The room had settled into a soft, almost sacred stillness — the kind that only comes in the deepest hours of night, when even the world outside seems to pause and hold its breath. The inky darkness beyond their window was speckled faintly with distant stars, their flicker no match for the quiet glow of the small nightlamp casting a bluish haze across the walls.
The ceiling fan whirred steadily, its hum a soft backdrop to the rise and fall of their breathing. Arjun lay on his side, his arm draped securely around Shruti, who was curled delicately against him, fitting as if she'd always belonged there. Her head rested against his chest, just over his heart, where his steady thump seemed to match the rhythm of her breaths.
Her scent—faint jasmine, mixed with something entirely her own—filled the space between them, subtle but comforting. Arjun's palm cradled the back of her head, his fingers stroking gently through the strands of her hair, slow and unhurried, as if savoring the quiet moment.
Her body softened more with every passing minute, her weight settling against him as though sleep was finally pulling her in. His own eyes grew heavy, lulled by the warmth and peace of holding her like this.
But then—he felt it.
The smallest tremor.
At first, he thought it was the chill of the night air seeping in, or maybe the soft draft from the fan. But then he felt her breath hitch—quiet, strained. A muffled sound that made his heart skip.
A sob.
Arjun's fingers froze mid-stroke. The peace of the moment shattered like glass beneath the weight of that sound. His brows drew together, concern flooding him in an instant.
He shifted, just enough to see her face, the blue light painting her features in delicate shadows. Her eyes were squeezed shut, as if trying to block out the world. But tears streamed from the corners, slipping down her cheeks, catching on the curve of her nose, her lips. Her bottom lip trembled, the smallest, saddest motion that struck him like a blow.
"Shruti...?" His voice came out soft, uncertain, but aching with worry. His thumb brushed gently across her cheek, wiping away the damp trail of tears. "Hey… what's wrong? Why are you crying?"
She didn't answer. Her small frame quivered in his arms, silent sobs breaking through in the form of shaky little breaths and soft hiccups she tried so hard to stifle.
His heart clenched painfully. Had he done something? Said something?
"Shruti…" he whispered again, his own voice breaking a little now. He loosened his arms instinctively, giving her space, not wanting to trap her if she needed it. "Did I… do something? Please tell me. I don't want to hurt you."
But before he could move farther away, her hand shot out and gripped the fabric of his shirt tightly—so tightly that her knuckles whitened against the dark cloth.
"Don't…" Her voice was fractured, a whisper on the verge of breaking apart. Her fingers trembled as they clung to him, as if letting go would shatter her entirely. "Don't let go. Please… just—don't."
Arjun froze, his breath catching. His heart, already aching, squeezed tighter at her plea. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her again, pulling her close, closer than before, as if he could shield her from whatever storm raged inside her.
"I won't," he promised, his voice low and steady despite the fear and confusion knotting his stomach. His hand found her hair again, stroking gently. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. But… Shruti… you're crying. You're scaring me. Tell me what's wrong. Please."
Her body trembled against his. She drew in a long, shaky breath, as though trying to calm herself, but another sob escaped, muffled now as she pressed her face against the crook of his neck.
His shirt grew damp where her tears fell, but he didn't care. He held her, his fingers threading softly through her hair, his other hand rubbing slow circles on her back.
"I'm here," he whispered again, heart pounding in his chest. "Whatever it is… you don't have to go through it alone."
The room seemed to shrink around them, the night pressing close, as if the walls themselves were leaning in to witness this fragile, honest moment. The faint hum of the ceiling fan blended with the sound of Shruti's quiet sobs, her tears warm against Arjun's skin.
"It's not you," she whispered, voice trembling like the flicker of a dying candle. "You didn't do anything wrong. Nothing's wrong."
Arjun's heart clenched tighter at the broken softness of her voice. He drew back just enough to see her face, his thumb brushing lightly over her damp cheek. His voice dropped so low it was almost a breath. "Then… why are you crying like this?"
She hesitated, her lips quivering as she tried to form the words that felt so heavy inside her. The tears kept falling, but she didn't try to stop them anymore. She let them fall, as if letting go of all the years they'd been trapped inside.
"It's just… this," she began, voice catching on the weight of the truth she was about to speak. "This warmth. This closeness. The way you pulled me in tonight, the way you held me without thinking twice. No one's ever done that, Arjun. Not like this. Not ever."
Her confession hit him like a wave, washing over his heart, leaving it raw and aching.
She took a shaky breath, eyes squeezed shut. "Not my father. Not even my mother. All I ever remember is them keeping me at arm's length. Pushing me away when I tried to come close. Scolding me for things I didn't even understand. And when I wanted to speak… when I needed them to just listen, just once… they didn't."
Her voice cracked as the memories rushed forward, years of silence and longing bursting free.
"No one ever listened, Arjun," she whispered, her words falling like raindrops. "No one asked what I wanted. No one cared enough to see if I was happy, or sad. No one even tried to make me smile. Or laugh. It was like I didn't matter. Like I wasn't even there."
