Sharing a room sounded simple in theory.
In reality, it changed everything.
Anaya didn't expect awareness to be this sharp — the quiet sound of Aarav moving across the room, the low rustle of fabric as he changed into something more comfortable, the way the air itself felt warmer simply because he was closer than before.
Nothing inappropriate.
Nothing dramatic.
Just proximity.
And proximity, she was beginning to realize, was powerful.
That first night had been calm.
Peaceful.
But tonight felt different.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… aware.
She sat at the edge of the bed, pretending to scroll through her phone, though she hadn't read a single word in the last five minutes.
Aarav stepped out of the bathroom, sleeves rolled slightly, hair still damp from the shower, and paused when he noticed how still she had become.
"You okay?" he asked gently.
"Yes," she replied quickly.
Too quickly.
He noticed.
He walked closer — not invading space, not pushing — just closing the distance enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.
"You're tense," he observed.
"I'm not," she insisted.
His eyebrow lifted slightly.
"You're holding your breath," he said quietly.
And she realized he was right.
"I'm just adjusting," she admitted softly.
"To what?" he asked.
"To this," she gestured vaguely between them. "To us."
His expression shifted — not amused, not teasing — but understanding.
"I can sleep on the couch if it makes you uncomfortable," he offered immediately.
The fact that he would do that without hesitation softened something inside her.
"It's not that," she said quickly. "I don't want distance."
"Then what is it?"
She hesitated.
"It's just… when things become real, they stop feeling theoretical."
He stepped closer.
"Is that a bad thing?" he asked.
"No," she whispered. "It's just intense."
Silence settled between them.
But this silence wasn't quiet.
It was charged.
She could feel it — the unspoken awareness of how close they were standing, how easily the space between them could disappear entirely.
His hand lifted slightly, almost instinctively, as if to brush her hair back again — the way he had done before — but this time he stopped halfway.
"Can I?" he asked softly.
The fact that he asked made her heart race more than if he hadn't.
She nodded.
His fingers moved gently, tucking a loose strand behind her ear, lingering just a second longer than necessary, the warmth of his touch trailing lightly along her skin.
Her breath caught.
Not from fear.
From feeling.
"You don't have to rush anything," he said quietly, his voice lower now. "Just because we're in the same room doesn't mean we have to change everything overnight."
She looked up at him.
"I know," she said. "But I don't want to pretend I don't feel this either."
"This?" he repeated softly.
She swallowed.
"This tension."
His gaze darkened slightly — not aggressive, not overwhelming — just aware.
"I feel it too," he admitted.
The honesty in his voice made the air thinner.
They stood there for a long moment, neither stepping back, neither stepping forward.
A choice hovering between them.
He was close enough now that she could hear the steadiness of his breathing, could feel the warmth of his presence, could sense that if she leaned even slightly, the distance would disappear completely.
But he didn't move.
He was waiting.
For her.
Her fingers instinctively reached for his sleeve — not pulling, not demanding — just grounding herself in the reality of him.
His eyes softened.
"You don't have to be brave all the time," he murmured.
"I'm not trying to be," she whispered.
"Then what are you trying to be?"
She met his gaze.
"Honest."
And honesty meant admitting she wanted him close.
Not out of obligation.
Not out of expectation.
But because her heart was tired of holding back.
Slowly — carefully — she closed the remaining space.
Not a dramatic movement.
Not rushed.
Just intentional.
His hand settled lightly at her waist, steady but gentle, giving her every chance to step away.
She didn't.
Their foreheads almost touched now.
Close enough that every breath felt shared.
"Anaya," he said softly, her name sounding different in this quiet.
"Yes?" she whispered.
"If I kiss you," he said carefully, "it won't be because of the contract."
Her heart pounded.
"I know," she replied.
"And if I don't," he continued, "it won't be because I don't want to."
The air between them trembled.
She felt it — the choice hanging there again.
And this time…
She didn't step back.
The lights in the room felt softer.
The world outside quieter.
And the distance between them…
Almost gone.