The golden fingers of dawn crept farther into the room, painting the walls in soft, warm hues, as if the morning itself was trying to preserve the fragile, tender stillness that lingered between them. Shruti lay there, wrapped in that silence, wrapped in him, unwilling to let the moment slip away.
Her heart beat steadily now, but each thump seemed louder in the quiet of the room, as if the world had faded, leaving behind only the sound of his breath, the feel of his body so close, so steady.
She inhaled slowly, the faint scent of him filling her senses—the soft musk of his skin, the lingering trace of his cologne mixed with the warmth of sleep. The realization that she was still in his arms sent a shiver down her spine, a shiver not of fear, but something far gentler.
Her head, resting lightly against his chest, rose and fell with each of his slow, even breaths. The rhythm of his heartbeat, steady and sure beneath her ear, brought back the memories of the night.
That moment—when she'd broken down, when her words had cracked, and he'd said nothing at first. Said nothing because words weren't needed. Because instead, he'd drawn her closer, his arms gathering her as though trying to shield her from every hurt.
And then...
Her cheeks flushed, the warmth blooming across them almost betraying her peace. She remembered it vividly now. The way, in the middle of her sobs, he had leaned down, his breath brushing her hair, and pressed his lips so softly to her temple.
The touch had been feather-light, but it had left behind a mark she could still feel.
Why did he kiss me? The thought came unbidden, making her heart flutter against his chest.
It wasn't teasing. It wasn't playful. It wasn't something he did out of habit or because it meant nothing.
It was… what was it?
Shruti's gaze drifted to his face again, studying the softness of his features in the morning light. His dark lashes lay like shadows on his cheeks, his mouth relaxed in sleep, the slight rise and fall of his chest so calm, so unlike the storm of questions swirling within her.
Her fingers twitched where they rested on his shoulder, torn between wanting to stay exactly where she was and wanting to trace his features, to understand the boy—no, the man—who had kissed her so gently, who had seen her at her most vulnerable and held her as though she wasn't broken at all.
Her lips parted, as if to ask aloud the question in her heart: Why did you kiss me? But no words came.
Because maybe... deep down, she already knew the answer.
The memory of that kiss played over and over in her mind, each time making her cheeks warmer, her breath just a little more unsteady.
Was it comfort? Care? Something more?
The thought filled her with both wonder and a hint of fear—fear of hoping too much, too soon.
And yet… she didn't move.
Shruti closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself sink into his warmth again, holding on to the memory of that kiss like a secret, one she wasn't ready to let go of just yet.
Outside, the world stirred to life, but inside their room, time seemed to stand still—just for them.
The morning light had grown stronger now, its gentle beams slipping boldly past the curtains, casting soft gold and ivory patterns on the floor and across the bed where they lay. The world outside was already awake—birds chirping, the occasional murmur of neighbors beginning their day—but inside their little room, time seemed slower, softer.
Shruti's smile wavered as she gazed at Arjun's peaceful, sleeping face. A strange ache coiled in her chest—one she couldn't quite name.
How? she wondered. How did he know what to do? What not to say? How did he know to let me fall apart without interrupting?
Her fingers clenched lightly into the sheet as guilt pricked at her.
I shouldn't have lost control like that. I barely know him. Why did I… why did I show so much? Why did I let it all out like that? I must've scared him. I probably made him feel awkward. He must have thought I was ridiculous, crying like that.
But the thought dissolved as quickly as it came, replaced by the memory of his touch—the steady strength of his arms, the way his hand had smoothed over her hair without hesitation.
He didn't push me away.
He pulled me closer.
And in that moment, she realized that maybe… maybe she didn't need to understand his promises completely, not yet. Maybe promises still felt fragile, like spun glass, like things that could shatter without warning. But there was one thing she did understand, with a clarity that soothed her frayed heart:
He didn't leave me alone. He won't.
Her hand trembled slightly as she reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, tucking it gently behind his ear. She hesitated, just watching him—watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the peaceful slack of his features in sleep.
Then, softly: "Arjun…"
No response.
She bit her lip, leaning in a little, her hair falling like a curtain between them, catching the morning light. Her breath mingled with his, warm and steady.
"Arjun…" she whispered again.
This time, a faint groan, a soft furrow of his brows. His eyes cracked open, heavy with sleep. Confusion flickered there for a second as he registered her so close.
Then, wide-eyed, he realized how they were still tangled—his arm draped protectively around her, his hand resting on her side, her head still near his chest.
A flush rose, painting his cheeks pink. His fingers twitched, then hastily withdrew, his body inching back as though he'd overstepped some invisible boundary.
"I—uh—sorry," he stammered, voice rough from sleep. "I didn't mean to— I didn't realize I—"
But Shruti shook her head quickly, her smile soft, her eyes clear. "You don't have to apologize."
His hand hovered awkwardly mid-air before falling onto the bed, his gaze dropping to the blanket as he rubbed the back of his neck. "We… uh… woke up late again, didn't we?"
