The rain outside faded into a rhythmic hush — a gentle reminder that even storms grow tired.
Inside the royal chamber, the air felt fragile, almost sacred. The world had ended and been reborn here tonight.
Aayat lay still, her fingers resting lightly against Anirudh's chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm. For the first time, it didn't frighten her — it comforted her.
She could feel his breath, uneven but slowing, brushing against her hair. He hadn't spoken since her confession. His silence was different now — not cold or distant, but heavy with emotion he didn't yet know how to name.
"Anirudh," she whispered.
He turned his head slightly, eyes half-open, shadows and light mingling in their depths. "Hmm?"
"I meant what I said."
He swallowed hard. "Which part?"
"All of it," she murmured, her thumb tracing the edge of his jaw. "That I love you. That I'm not afraid anymore."
He exhaled shakily, closing his eyes. "You should be," he said softly. "You've fallen for a man who doesn't even know how to hold something without breaking it."
"Then learn," she whispered back. "With me."
He opened his eyes — and the look in them nearly unraveled her. The once-fearsome prince looked… young, uncertain. "And if I fail?"
She smiled faintly, brushing a tear from his cheek. "Then we fail together."
For a long heartbeat, neither spoke. Then, slowly, his hand found hers. His fingers were rough, calloused — a reminder of the man the world feared — yet when they intertwined with hers, they trembled.
Aayat lifted their joined hands and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles. "You don't have to be perfect," she said. "Just be mine."
Something fragile cracked inside him. His breath hitched, and he leaned forward until his forehead touched hers.
He didn't kiss her right away — he just stayed there, breathing her in, memorizing the quiet rise and fall of her chest.
"You make it sound easy," he murmured.
She smiled softly. "It's not. But it's real."
He let out a soft, trembling laugh. "Real… I don't even remember what that feels like."
"Then let me remind you," she whispered.
Anirudh lifted his hand and traced a line from her cheek to her lips — slow, reverent. His touch lingered as if afraid she'd fade with the light. Then he leaned down and kissed her — tenderly, carefully, as if she were both his salvation and his sin.
This kiss was nothing like before. It wasn't punishment or proof. It was quiet, full of longing — the kind of kiss that asks for nothing except a heartbeat in return.
When they pulled apart, Aayat was breathless. Her hand came up to rest against his neck, her thumb brushing against the pulse there.
"I can feel your heart," she whispered. "It's racing."
"So is yours."
"Maybe they're trying to match," she said, smiling faintly.
Anirudh's lips twitched into a small, helpless smile. "Then they'll have to learn to beat as one."
He gathered her closer, their foreheads touching again, eyes half-closed. The wreckage of the room didn't matter anymore. The crown, the guilt, the world — all faded beyond the boundaries of that shared warmth.
They lay in silence for a while, and Aayat found herself studying his face — the faint scar above his eyebrow, the exhaustion in his eyes, the vulnerability he tried to hide.
"You look different tonight," she said softly.
He arched an eyebrow. "Different?"
"Human," she teased gently.
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Careful, or I might start enjoying being human."
"Maybe that's the point."
He shifted slightly, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her closer until her head rested on his shoulder. "You're warm," he murmured.
"So are you."
His voice dropped lower. "No… not like you. You're warmth that doesn't burn."
Aayat closed her eyes, smiling faintly. "That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
"Don't get used to it."
"I already have."
He huffed a quiet laugh, his breath stirring her hair. For a while, they simply lay like that — breathing the same air, their hearts beating in tandem. The palace outside had gone still, the chaos of the previous night erased by dawn's promise.
When Anirudh finally spoke again, his voice was a whisper in the dark. "Do you ever wish things were different?"
Aayat's eyes opened slowly. "Different how?"
"That you weren't… trapped here with me."
She turned her head to look at him. "I'm not trapped anymore," she said gently. "Not if you let me stay by choice."
His gaze softened. "Choice," he repeated quietly, like it was a word he'd never dared to believe in. "You're choosing me?"
She nodded. "Every day I wake up and stay, that's my choice."
He looked away for a moment, blinking hard. "You could leave, Aayat. You know that, right?"
She reached up, turning his face back to hers. "And go where?" she asked softly. "Anywhere I go, I'll still want you."
His eyes glistened — and then, finally, he smiled. Not the sharp, dangerous smile of the prince, but something real. "Then I'm ruined forever."
"Good," she whispered, brushing her lips against his cheek. "Because so am I."
He laughed softly — a sound that felt like the first sunrise after a long night.
They spoke little after that, words replaced by soft touches — her fingers tracing the curve of his collarbone, his hand brushing her hair back behind her ear. Every movement was slow, deliberate, gentle — the kind of tenderness born not of desire but devotion.
At one point, Anirudh reached up and adjusted the blanket over her shoulders, his knuckles grazing her skin. "Sleep, Aayat," he murmured.
She smiled drowsily. "You'll still be here?"
He looked at her, eyes dark and steady. "Always."
Her eyelids fluttered shut, her head resting against his chest. His heartbeat lulled her into sleep, steady and protective.
Anirudh stayed awake long after she drifted off. His hand brushed through her hair again and again, as if memorizing the texture of peace.
He looked around at the wreckage — the broken furniture, the torn curtains — and then down at the woman in his arms.
For the first time, he didn't feel powerful. He felt human. Terrifyingly, beautifully human.
"She said she loves me," he thought. "But what if she doesn't know what that means yet?"
He closed his eyes, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. "Then I'll teach her," he whispered to the silence. "Gently, this time."
And as the night stretched on, the fire that had burned between them turned into something gentler — a steady flame that promised warmth instead of ruin.
Outside, the storm gave way to dawn.
And in the quiet of that fragile morning, the man who once vowed never to love fell asleep with love in his arms.