The moment Arjun stepped into his room and closed the door behind him, he leaned heavily against it, exhaling sharply. His palm shot up to cover his face, as if he could hide from the world, from himself. The heat that bloomed across his cheeks felt uncontainable.
"Did Dad really see us lying like that? Oh god," he muttered, voice muffled behind his hand. His mind replayed that exact moment—the soft weight of Shruti in his arms, the scent of her shampoo, the way her breath had tickled his collarbone. His heart raced all over again.
He sank onto his bed, elbows on his knees, rubbing his forehead. The ghost of Shruti's warmth still lingered on his skin, making him feel both flustered and… oddly content.
---
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Shruti stood frozen for a few seconds, palms resting on the counter. Her heart was still thudding, thoughts spiraling.
Did he see us? What does he think now?
She chewed nervously on her lower lip. The clatter of a pan snapping against the stove startled her out of the haze. Focus, Shruti. Just cook. Just do something normal.
She busied herself—chopping vegetables with a little too much force, stirring the dal with unnecessary vigor, trying to convince herself that this was just another evening. But nothing about it felt ordinary. Every time her mind wandered, it drifted back to how safe she'd felt beside Arjun.
When dinner was finally ready, she arranged the plates with practiced ease, trying to calm her breathing. The comforting scent of warm ghee over soft rice, crisp stir-fried beans with mustard seeds popping, and the tangy aroma of simple rasam filled the air, wrapping the kitchen in homely warmth.
She wiped her hands on the apron and called out softly, "Dinner's ready."
---
Arjun appeared a minute later, hands in his pockets, head slightly down. His gaze flickered toward her and quickly away, cheeks still faintly pink. He took his seat opposite her without a word.
His dad entered right after, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "Ah, it smells amazing! What a welcome home."
The table fell into a quiet rhythm—the clinking of spoons against plates, the gentle pouring of water.
Then, after a few peaceful moments, his father leaned back, patting his belly. "Shruti, the dinner is delicious. You've really got a magic touch."
Shruti looked up, startled at the sudden praise. Her lips curved into a modest smile, a little shy but genuinely pleased. "Thank you, dad," she said softly.
Arjun finally lifted his gaze. He swallowed his last bite of rice and added, "He's right. Honestly… breakfast was great too. That upma… I've never liked it before, but yours was different. Better."
His voice was sincere, no teasing, no awkwardness—just truth.
Her heart skipped, a gentle flutter that warmed her chest. Her eyes met his briefly before she glanced down, a soft pink tinting her cheeks. "Thanks," she murmured, feeling oddly happy.
But his dad wasn't about to let that sweetness slide without a bit of fun. He grinned, leaning his elbows onto the table. "Arjun, are you sure you're praising the upma? Or are you just buttering up your wife because you got caught today, hmm?"
Arjun nearly choked on his water, coughing as his ears turned crimson. "Dad!" he sputtered. "It's not like that! I was just… appreciating the food!"
Shruti covered her mouth, trying—and failing—not to giggle at his flustered reaction.
"Oh-ho!" his dad continued, clearly enjoying himself. "So quick to defend! If I didn't know better, I'd say you two have gotten quite close already. I should start planning for grandchildren, huh?"
"DAD!" Arjun groaned, face buried in his hands now.
Shruti was laughing openly now, her earlier nervousness forgotten. "Please, dad… don't tease him so much," she said between soft giggles.
Arjun peeked at her through his fingers, seeing the sparkle in her eyes, and despite his embarrassment, he felt a strange glow in his chest.
His father smirked knowingly. "Alright, alright. I'll stop. For now." He stood up, stretching. "But I must say… this house feels warmer already. Thanks to you, Shruti."
Shruti's laughter faded into a gentle smile, touched by the sincerity of his words. "I'm happy to be here," she said quietly.
Arjun's eyes lingered on her, his heart quietly echoing the same sentiment he didn't dare say aloud.
The silence that followed wasn't heavy or awkward—it was filled with warmth, like the first glow of a fire just beginning to crackle to life.
After dinner, the house settled into its usual calm. The kind of calm that came only after the day had spent itself—the kind that made small sounds feel louder. The quiet creaks of the wooden staircase adjusting to the night air. The rhythmic hum of the ceiling fan above, stirring the warm breeze in lazy circles.
Arjun lingered in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, leaning slightly against the frame. His eyes followed Shruti as she washed the last of the dishes. Her movements were slow, methodical—like she was savoring the small task, or maybe using it to steady her thoughts.
When she finished, she turned to dry her hands on the end of her dupatta, her gaze dropping to the floor as if lost in thought. The white glow of the tube light softened against her features—the gentle curve of her cheek, the tired flutter of her lashes as she blinked away sleep.
She looks tired, Arjun thought. But peaceful.
He wanted to say something—maybe thank her again for dinner, maybe tease her like his dad had—but the words didn't come. Instead, he waited quietly until she noticed him. Their eyes met for the briefest moment, warm and fleeting, before she gave a small nod, and they left the kitchen together.
The walk back to their room was slow. Neither spoke. But the silence between them didn't feel awkward. It was thick with unspoken things—questions they weren't ready to ask, hopes they weren't sure they could voice, and a strange new awareness of each other that lingered after the closeness of the afternoon.
Inside the room, the soft silver of the night seeped through the window, pooling on the floor in patches. The bed creaked faintly as they settled onto it—each lying on their side, backs turned slightly, a polite distance between them that neither tried to close.
The blanket was pulled up just enough to chase away the sea breeze sneaking in through the cracks in the window. The night sounds outside filled the quiet: a dog barking at some unseen threat, the faint rattle of a scooter engine echoing down the lane, the soft rustle of leaves.
Arjun lay still, eyes open, tracing the faint pattern of shadows cast by the fan blades on the ceiling.
I should be asleep, he told himself. But sleep refused to come. His body felt too well-rested after the long afternoon nap. His mind, on the other hand, was wide awake—buzzing with the memory of Shruti's face earlier that evening.
The way her cheeks had flushed, like the petals of a rose kissed by the morning sun. The surprise in her eyes when he'd said she looked cute. The way she had quickly glanced away, biting her lip to hide a smile.
Why did I say that? Arjun wondered, groaning inwardly. Why couldn't I have just kept my mouth shut?
But as much as he tried to scold himself, he couldn't regret it. Because for a moment—a precious, fleeting moment—he had seen her soften. Open up.
He turned slightly, just enough to glance at her without being obvious. Shruti's breathing was slow and even. Her figure was curled lightly under the blanket, her face turned toward the window, moonlight tracing the delicate outline of her features. A stray lock of hair had slipped from her ponytail, resting against her cheek.
She really is beautiful, Arjun thought, his chest tightening unexpectedly.
His gaze dropped to his own hands, lying uselessly at his side. Why do I feel like this? Why do I want to protect her? Keep her safe?
He sighed softly, trying not to let it be heard.
Maybe Dad was right… maybe we are getting close without realizing it.
The night stretched on, filled with thoughts he couldn't shake and a longing he didn't quite understand.
Somewhere in the distance, a temple bell chimed softly, marking the hour. And Arjun stayed awake, listening to the night, caught between sleep and the slow, uncertain stirrings of his heart.
Arjun stared at the ceiling, tracing invisible patterns with his eyes, his fingers tapping lightly against the blanket. What do I do now? Just lie here like a log? The room felt too still, too quiet. The fan hummed steadily, offering no distraction, and the soft glow from the balcony lamp spilled across the floor in pale stripes.
Suddenly, the bed shifted beneath him.
To be continued...