The word hadn't left her mind.
Temporary.
It followed Anaya into the morning like a shadow she couldn't outrun, sitting quietly at the edge of every thought, every glance, every shared moment, reminding her that what felt permanent in her heart had an expiration date written somewhere in ink.
She found Aarav already awake, sitting at the dining table with untouched coffee in front of him, his fingers loosely wrapped around the cup as though he needed something steady to hold onto.
Neither of them said good morning immediately.
And that alone felt different.
---
"Did you sleep?" she asked finally.
"Not really," he admitted.
"Me neither."
Silence stretched between them, not hostile, not cold — just heavy with awareness.
They were both thinking the same thing.
The ending.
---
"Aarav," she began carefully, "if the contract ends… what happens?"
He didn't answer right away, and the pause said more than words could.
"I don't know," he replied honestly. "Originally, we were supposed to go back to our separate lives."
Originally.
The word stung.
"Do you still want that?" she asked.
His gaze lifted to meet hers, steady but conflicted.
"No," he said quietly.
Her breath caught.
"But wanting something," he continued, "doesn't mean it's simple."
---
She walked closer, sitting across from him.
"What's not simple?" she asked.
"My family," he said. "Their expectations. The reason this contract existed in the first place."
She had almost forgotten the reason.
Almost.
"You think they won't accept… this?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer directly.
"That's the problem," he said. "This wasn't supposed to become real."
Her chest tightened.
"And now?" she asked.
"Now I don't know how to make it unreal again."
---
The vulnerability in his voice wasn't dramatic.
It wasn't loud.
It was quiet and honest.
And that made it hurt more.
---
Later that afternoon, Anaya found herself staring at the calendar on the wall, counting the weeks left without meaning to, calculating time like it was something she could control if she just understood it well enough.
They had entered this marriage with clarity.
With boundaries.
With rules.
Now those lines were blurred.
And time was moving anyway.
---
When Aarav returned from a short call later in the evening, he found her still standing near the calendar.
"You're counting," he said softly.
"Yes," she admitted.
"How much time is left?"
"Less than it feels," she replied.
He walked toward her slowly, stopping just close enough that she could feel the warmth of him.
"I don't want a countdown," he said.
"Neither do I."
"Then don't treat it like one," he replied gently.
She looked at him. "How?"
"By deciding before time decides for us."
Her heart pounded. "Deciding what?"
He hesitated.
"Whether this ends," he said quietly.
---
The air shifted.
This was no longer theoretical.
This was choice.
---
"You're asking me to choose something permanent," she whispered.
"I'm asking you if you want it to be," he replied.
Her thoughts tangled.
She had been afraid of losing him.
Now she was afraid of keeping him.
Because keeping meant fighting.
Against expectations.
Against uncertainty.
Against whatever reason had forced this contract in the first place.
---
"What if your family refuses?" she asked.
"Then I refuse back," he said calmly.
The certainty in his voice startled her.
"You'd do that?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied. "If it's you."
Her eyes burned unexpectedly.
"You make it sound easy," she whispered.
"It's not," he said. "But losing you would be harder."
---
Silence followed.
But this silence was different.
It wasn't fear.
It wasn't tension.
It was the moment before a decision.
---
That night, Anaya lay awake again, but this time her thoughts weren't about endings.
They were about courage.
Because love wasn't the scary part anymore.
Choosing it was.
---
And in his room, Aarav stared at the ceiling, realizing that for the first time in his life, he was ready to fight for something — not out of pride, not out of obligation, but out of want.
Real want.
---
Because sometimes the real contract isn't the one written on paper.
It's the one written in choice.
And tomorrow…
They would have to choose.
---