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देखा है जब से तुम्हें
हाँ, तुमको ही देखते हैं।
सोचते हैं क्यों तुमको
इतना ज़्यादा सोचते हैं।

ऐसे ना ले दिल मेरे,
इश्क़ के फैसले।
आज यूँ तुझे मिलने,
मोहब्बत आई है।

लगता है दिल तेरी
शामत आई है।
दिन का चैन, रातों की
नींदें चुराई हैं।
लगता है दिल तेरी
शामत आई है।

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The sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting golden streaks across the room. I lay motionless, my breathing steady, pretending to sleep while my eyes lingered on her, my head turned just enough to catch her reflection in the mirror.

She thought I was asleep-she always did-but I wasn't. I never was when she was in the room. Watching her had become my habit, my guilty indulgence.

Noor stood before the mirror, draping her sari with a care that seemed almost reverent. She was graceful, unaware of how effortlessly she captured my attention, and I wasn't sure if it was maddening or soothing.

Her eyes. Damn those eyes. They weren't just a color; they were an entire universe. A warm, earthy brown, deep and layered, like soil drenched in rain. They spoke in a language I wasn't fluent in but was desperate to learn.

They held innocence, but there was more-something that made my chest tighten, and my thoughts blur.

Her eyes were the kind of poetry a man like me had no business reciting, but here I was, enthralled, lost in their pull.

I exhaled slowly, my chest heavy with something I couldn't name. These past days, I'd convinced myself to maintain distance, to keep her at arm's length. I thought I was doing it for her-for us. But watching her now, every excuse I'd given myself fell apart.

How the hell had I stayed away from her? From this?

Her hands adjusted the pleats, fingers brushing over the soft fabric of her sari. The sound of her bangles jingling as she moved was faint, but it echoed in my mind, settling into the silence like it belonged there. Everything about her fit-her presence, her voice, the faint scent of sandalwood, and jasmine that followed her. It clung to the air, to my senses, grounding me and pushing me to the edge all at once.

She turned slightly, her pallu slipping, exposing a curve of her shoulder. My throat tightened. I should have looked away. I didn't. Her skin was smooth, warm, inviting-a cruel temptation for a man who had spent days convincing himself that this woman wasn't meant to affect him.

But she did. God, she did.

My eyes trailed to her waist as she tucked the fabric in place, her movements graceful and unhurried. The faint curve of her body stirred something deep within me. I let my gaze linger, memorizing the way her skin glowed in the morning light, the way her delicate waist seemed to invite my touch.

How could I deny it any longer? This women-my woman-had quietly invaded every corner of my life. And now, as I watched her adjust the folds of her sari with those gentle, deliberate movements, I felt it again. That pull. That unbearable pull.

Maybe this marriage wasn't what I wanted, but Noor... Noor was something else. My wife. The thought sat heavier than it should. And yet, it brought a strange kind of peace, one I hadn't known I needed.

Her hands moved to secure the pleats again, and I let my eyes wander down to her waist again, the faint curve accentuated by the drape of the sari. I felt my jaw clench, a wave of something raw and unfiltered passing through me. Attraction, sure. But it wasn't just that.

Her cheeks flushed slightly as she placed a small bindi on her forehead.

My cherry.

The thought came unbidden, and I let it stay. Her soft blush reminded me of cherries, and just like them, she was sweet, tempting, and completely mine.

Her laughter from earlier replayed in my mind-the way her cheeks had turned pink when she'd caught me staring.

Cherry. That's what she reminded me of. Sweet, delicate, just out of reach. My cherry.

She adjusted her bangles, the faint clink pulling me back. And then, before I could stop myself, I thought it: Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't about moving on from the past but writing a new chapter-a chapter with her.

With my cherry.

I didn't know when this change had started-when I had begun seeing her as more than just my wife on paper. But now, here I was, watching her every move like she was the only thing in my world. And maybe she was.

The anklets on her feet jingled softly as she moved toward the door. I watched the gentle sway of her walk, my throat tightening.

How can someone so delicate, so innocent, belong to me? The thought sent a wave of possessiveness through me. She was mine-my Noor, my wife, my cherry.

As she reached for the door, I closed my eyes, feigning sleep once again. But even as I lay there, pretending, my thoughts didn't stop.

