It was a calm morning—the kind that seemed to promise nothing but peace. Sunlight streamed through the mesh curtains in soft golden ribbons, settling over the tiny apartment like a blessing. The air smelled of warm rotis, melting butter, and cardamom from the tea brewing on the stove. A quiet hum of life. A home.

Ruhani worked in the kitchen, folding soft rotis one by one, steam warming her face. Her bangles clinked gently when she moved—small, familiar sounds that kept her thoughts grounded. She didn’t dare look toward the living room too often. Because each time she did, she saw vihaan. And each time she saw him, her heart forgot all the rules she had taught it.