The couch had become her new safe zone—a makeshift sanctuary in the evenings when the world slowed down and Aaryan disappeared into his home office for long stretches. Inaaya perched on it now, a medical file spread across her lap and Aaryan's annotated notes in her hand. The text was dense but beautifully structured. Aaryan's handwriting was precise, his logical breakdowns elegant, and for the first time, she was starting to understand diagnostic patterns that had eluded her in classrooms.
She was so immersed she didn't hear the door open.
"Those look familiar," came his deep voice from behind her.
Inaaya startled so hard the file nearly tumbled from her lap. She turned, wide-eyed, cheeks turning a slow burn of crimson.
"I—I was just trying to—uhm—understand something from the patient case earlier," she stammered, clutching the file closer to her chest as if caught with contraband.
Aaryan arched an eyebrow, amused. "You're reading my notes."
"I didn't mean to snoop! I was just curious. Your method of thinking is... logical. And it helped today, with that post-op complication on the cardiac patient. I—I thought if I studied how you approached cases, maybe I could—" she trailed off, flustered.
He walked over and took the notes from her hand, flipping through a few pages before settling beside her on the couch. She tensed. But instead of scolding her, he looked intrigued.
"You figured out that cardiac tamponade risk on your own today?" he asked.
Inaaya nodded, timid. "Mostly. I think your margin notes helped me see the bigger picture. You analyze from causality backward. Not just symptoms forward."
A slow smile curled his lips, rare and faint but there. "That's impressive."
Her breath caught.
"You want to learn this properly?" he asked, voice gentling.
She blinked, startled. "Yes. If—if you don't mind."
And just like that, he was leaning forward, flipping the pages again. "Let's start with this case. It's layered enough. Tell me what you see, and why."
They spent hours like that. Side by side, elbows occasionally brushing. She spoke cautiously at first, but as he corrected her gently and expanded her thinking, her confidence bloomed. He didn't just dictate; he taught. Asked. Listened.
"You're sharp," he said at one point, tilting his head. "You don't lack intelligence, Inaaya. Just clarity. With some discipline and the right direction..."
He trailed off, but his eyes were assessing, not unkind. She flushed.
"Thank you."
Somewhere in between sketching a crude cardiac flowchart and diagramming causes of pulmonary hypertension, he stretched and got to his feet.
"I'm going to take a shower. You keep working through these," he said, stepping away.
She nodded, her heart still hammering from the closeness.
Twenty minutes later, he returned—hair wet, water droplets trailing down the side of his jaw, a loose black t-shirt clinging to his frame, gray drawstring pants sitting low on his hips. Inaaya was mid-sentence when her gaze caught him, and she went silent.
He caught the look. His lip twitched.
"Keep staring and I might think you've replaced your textbooks with me."
"I wasn't!" she yelped, ears burning.
He moved past her, chuckling softly. "Of course not. Just...appreciating the depth of my teaching skills?"
"You're insufferable," she muttered, too mortified to look up.
"I'm making dinner," he said lightly over his shoulder.
She jumped up. "Wait—I can help."
He turned to face her fully, arms crossing. "Help? Like that one time you added salt instead of sugar in my coffee?"
"That was—one time!"
"And the time you tried to microwave pasta in a metal bowl and nearly took down half the kitchen?"
"Okay, maybe twice..."
He walked up and flicked her nose gently. "Thanks. But go study."
She stared at him, unsure what to say. "You're impossible." She muttered softly.
'I heard that" he said over his shoulder.
She turned to the couch as he moved into the kitchen. The smell of sautéed garlic and cumin soon drifted through the apartment. She peeked in now and then, amused by how focused he looked chopping vegetables with surgeon-like precision.
They ate in companionable silence—Inaaya still overwhelmed by the shift in their dynamic. She wasn't sure when the awkwardness had receded, only that something gentler had taken its place.
By the time they'd cleaned up, it was nearly midnight. She'd curled back on the couch, highlighters and pages spread around her. The soft click of Aaryan's laptop keys echoed from across the room as he worked on his research.
Eventually, the night caught up with her.
Her head slipped to the side. The notes she was reading slipped from her lap.
He looked up just in time to see her eyes flutter closed.
Aaryan sat still, watching.
Inaaya was curled up like a child, long lashes dusting her cheeks, lips parted slightly. One foot tucked under the other. There was a textbook imprint on her forearm and a tiny smudge of pen ink near her temple.
She was asleep.
Something about the sight gripped him unexpectedly. Maybe it was the contrast—her usual anxious energy replaced by total vulnerability. Maybe it was the way her features softened in slumber, the unguarded lines of her face. Or maybe it was just the simple fact that she had started to feel real to him.
Not just a name in an arranged marriage. Not just obligation.
Aaryan rose slowly and stepped toward her. He reached down, then hesitated.
But the couch wasn't exactly ideal for her posture—her head lolled at an odd angle, her back twisted.
With practiced ease, he bent and slid one arm under her knees, the other behind her back, and lifted her like she weighed nothing.
She stirred faintly but didn't wake. Her cheek pressed softly into his chest, and for a moment, he simply stood there—holding her.
She was smaller than he remembered. Warm. Fragile in a way that had nothing to do with weakness.
He stood there feeling the warmth and softness of her small form pressed against his chest , enjoying it more than he liked to admit.
He walked toward the bedroom and nudged the door open with his shoulder.
The room was dim, moonlight slanting through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse. A cool breeze whispered against the curtains. He carried her inside, mindful of every step, and gently laid her down on the bed.
She turned slightly, fingers curling into the blanket. He pulled it up over her, tucking it beneath her chin. A strand of hair had fallen across her cheek. He reached to brush it back, letting his fingers hover for a second longer than necessary.
A heartbeat passed.
Then another.
Aaryan stepped back, but instead of heading to the couch or turning his back like he always did, he paused.
And then—quietly, slowly—he walked to his side of the bed and climbed in.
He didn't face away this time.
Instead, he lay still, head turned toward her, watching her breathe.
He didn't know what this meant. Not yet.
But the weight in his chest felt...different tonight.
Like something had shifted.
And for once, he didn't resist the feeling.