Maybe this marriage isn't so bad. Maybe I'm not moving on from my past, but perhaps writing a new & beautiful chapter in my life isn't impossible. And if it's with her-this little wife of mine, my cherry-maybe it'll be more than I ever thought I deserved.

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The sound of the door shutting softly behind her made me pause, water dripping from my hair onto my shoulders. She had run out of the room so fast, as if staying even a second longer would burn her.

A smirk pulled at my lips. What was she so scared of? Me?

The thought amused me more than it should have. I let out a quiet chuckle, running a hand through my wet hair. The faint jingle of her anklets still echoed faintly in the corridor, the sound refusing to leave my mind.

My eyes fell on the cup of tea resting on the table. Steam rose in soft, curling wisps, the warmth of it calling me. I glanced at the door she'd run out of, the image of her flustered face still vivid in my mind. She was always so... small, so innocent, darting around like a bird, never knowing where to perch.

I sat down, picking up the tea. The warmth seeped into my palms as I brought it to my lips. A sip, slow and deliberate, and my mind betrayed me, pulling me back to the first time she made tea for me.

I'd tasted it and paused, the sharp tang of salt replacing the sweetness I'd expected. I didn't say anything at first. I just watched her fidget under my gaze. When I finally realized later the night, her face had turned the softest shade of pink. She had avoided my eyes for the rest of the day, her embarrassment almost comical.

That night, though, she'd spoked for the very first time. We spoke for the vert first time.

"I'm sorry," she'd whispered, her voice barely audible.

That memory shouldn't have mattered. It was such a small thing, insignificant, but it stayed with me. She had looked so... pure, so untainted by the world. Like a child who didn't yet understand how cruel life could be.

I glanced at the door again. The sound of her anklets still faint in my ears. How could someone like her be mine? She wasn't just Noor by name; she was light-soft, warm, and untouchable.

I took another sip of the tea, leaning back slightly. My gaze drifted to the sofa across the room, the one where she used to lay out my clothes every morning. My jaw tightened.

She had stopped doing that.

At first, I hadn't noticed. But three days later, when she'd finally been in our room again, I thought she'd resume the routine. She didn't.

It bothered me more than it should have. Did she forget? Or had she decided not to do it anymore?

The thought irritated me. My grip on the cup tightened as frustration simmered beneath the surface. It was such a simple thing, yet it mattered. Why did it matter?

I placed the cup down a little too forcefully, the clink of porcelain breaking the quiet. The memory of her soft, hesitant smile when she'd first started laying out my clothes played in my mind. She hadn't said anything then, just done it as if it were second nature.

And now, she didn't.

The irritation grew, clawing at my chest. Did she think I wouldn't notice? Or had she decided I wasn't worth the effort anymore?

The thought hit me harder than I expected.

I looked at the neatly arranged clothes in my wardrobe, my hand hovering over a shirt without much thought. My mood was already off, irritation settling in from the earlier moment.

I grabbed the first shirt my hand landed on. I didn't care if it matched or not. Dressing properly wasn't my concern now.

Just as I was about to button it, my phone vibrated on the side table. Without hesitation, I picked it up, glancing at the caller ID. A hospital line.

"Yes," I answered sharply, holding the phone to my ear.

"Good evening, sir," came a voice from the other end, formal and cautious. "Dr. Gupta here. There's been an issue with-"

"Speak clearly," I interrupted, my tone even, but the authority in my voice was unmistakable.

"Yes, sir. My apologies. We have an urgent case that requires your input. The patient's condition is critical, and the board suggested we inform you immediately."

"I'll get there soon," I replied, keeping my words clipped. I didn't need to say more. The person on the other side knew better than to question me.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," they said quickly, their tone laced with respect and a hint of nervousness.

I hung up without another word, tossing the phone onto the bed. No hesitation, no second thoughts. I knew my role, and I knew what had to be done.

Straightening my collar, I glanced at the mirror. Serious eyes stared back at me. Whatever irritation I had felt moments ago didn't matter now. Work demanded my focus, and I wasn't the type to falter.

The quiet click of my shoes against the staircase broke the stillness of the morning. My movements were deliberate and unhurried, but my eyes betrayed me-shifting subtly, scanning the living room, the kitchen, even the far end of the corridor as I descended.

Where was she?