Shruti's eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. She tried not to laugh. "Very late."
Their eyes met then—really met—and the air between them seemed to hum with everything left unsaid.
"I wanted to say something," Shruti said after a moment, her voice quieter, more tentative. She shifted, sitting up straighter though still close enough that she could feel his warmth beside her.
Arjun watched her, alert now, curious but gentle. "What is it?"
She hesitated, fingers nervously twisting the edge of her dupatta. "Thank you. For last night."
He blinked. "Thank me?"
She nodded, swallowing. "For holding me. For letting me cry. For not making it weird. For not asking me to stop or telling me it was nothing. For just… being there."
Something in his expression softened. The flush on his cheeks didn't fade, but his eyes grew warmer, deeper, like he was trying to speak to her without words.
Arjun lifted a hand and gently patted her head. His fingers lingered, brushing through her hair as if the gesture came as naturally to him as breathing.
"You don't have to thank me for that," he said quietly, the usual light teasing absent from his tone. "It wasn't a favor, Shruti."
His fingers trailed down to tuck another loose strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb brushed her cheek so lightly she barely felt it, but it sent a warmth all the way to her chest.
"You matter," he added, voice low but firm. "And I'd do it again. Anytime."
Her breath hitched, her heart pounding.
"Why?" she asked, before she could stop herself. The word escaped as a whisper, but it carried all the weight of her wonder, her doubt, her hope.
He tilted his head slightly, as if he'd expected that question. His lips curved—not into a grin, but into a small, sure smile that reached his eyes.
"Because I care," he said simply. "And because someone should've done that for you a long time ago."
Her throat tightened. Her fingers reached out before she even thought about it, resting lightly over his hand where it lay on the bed between them.
"Arjun…"
"Hmm?"
Her voice wavered, but her eyes didn't. "I'm really glad it was you."
The soft glow of morning lit up the room, casting honeyed streaks across the walls, the bed, and the gentle curve of Shruti's cheek as she bit her lower lip, trying to still the flutter in her chest. The tenderness in Arjun's voice, the way his eyes held hers without hesitation—it all felt too much, too new, too wonderful.
But then, he tilted his head, that familiar glint of mischief sneaking into his gaze.
"But," he said, stretching the word, "you do owe me something."
Shruti blinked, her brows lifting in surprise. "Owe you?"
"Yep." He leaned back on his hands, grinning now. "A quick trip to the bathroom. Because we, my dear wife, have shopping to do."
She stared at him, half amused, half exasperated. "Shopping? Now? You still want to go?"
He sat up straighter, his eyes sweeping over the oversized kurti she had slept in—the one that hung off her shoulders like borrowed cloth. "Shruti," he said seriously, "that doesn't look like something a college student would wear. You need proper clothes. A bag. Books. A phone. A laptop—"
"Arjun!" she interrupted, shaking her head, her voice soft but firm. "I don't need all that. I have clothes already. And I really don't want you spending on things I can manage without. Please…"
He turned to face her fully, his expression gentle but resolute, his voice dropping lower. "Shruti. Didn't you tell me not to treat you like a guest?"
She hesitated, then nodded, heart beating faster.
"Then don't argue when I treat you like my wife."
The words hit her like a warm breeze, unexpected but welcome. Her eyes widened, breath caught in her throat, and she felt the heat rush up her neck, flushing her cheeks.
"Arjun…" she started, unsure what she meant to say.
But he continued, his tone softening, but his meaning clear. "I'm not doing this because I feel sorry for you. I'm doing this because I want you to feel comfortable. Confident. I don't want you to wear what's leftover or borrowed. I want you to have what you deserve. What you want."
She dropped her gaze to her hands, fingers twisting together in her lap. The weight of his words wrapped around her like a blanket, unfamiliar and yet… safe.
"You're serious?" she whispered, barely able to voice it.
His smile softened, losing its teasing edge. "Yes, I am."
Shruti peeked up at him through her lashes, trying to gather her thoughts, to push past the emotion clogging her throat. "You're strange," she finally managed, shaking her head gently, though a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
He gave a soft laugh, the sound warm and boyish. "You're just noticing that now?"
Her small laugh joined his, the tension between them easing into something light, something fragile but hopeful.
"Okay, okay," she said, standing and smoothing the wrinkles from her kurti. "I'll freshen up. But only if you promise not to go overboard."
Arjun put a hand over his heart, eyes wide with mock sincerity. "Scout's honor."
She rolled her eyes, but the smile wouldn't leave her face. As she turned toward the bathroom, she paused in the doorway, glancing back.
He was already pulling at the sheets, making the bed with quick, neat movements, whistling an off-key tune that made her grin.
Something warm swelled in her chest.
This, she thought, watching him quietly. Whatever this is… I don't have to fight it.
And with that thought easing the last of her doubts, she stepped into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving Arjun still humming as sunlight filled the room.
To be continued...