She stroked his hair, whispering things only the rain and the ghosts of their past could hear.
Later that night, wrapped in thick blankets, they sat under the stars.
He rested his hand on her stomach, already protective, already in love.
"I used to think," he murmured, "that I was cursed. That I would die before I ever got to make a family… that love like this wasn't meant for someone like me."
She traced the lines of his palm.
"But your curse ended," she said. "When you chose truth. When you chose me."
They talked about names.
Laughed at terrible ones.
Fought over their child's future taste in music.
And when they kissed again, it wasn't fiery or desperate — but sacred.
It was the kiss of two people who had burned through storms, buried their ghosts, and now, could build a world of their own.
That night, Maholi whispered into the dark:
"I love you."
And Abir, arms wrapped around her, heart finally whole, whispered back:
"I love you. And our story… this is only the beginning."
Epilogue: The First Page of Forever
A year later, in a sunlit room full of plants and open books, a woman sat on a couch — her newborn asleep on her chest.
Across from her, her husband sat reading a script, their dog snoring between them.
The world still gossiped. The industry still buzzed.
But in that room, there was only peace.
And a love that had survived everything.
Their story was no longer written in whispers or wounds.
But in lullabies.
And lavender.
And the quietest yes.