Morning light filtered through the thin beige curtains, washing the small bedroom in a soft, golden hue. It painted delicate stripes on the wooden floor and cast a gentle warmth on the pale cream walls. The ceiling fan hummed in a low, steady rhythm, slicing the silence with comfort rather than noise. The scent of night still lingered faintly—a hint of her lavender shampoo, the earthy undertone of clean bedsheets, and the quiet warmth that came from two people sharing space in peace.
Shruti stirred first.
Her lashes fluttered. A small breath slipped past her lips as she awoke not with a jolt but with the gentle unraveling of sleep. Her head rested against something solid and warm—Arjun's shoulder. She felt the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek, and the rhythmic thump of his heartbeat was like a lullaby that had never stopped playing through the night.
His arm was still around her waist, hand resting lightly just above her hip, as though even in sleep, he had refused to let her go. The hold wasn't tight—it was reassuring. Protective. Like the world could try all it wanted, but nothing was going to pull her from his side.
She didn't move. Not right away.
There was something sacred in the quiet. The sun had drawn a golden line across his face, warming the faint scruff on his jaw and catching in his disheveled hair. Even in sleep, his brows were lightly furrowed, like he was dreaming about something he couldn't control. Or someone he didn't want to lose.
Shruti tilted her face slightly, careful not to wake him. Her gaze traced his features with a quiet ache. The same boy who had once barely spoken to her in the corner of a crowded wedding hall was now her anchor. The same boy who had promised—without a moment's hesitation—that he wouldn't leave.
She smiled.
It was a soft thing. Barely there. But it reached her eyes. Because last night hadn't just changed something between them—it had stitched something together inside her. Something she hadn't even realized had been torn.
As if sensing her stare, Arjun's eyes slowly blinked open. He squinted at the sunlight peeking past the curtains, then shifted his gaze toward her. His face was still half-buried in the pillow, lashes heavy, lips parted slightly in the remnants of sleep.
"Hey," he murmured, voice rough and low.
Shruti's heart skipped. "Hey," she replied softly.
"Been watching me long?"
"A little," she said with a slight shrug. "You talk in your sleep."
He lifted a brow groggily. "What'd I say?"
"'Don't touch the chicken curry'," she said with a straight face, then broke into a quiet laugh.
He groaned, hiding his face in the crook of her neck for a moment. "God, I really do dream about food."
"Terrible priorities," she teased, brushing a lock of hair away from his eyes.
He looked at her—really looked at her. The mischief faded, replaced by something deeper.
"I meant everything I said last night," he whispered.
Her smile softened. "I know."
They lay there a little longer, limbs tangled, the air thick with words they hadn't spoken yet. But the silence didn't feel empty. It felt full—like the pause between two musical notes that made the melody richer.
Eventually, the clock ticked loud enough to pull them back to reality.
"We'll be late," she murmured, though she made no move to rise.
"Let them wait," he said, nuzzling her hair.
"Arjun," she warned with a laugh.
"Fine," he sighed, reluctantly sitting up and rubbing his face. "But only because I don't want to be stuck in the back row again."
She sat up too, stretching, her hair a soft mess around her shoulders. He watched her in the mirror as she tied it up loosely, and she caught him staring.
"What?" she asked, glancing at him through the mirror.
"You look… different today."
Shruti raised a brow. "Bad different or good different?"
He smiled faintly, reaching for her dupatta and handing it to her. "Like you finally believe it."
"Believe what?"
"That you're loved."
She didn't answer that. Just held his gaze a second longer before glancing away, eyes shy.
They moved around the room with a quiet ease—she reached into the cupboard for a fresh kurti; he ironed his shirt quickly without her asking. She handed him his wristwatch before he could search for it. He passed her the hair clip she dropped without a word. There was no stumbling, no awkwardness. Just flow. Just… them.
At the breakfast table, the morning sun lit the kitchen counter. Arjun poured coffee into two mugs, his movements automatic.
Shruti stood beside the sink, rinsing a plate absentmindedly.
He walked over and offered her the mug, their fingers brushing. A tiny spark zipped through her at the touch. She looked up, startled by the warmth that bloomed in her cheeks.
He caught her staring and smiled. "Still blaming the weather?"
"Shut up," she muttered, taking the mug.
He leaned casually against the counter. "You're glowing."
Shruti rolled her eyes, but she didn't deny it this time.
She watched him tuck his shirt in, then reached over to adjust the collar. Her fingers smoothed the edge down, brushing lightly against the skin of his neck. His breath hitched just slightly. She noticed.
"You're nervous," she teased.
"I'm not," he said quickly, but his ears were already turning pink.
She stepped back with a smile. "Liar."
He looked at her then—like he wanted to say something more. Maybe he would've. But the clock ticked again, and the spell of the moment broke just enough to remind them they were still two students with a college to get to.
"Ready?" he asked, grabbing their bags.
She nodded.
As they walked toward the door, side by side, Shruti glanced at him from the corner of her eye.
"Hey, Arjun?"
"Hmm?"
"Thanks… for yesterday. For taking me to the beach. For listening."
He paused just before opening the door. "Thanks for choosing me to break down in front of."
"I didn't choose you," she said honestly. "It just… happened."
He looked at her for a long beat, then smiled. "That's the best kind of choice."
And they stepped out into the sunlight.
Together.
To be continued...