The day didn't rush them. It unfolded slowly, like it knew better than to hurry something good. Ashaas sat on the couch with her legs tucked under her, scrolling through her phone, while Arjun moved around the studio, pretending to organize but mostly just hovering near her. Every few minutes, he found a reason to walk past—adjusting a frame, fixing a cable that didn't need fixing, glancing at her like she might disappear if he didn't check.
"You're being strange," she said finally, not looking up.
He stopped. "I'm being attentive."
"That's not attentive. That's pacing."
"I pace when I'm happy," he replied. "It's a condition."
She looked up then, smiling. "You pace when you're nervous."
He sighed, caught. "Okay. Maybe a little."
She put her phone aside. "About what?"
He rubbed the back of his neck and leaned against the table. "About us. Not in a bad way. Just… I keep waiting for the moment where things get complicated."
Ashaas stood and walked toward him. "Life is complicated. We don't have to be."
He studied her face, like he was checking for cracks. "You're sure you're okay? After everything?"
She nodded. "For the first time in a long time, yes."
That seemed to calm him. He smiled and pulled her into a hug, resting his chin on her head. "Good. Because I was thinking we should do something very serious today."
She stiffened. "Define serious."
"Groceries."
She laughed. "That's your big plan?"
"Yes," he said. "I want to know what kind of person you are in a supermarket."
"Why?"
"Because that's where true character shows."
At the store, they immediately disagreed about everything. He reached for instant noodles; she took them out of the basket. She picked oat milk; he frowned like she'd personally insulted him.
"Who drinks this?" he asked.
"Adults," she said. "With self-control."
He tossed in chocolate. "Then I'm rebelling."
They argued quietly in the cereal aisle, laughed too loudly over badly labeled products, and nearly collided with an elderly couple while debating whether plants counted as responsibility. At one point, Arjun leaned close and whispered, "If we survive this, we can survive anything."
Back at the apartment, bags spread across the floor, they collapsed on the couch, tired and amused. Ashaas rested her head on his shoulder.
"This feels normal," she said.
He looked down at her. "Is that bad?"
"No," she said softly. "It's safe."
He kissed the top of her head. "I never want to be the loudest thing in your life. I just want to be the steady one."
She closed her eyes. "You already are."
Later, as evening settled in, they cooked together—slowly, badly, with music playing from his phone and too much tasting before the food was done. When they finally ate, sitting on the floor because the table was messy, Ashaas realized something simple and true.
Love didn't always announce itself with grand words or dramatic moments. Sometimes, it showed up in shared errands, burnt food, quiet laughter, and the comfort of knowing you didn't have to explain your heart anymore.
And that, she thought, was more than enough.