Some changes don't announce themselves.
They don't arrive with arguments or confessions or dramatic moments.
They arrive quietly — in habits.
Anaya noticed it when Aarav began leaving the light on in the living room when he left for work.
She noticed it when he started asking if she had eaten.
She noticed it when he began waiting — not because he had to, but because he wanted to.
And that scared her more than distance ever had.
---
One evening, Anaya was sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone when Aarav walked in, tie loosened, exhaustion written across his face.
"Long day?" she asked.
"Long life," he replied.
She smiled. "Sit."
He hesitated, then sat beside her — not too close, not too far — their shoulders almost touching.
Almost.
"Do you ever feel like you're living someone else's life?" he asked suddenly.
"All the time," she replied. "Sometimes I don't even recognize myself."
He nodded. "I used to think that meant something was wrong."
"And now?" she asked.
"Now I think it means something is changing."
That made her look at him.
---
Later that night, the electricity went out.
Not dramatically.
Just… darkness.
Anaya froze. "Did the power go?"
"Yes," Aarav said. "Storm."
She stood up instinctively.
"Are you afraid?" he asked gently.
"No," she replied. "Just… uneasy."
He stood too. "I'll get the candles."
They moved around the house together, lighting small flames that pushed back the dark.
Soft.
Warm.
Intimate.
"Strange how darkness makes everything louder," Anaya said.
"Except the truth," he replied. "It makes that clearer."
She looked at him sharply.
"What truth?" she asked.
He didn't answer.
Not yet.
---
They sat on the floor near the window, candlelight flickering between them.
"It's quiet," she said.
"Not inside," he replied.
She hugged her knees. "You're thinking too much again."
He smiled faintly. "I can't stop."
"Then think out loud."
He hesitated.
Then said, "I'm afraid that I'm starting to need this."
"This?" she asked.
"This… us," he said.
Her heart skipped.
"That's dangerous," she whispered.
"Everything real is."
---
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… full.
"You don't owe me anything," Anaya said quietly.
"I know."
"And I don't owe you anything either."
"I know."
"But…" she paused, "we're still choosing this."
"Yes," he said. "And that's what scares me."
---
When the power came back, neither of them moved.
Neither of them wanted the moment to end.
"Do you ever wonder what this would've been if it wasn't a contract?" Anaya asked.
"Yes," Aarav replied immediately.
"And?" she pressed.
"It would've hurt less in the beginning," he said, "but probably hurt more in the end."
She smiled sadly. "That's not comforting."
"I know," he said. "But it's honest."
---
Later, as she was heading to her room, she paused.
"Aarav?"
"Yes?"
"If this ever stops being safe… promise you'll tell me."
He nodded. "If this ever stops being real… promise you'll tell me."
She nodded too.
---
That night, Anaya lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
She wasn't afraid of him.
She was afraid of herself.
Of how easily her heart was learning his rhythm.
Of how natural it felt to wait for him.
Of how wrong it felt to call this temporary.
---
And in his room, Aarav stared at the ceiling too.
Not thinking of business.
Not thinking of control.
Just… her.
Her voice.
Her silence.
Her presence.
And the terrifying realization that for the first time in his life…
He wasn't alone.
---
Because contracts can bind hands.
But only hearts choose to stay.
--