Arjun's throat burned. His arms tightened around her, instinctively protective, as if he could shield her from all those years of loneliness in one embrace.
"And then tonight…" Shruti's voice softened to almost nothing, raw and full of wonder and grief at once. "You just… opened your arms and pulled me in. You held me like I mattered. You stroked my hair like I was someone who deserved it. And something inside me—something I didn't even know was waiting—just broke. But not from pain. Not this time."
She drew in a breath that trembled from the force of everything she was feeling. "It was relief. Like… like my heart finally exhaled after holding its breath for so long."
Arjun felt the sting of tears in his own eyes. His thumb wiped gently at her tear-streaked cheeks, but more kept coming, and he didn't care. He let them fall, let her feel. His voice was fierce with emotion, steady despite the storm inside him.
"You're not a burden, Shruti. Not now. Not ever," he said, his words like a vow. "I don't care what they made you think. You deserve more. You deserve this. You deserve to be heard, to be held. To have someone who cares if you smile. And as long as I'm here—you'll have that. I swear to you."
Her breath hitched, her eyes shining with disbelief and hope as she looked up at him through her tears. "Do you really mean that?" she asked, voice so fragile it barely reached his ears. "Or are you just saying it to make me feel better?"
His heart broke at her doubt, at how deeply the world had failed her. He cupped her face in both hands, his thumbs brushing tenderly at the fresh tears sliding down. His gaze locked onto hers, steady, sure.
"I mean every word," he said, his voice low but unshakable. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't. You matter to me, Shruti. You already matter. And I want to know you. Every part of you. Your hurts. Your hopes. The little things that make you laugh. The things that make you you. I want to be the person who listens. Who stays. Who holds you when you need it."
A soft, broken sound escaped her, halfway between a sob and a breath of wonder. Her tears kept falling, but her hands rose now—trembling—to rest on his wrists, as if to anchor herself in his presence, to believe that he was real.
"I don't know what I did to deserve this," she whispered, voice cracking with emotion.
"You didn't have to do anything," he murmured, leaning forward until their foreheads touched, his breath mingling with hers. "You deserve it just by being you."
For a long moment, she just breathed him in, as if memorizing the safety of his warmth. Then she slid forward, burying her face in his chest, clutching him tightly, as though she feared he might disappear if she let go.
And Arjun held her. Held her as if he could somehow erase every lonely night she'd ever known. As if he could give her all the comfort and care she'd been denied. As if he had all the time in the world—because for her, he did.
The night wrapped around them like a soft cocoon, the room bathed in the faint silver glow of moonlight slipping through the curtains. The house, the street, the world outside seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of them in that small space—two souls tangled together, finding solace where neither had expected it.
"Thank you," Shruti whispered, over and over, as though the words were the only thing holding her steady. Each repetition was softer than the last, as if she were trying to convince herself this was real. "Thank you… thank you, Arjun… thank you…"
Arjun's throat tightened at the sound of it—the rawness of her gratitude, the fragility in her voice. His palm cradled the back of her head, his fingers threading gently through her hair, soothing. He spoke low, his words meant for her heart, not just her ears.
"You don't have to thank me," he murmured, pressing his lips softly to her temple. "You're safe now. You're safe with me. Just rest, Shruti. Rest."
Her sobs, once harsh and shaking, began to slow, each breath drawing deeper, calmer. The trembling of her body eased bit by bit, until what remained was the warmth of her pressed against him, the soft rhythm of her breath against his chest.
But still—she clung to him. Her fingers remained curled into the fabric of his shirt, as if letting go might shatter the fragile peace she'd found.
Arjun lowered his gaze, watching her face as the storm within her ebbed. He brushed aside the damp strands of hair clinging to her cheeks, wiping the lingering tears with the gentlest touch, as if afraid to disturb the fragile quiet she had finally reached.
Her eyelashes fluttered briefly, the ghost of her sorrow still clinging to her, before settling still. Her lips parted slightly as sleep began to claim her at last.
Arjun couldn't look away. He didn't want to. His heart felt full—heavy with the weight of her trust, light with the warmth of her in his arms.
A small smile curved his lips. A real smile. The kind that came from somewhere deep, somewhere honest.
He brushed another strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb lingering for a second against her skin.
"I've got you," he whispered, so quietly the words barely made it into the night. It was a promise meant more for himself than her.
His gaze softened, tracing the peaceful lines of her face, the faint tear stains that glistened in the dim light.
"I'll protect this smile," he breathed, voice trembling with quiet resolve, his thumb grazing the corner of her mouth where sleep had left the faintest, most innocent hint of peace. "Even if the world turns cold again… I won't let that cold reach you."
Shruti shifted faintly in her sleep, nuzzling closer into him, as if her heart had heard his vow.
Arjun felt his own eyes grow heavy, the weight of the night finally settling into his bones. He gently pulled the blanket over them both, tucking it around her like a shield from the world.
His head rested lightly against hers, their breaths mingling, warm and even now.
And in that moment, as his own eyelids began to fall, he realized something.
They weren't strangers anymore.
Not in the ways that mattered.
Not after this night.
Not ever again.
To be continued...