The morning after the "shoulder incident," Mahak awoke to the sound of her phone buzzing relentlessly on her nightstand. She groaned, turning over and grabbing the device. Her group chat with friends and family was flooded with messages.

Zara: OMG Mahak, is this you?!
Amara (Ehan's wife): This is trending everywhere! LOL, Faris bhai is such a hero!

Mahak frowned, scrolling through the messages until she found a link. Her heart sank as she clicked it. A short video from the day before, showing Faris picking her up and tossing her over his shoulder, had gone viral.

The caption read: "Every girl needs a husband like this 🥺💖 #RelationshipGoals."

She stared at the screen in horror as the comments flooded in:
• "This is the sweetest thing ever!"
• "Who are they? They look like a Bollywood couple!"
• "Can someone find me a Faris ASAP?"

Mahak's cheeks burned as she scrolled further.

"Faris!" she called, storming out of the bedroom.

He was in the kitchen, sipping his chai, his phone already open to the same video.

"Subah khair," he said with a grin, raising his cup to her. "Tum trending ho." (Good morning. You're trending.)

"Hum trending hain," she corrected, holding up her phone. "Yeh kya drama hai, Faris? Ab log mujhe #CoupleGoals keh rahe hain!" (We're trending. What is this drama, Faris? Now people are calling me #CoupleGoals!)

Faris smirked. "Aur woh galat nahi hain." (And they're not wrong.)

Mahak glared at him, but she couldn't ignore the warmth that crept into her chest. "Tumhe yeh sab funny lagta hai?" (You think all this is funny?)

"Bohot," he said, setting down his cup. "Aur tumhe admit karna chahiye ke secretly tumhe bhi pasand aaya." (A lot. And you should admit that secretly, you like it too.)

Mahak huffed, crossing her arms. "Tum unbearable ho." (You're unbearable.)

Faris chuckled, leaning closer. "Aur tum meri zindagi ki highlight ho, jaan." (And you're the highlight of my life, love.)

Her breath caught at the endearment, her irritation melting slightly. "Tum apne sweet words se mujhe manipulate nahi kar sakte," she said, turning away to hide her blush. (You can't manipulate me with your sweet words.)

"Main sirf sach bolta hoon," he replied with a smirk. (I only speak the truth.)

That night, Mahak tossed and turned in her bed. The shadows in the room seemed longer, darker, pressing in on her. Memories she had buried deep-of the school shooting, the suffocating closet, and the paralyzing fear-began to creep into her mind.

She sat up abruptly, her chest heaving, her heart racing. The room was too quiet, too still. Without thinking, she slipped out of bed and padded through the house.

A faint light from Faris's workshop spilled into the hallway, guiding her steps. When she reached the doorway, she found him hunched over his workbench, sketching something on a large pad. His brows were furrowed in concentration, but the calmness of his presence immediately soothed her.

"Faris," she whispered.

He looked up instantly, his pencil stilling in his hand. "Mahak? Tum theek ho?" (Mahak? Are you okay?)

She didn't answer. Instead, she took a tentative step forward, her arms wrapped around herself. Faris stood, concern etched on his face. "Kya hua?" he asked gently, stepping toward her. (What happened?)

Without a word, Mahak closed the distance between them, her eyes glistening. Faris's arms opened instinctively, and she stepped into his embrace, burying her face in his chest.

"Main bas..." she began, her voice trembling. "Woh sapna... closet wala." (It's just... that dream... about the closet.)

Faris's arms tightened around her, his hand gently stroking her hair. "Main yahan hoon, Mahak," he murmured. "Tumhare saath, hamesha." (I'm here, Mahak. With you, always.)

She exhaled shakily, the warmth of his embrace grounding her. For a moment, they stood in silence, the only sound the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

When she finally looked up, their eyes met, the vulnerability in hers mirrored in his. "Faris," she said softly. "Tum kyun... itne perfect ho?" (Why are you... so perfect?)

He chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Main perfect nahi hoon, jaan," he replied. "Main sirf tumhare liye hoon." (I'm not perfect, love. I'm just here for you.)

Mahak's lips curved into a small smile as she rested her head against his chest again. And in that quiet moment, she realized that, for the first time in years, she wasn't afraid.