I didn't make it obvious; I wouldn't. My shoulders remained squared, my expression unreadable. Yet the faint crease between my brows gave me away.

The faint aroma of sandalwood lingered in the air, but she wasn't here. My gaze lingered for a moment too long on the kitchen gate.

A faint breath escaped me as I glanced at the clock on the wall. I don't have much time.

Still, I allowed myself one more sweep of the house, my eyes drifting toward the kitchen door, the dining area, even the small veranda beyond the glass windows. Nothing.

"Looking for someone?"

Her voice broke through my thoughts, light, teasing, and all too knowing.

I turned sharply to see Ma standing at the base of the stairs, her arms crossed, a smile tugging at her lips.

"No," I said quickly, too quickly. "No, Ma, nothing like that."

Her smile deepened, and I cursed inwardly. She always saw through me. Always.

"Oh, really?" she drawled, stepping closer. "Because it looked like you were searching for someone."

"I wasn't," I insisted, my tone firm but lacking the bite it usually carried. "I was just-"

Her raised eyebrow stopped me mid-sentence. I exhaled through my nose, forcing my gaze away from hers, knowing I wouldn't win this.

"I have to leave for the hospital," I said finally, changing the subject with as much nonchalance as I could muster. "There's an emergency."

"And breakfast?" she asked, her tone light but pointed.

"I'll manage it there," I replied, glancing at my watch again. "Don't worry, Ma."

Her gaze softened slightly, though the knowing smile lingered.

"Take care of yourself," she said quietly.

"I will." I stepped closer, pressing a brief kiss to her forehead. Her warmth was grounding, familiar-a reminder of everything that mattered.

Without another word, I turned and headed for the door, my steps purposeful, my mind less so.

Even as I walked away, her teasing words lingered, intertwining with the faint, unshakable thought that I hadn't found Noor.

Not yet.
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The garage was cool and quiet, the faint scent of oil and metal hanging in the air. I adjusted my cuffs, my steps firm as I approached the car. Just as I reached for the handle, a soft, melodic sound broke through the stillness.

Chan-chan.

The sound of anklets.

I paused, my hand hovering mid-air. My gaze shifted toward the faint noise, my lips twitching slightly-a reaction I couldn't control. A small smile. Barely there, but it was there.

I turned, following the sound, my shoes crunching lightly against the gravel as I walked toward the garden.

And then I saw her.

Noor stood amidst the vibrant greens, her sari catching the golden sunlight. It wasn't just the sari, though. It was the way it draped her-like it had been woven specifically for her. The pale blue fabric clung delicately to her frame, each fold moving with a rhythm only she seemed to command.

Her hair was swept back, a few strands rebelliously framing her face. The sunlight kissed her skin, illuminating the soft blush on her cheeks. And her eyes...

Those brown eyes.

They glimmered like two deep wells, reflecting the world yet holding secrets that made me restless. They weren't just brown-they were alive, carrying a depth I wasn't sure I could ever comprehend. Her lashes fluttered as she smiled, her lips curving in that effortless way that left me rooted where I stood.

She wasn't smiling at me, though. No. Her focus was on the gardener, who was speaking animatedly, gesturing toward the flower beds.

I should have looked away. Should have turned back to the car. But I didn't. I stayed.

Her soft laughter broke through the moment, tugging at something I wasn't ready to name. Her anklets jingled again as she moved slightly, the sound weaving itself into the silence around me.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I ignored it.

She tilted her head, listening intently as the gardener asked her something.

"if there's any flower you want, just tell me. Everyone in this haveli has their own flower here. Aapke liye bhi laga
denge"

"Yha ek bhi tulips nahi h.Kya yahan tulips laga sakte hain? Mujhe bahut pansnd h," she said softly, her voice carrying over the slight breeze.

Tulips.

The old man grinned, his voice carrying a teasing note.

"Hukum karo, Bahu Rani! Tulips toh kya, chaand taaron ka baag bhi laga denge."

Her laugh, light, and genuine carried to where I stood. My lips twitched again, though this time it was more a reaction to the old man's dramatics than anything else.

Why will he plant moon & stars for her?

The phone buzzed again, insistently. I sighed, dragging my gaze away from her and pulling it out.

Emergency. Right.

