Morning arrived too quickly, as if time itself had decided not to wait for them to feel ready, and Anaya woke with a strange calmness settling over her, the kind that comes not from certainty but from knowing that something important can no longer be avoided.
She didn't lie in bed overthinking.
She didn't count weeks.
She didn't replay conversations.
For the first time in days, her heart felt steady.
Because deep down, she already knew her answer.
When she stepped into the living room, Aarav was standing near the window, sunlight spilling across his shoulders, his posture straight but tense in a way that told her he hadn't found the same calm she had.
He turned when he heard her footsteps.
"Good morning," he said, though his voice carried the weight of anticipation.
"Good morning," she replied softly.
Silence followed.
Not empty.
Expectant.
"I've been thinking," he began.
"So have I," she said gently.
He searched her face, as if trying to read the decision before she spoke it.
"Anaya," he said quietly, "if this becomes real — truly real — it won't be easy. My family won't accept it immediately. There will be questions. Pressure. Complications."
"I know," she said.
"And if we choose to end it," he continued, "it will be cleaner. Simpler. Less conflict."
Cleaner.
Simpler.
Lonelier.
She walked closer to him, stopping only when there was barely space left between them, close enough to see the uncertainty behind his steady expression.
"When we started this," she said softly, "I was afraid of getting attached."
He swallowed slightly. "And now?"
"Now I'm afraid of pretending I'm not."
The words hung between them, fragile and honest.
He exhaled slowly, as though something inside him had been waiting to hear that.
"Then tell me," he said quietly, "what do you choose?"
She didn't hesitate.
"I choose us."
The simplicity of it felt powerful.
Not dramatic.
Not loud.
Just true.
For a moment, he didn't move, as if absorbing the weight of her answer, and then something shifted in his expression — relief, determination, something deeper.
"Even if it's hard?" he asked.
"Especially if it's hard," she replied.
His hand moved instinctively, stopping just short of touching her, as though asking permission without words.
She closed the distance herself.
It wasn't dramatic.
It wasn't rushed.
It was quiet and certain.
And when his hand finally settled around hers, it didn't feel like crossing a boundary.
It felt like stepping into something that had been waiting for them.
"I won't let this be temporary," he said softly.
"Then don't," she replied.
"I'll talk to my family," he continued. "Not as a contract. Not as an arrangement. As my decision."
Her heart raced, but not from fear.
From courage.
"You're sure?" she asked.
"Yes," he said. "Because losing you would be easier socially… but harder in every way that actually matters."
Her chest tightened at his honesty.
Later that afternoon, when Aarav stepped away to make the call, Anaya stood alone in the living room, her palms slightly cold, her heartbeat uneven, knowing that this was the moment where love stopped being quiet and started becoming real.
She didn't know how the conversation would go.
She didn't know what resistance would come.
But for the first time, she wasn't standing alone in the decision.
They had chosen together.
When he returned, his expression wasn't calm.
It wasn't relieved.
It was serious.
"What happened?" she asked immediately.
"They want to meet," he said.
Her breath caught.
"Meet?" she repeated.
"Yes," he replied. "Tonight."
The room felt smaller.
Faster.
Real.
"This just became complicated," she whispered.
He looked at her steadily.
"No," he said softly. "This just became real."
And as evening approached, as the sky darkened and the clock moved forward without mercy, Anaya realized something important.
Love is quiet when it grows.
But when you choose it…
It demands courage.
Tonight, they wouldn't be hiding behind a contract.
Tonight…
They would stand as something real.