I turned reluctantly, heading back toward the garage. But before I left, I glanced back once more, catching sight of her turning toward the mansion.

The gardener's laughter echoed faintly as I reached my car, the polished black metal gleaming under the sunlight. A serious, no-nonsense vehicle-a Mahindra Alturas G4. I slid into the seat, the faint scent of leather lingering on my sleeve.

My gaze lingered on the rearview mirror for a second longer than necessary as I reversed.

"Stupid old man," I muttered under my breath, shaking my head at the gardener's antics.

The phone buzzed again, pulling me out of my thoughts. With a sigh, I pulled the car onto the driveway.

As I drove out of the gates, my eyes instinctively sought her out again. She was walking back inside, her sari swaying lightly with each step.

I didn't realize I was holding my breath until I was past the gates, the mansion disappearing in the rearview mirror.
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The knock at the door drew my attention, pulling me away from the files spread out on my laptop. Without glancing up, I leaned back in my chair and said, "Come in."

The door opened, and I heard the measured footsteps before I looked up. It was my driver, his face as serious as ever, holding a tiffin box in his hands. I raised an eyebrow but kept my expression neutral as he walked toward my desk and placed it down with deliberate care.

"Bahurani sent this," he said simply, his tone formal.

My lips twitched-almost-but I caught myself. I didn't smile in front of people. Not here, not anywhere where I had to be Sidharth Rajvardhan, the doctor, the professional. So, I nodded, curt and composed, watching as he stepped back, waiting for dismissal.

"You can go," I said, my voice steady, and he gave a slight bow before leaving, closing the door behind him.

For a moment, I stayed still, staring at the tiffin box. My fingers itched to touch it, and when I finally did, the warmth of the metal seeped into my palm. Something stirred in my chest-a quiet, unspoken feeling I didn't care to name.

I ran my thumb over the lid, my thoughts drifting to her. Noor. My wife. My cherry. The name felt different now, softer somehow, carrying a weight I hadn't expected.

She had sent this. She'd thought of me.

I exhaled, letting the faintest smile ghost my lips as I leaned back in my chair. The stiffness in my shoulders eased as I slipped off my glasses and placed them on the table. The world blurred slightly without them, but I didn't care. My focus was on the box now, on what lay inside.

I opened the lid, and there it was: all my favorites. My chest tightened-not with pain, but with something... different. Something warm. She'd knows. Of course, she'd know.

The smell wafted up, rich and inviting, tugging at something deep inside me. I picked up a piece of naan and dipped it into the Matar paneer, savoring the flavors she had so carefully chosen for me.

And then, there it was-a small container of something sweet tucked in at the side. My brows furrowed. I didn't care much for sweets. But I shook my head, a faint chuckle escaping as I leaned back in my chair.

"Of course," I murmured, the corner of my mouth lifting. She'd sent it anyway.

I picked up the container, staring at it for a moment before popping it open. The dessert stared back at me, unapologetically sweet, unapologetically hers. I didn't like sweets, not usually, but if it was from by her...

Maybe.

Then I don't mind putting a few more minutes in the gym.

I was bending my my own rules, but it wasn't as scary as I thought. It was making me feel happy. I was happily breaking it all.

Maybe doing this for her, maybe seeing things now with a new light, with my little wife beside me wasn't a bad decision.
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The hum of the car engine was constant, blending with the faint sounds of the city outside. My fingers drummed lightly on the steering wheel as I drove, the roads familiar yet unremarkable. My mind, however, wasn't on the route-it kept circling back to her. Noor.

This wasn't unusual anymore. She had a way of slipping into my thoughts, uninvited but never unwelcome.

As I slowed to take a turn, my eyes caught something-small bursts of color by the roadside. A flower shop. Instinctively, I scanned the display, and there they were. White tulips.

My grip on the steering wheel tightened as I pulled the car over. I didn't even question the decision to stop-it just felt... right. Stepping out, the faint scent of flowers reached me before I even approached. The tulips were pristine, their petals soft and almost luminescent.

For a moment, I stood there, staring at them. Her voice echoed in my mind, the way she'd grumbled to the gardener about planting tulips in the garden. She hadn't even noticed I was listening that day, but I was. I always did.

My hand reached out before I could stop it, brushing against a petal. It felt delicate, fragile, much like the smile I'd come to associate with her. I thought of her in the mornings, standing by the roses, her eyes bright, her lips curved in that unguarded way she smiled at the simplest things.

The thought did something to me, something I couldn't quite explain.

Would she smile like that if these tulips were planted in the garden? Would it be even brighter? The idea alone tugged at something deep in my chest. And a smile appeared on my face.

I clenched my jaw and pulled my hand back. What are you thinking, Sidharth.

This wasn't like me-acting on impulse, buying flowers, imagining smiles. Yet here I was, considering it.

For her, I feel like changing myself.

The shopkeeper's voice broke my thoughts. He handed me a small card with a polite nod, something about a welcoming gesture. I took it without a word, slipping it into my pocket. My gaze lingered on the tulips for a second longer before I turned and walked back to the car.

The card crinkled slightly in my pocket as I slid into the driver's seat. Starting the engine, I shook my head at myself, muttering under my breath.

What are you doing, Sidharth?

But as I drove away, my mind lingered on her, on the tulips, and on the idea of her smile-something I knew I'd do anything to see more of.
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I stood by the window, the soft glow of the afternoon fading into evening, my eyes drifting over the moonlit garden. Noor was out there, gently tending to the rose flowers, her focus delicate as she brushed the petals with a soft smile on her face. But as I watched her, my mind, instead of staying with her in that moment, wandered back to the kitchen.

Her back to me, her saree flowing as she moved in that graceful way, the sight of her, flawless, yet so inviting. And then there was the scent, the one that calmed every nerve in my body, chased away the irritation from the day. She hadn't even known, but it had done something to me. I could still feel it, that sense of peace that came with her.

And as I stood there, staring out the window, I couldn't help but smile softly, almost in disbelief. How the hell had she managed to change me like this? How had she gotten under my skin so effortlessly, making me crave her presence, making me want to make her smile without even asking?

I wasn't sure how or when it happened, but it had. I had accepted it. All of it.

I needed her. I craved her.

And I wasn't running from it anymore.

Then, my thoughts shifted again, and suddenly, I was back at the flower shop. The white tulips, sitting there in perfect rows, waiting. I couldn't help but think of how happy she'd be if I gifted those tulips in the garden. I could already picture her smile, the way her eyes would light up at the sight of them, how peaceful she'd look. I wanted that.

I wanted to be the reason behind her smile, to see her so happy because of something I did.

I thought of the tulips, I glanced at the roses in the garden, the ones she had always cared for so lovingly. She loved them, always taking time to tend to them. I imagined her, her delicate hands brushing the petals, her face lighting up as she gazed at the flowers. But then, my mind wandered again.

I saw her holding the tulips, her lips brushing against the soft petals, a gentle kiss. The thought was sudden, but it consumed me-the image of her, so beautiful, so innocent, smiling at the flowers I gave her, kissing them as though they were the most precious thing in the world.

I could almost hear her soft laughter, the joy in her voice as she admired them. And as I stood there, watching her care for the roses, I could see it-every day, her hands gently caressing the tulips, her smile widening as she kissed the petals. It would be perfect. Just like her.

I couldn't stop the thought from taking root in my mind. What if I planted tulips all over the garden? Every day, I would see her smile, her face glowing with happiness as she kissed the flowers. Her smile would be pure, innocent, just like her. And every time I saw it, I would know that I had made it happen. I would be the reason behind her joy.

The idea was addictive. The more I thought about it, the stronger the need became. I had to do it. I had to give her something that would make her smile like that. Something that would make her smile. The tulips would be my gift to her, my way of showing her how deeply I was changing for her.

And as the thought of planting tulips everywhere took hold, I made the decision. I was going to do it. I was going to make sure every inch of this garden was filled with tulips, just for her. I would watch her smile every day, kiss the flowers every day, and know that it was because of me. The thought of it was overwhelming yet so satisfying.
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Sidharth turned from the window, his thoughts still lingering on Noor. He didn't pause for long; an idea had taken root, and now it guided his steps. His pace was steady as he made his way to his room.

The moment he opened the door, the familiar scent of jasmine and sandalwood welcomed him, wrapping around him like a warm embrace. It was subtle but unmistakable, and it brought an unconscious smile to his lips. He stood still for a second, taking in the scent, allowing it to settle deep within him. It was comforting, peaceful-just like her.

His gaze flicked toward the dressing room door. It was closed. For a brief moment, he thought she might be inside, but the absence of her soft presence told him otherwise. She wasn't here yet. She was still in the garden.

Sidharth crossed the room and began searching for the clothes he had worn earlier that day. It didn't take long before he found them neatly folded on the chair. He picked up the shirt and carefully checked the pocket. His fingers brushed against the stiff edge of the card, and he pulled it out.

The sight of it brought a smirk to his lips, not a smile-something sharper, more deliberate. He held the card between his fingers, studying the printed details for a moment, his mind already calculating his next steps. Without hesitation, he left the room, the card firmly in his grasp, and walked back to his office.

Once inside, he moved to the window. The view of the garden stretched before him, and there she was, just as he thought. Noor was standing near the roses, her hands brushing the petals as she spoke with his mother. From where he stood, he couldn't hear their conversation, but the softness in her gestures was enough to keep his gaze fixed.

His fingers tightened slightly around the card as his eyes lingered on Noor. She had no idea, none at all, what she had done to him. And maybe it was better that way.

The obsession growing within him wasn't something he could explain-not to her, not even to himself.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he glanced at the card again, memorizing the number before dialing it. The line connected after a few rings.

"Hello?" His voice was calm, deliberate, carrying the weight of his name.

"It's Sidharth Rajwardhan. I need 500 tulip plants. I want them delivered here by tonight."

"In an hour."

He ended the call without waiting for a reply, his gaze shifting back to the garden. His name was enough for completing the order in the meantime.

The thought of her smile, her joy when she saw the tulips, filled his chest with a strange satisfaction.

This was only the beginning.
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The clock struck eleven, and Sidharth leaned back in his office chair. The faint glow of the desk lamp highlighted the hard lines of his face, but his mind was elsewhere.

The day's work had been intense, and the weight of his responsibilities usually kept him grounded. But tonight, there was something else.

Her.

He wanted to walk into his room and pull her into his arms. He could imagine the way her jasmine-and-sandalwood scent would calm him, how her small frame would fit perfectly against him. Yet he stayed seated. There was something he had to do first. Something for her.

A vibration on his desk snapped him out of his thoughts. He picked up the phone, and as soon as he heard the confirmation, a smirk curved his lips.

"Good," he said simply before ending the call.

Minutes later, Sidharth stood at the entrance to the garden. A truck was parked outside, the engine humming softly in the quiet night. Two men stepped out, carrying crates after the crate of tulip plants. They gave him polite nods, unsure how to address him. Sidharth simply pointed to the garden path, his presence commanding without words.

As they worked, Sidharth crossed his arms and watched. The image of Noor flashed in his mind-her soft smile, her delicate hands brushing the petals of roses in the garden earlier that day. But this time, he imagined something else. He imagined her surrounded by tulips, her favorite flowers, planted everywhere just for her. He could see her smile, brighter than ever, her fingers caressing the blooms, her lips pressing a soft kiss against a petal.

The thought hit him harder than he expected, and his grip tightened around his folded arms. "What's happening to me?" he muttered under his breath, but the smirk returned to his face.

When the workers finished, they handed him the last crate. Sidharth shook their hands briefly, paying them without a word. As the truck drove away, he looked at the garden, now filled with crates of tulip plants.

He was going to plant all those himself. He can't let any other be the reason for her smile. Not a little bit.

He bent down, his hands gripping the first pot. The soil was damp, cool against his fingers.

This wasn't just about planting flowers. This was about her. He wanted her to step outside tomorrow morning to see the entire garden blooming with tulips and to know that every single one was for her.

From him.

The moonlight bathed the garden as he worked, planting each tulip with care. His thoughts were consumed by her-her voice, her scent, the way she made him feel both restless and at peace.

By the time he stood back, the garden looked transformed. All 500 plants were planted, A strange sense of satisfaction filled him as he surveyed his work.

The tulips were hers now, just like everything else in his life was slowly becoming hers.

He wiped the dirt from his hands and turned toward the house. The image of her smile stayed in his mind as he whispered to himself,

"It's worth it. She's worth it."
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It was 3 a.m. when Sidharth walked back to his room. His steps were steady, but his mind was anything but calm. His watch reflected the quiet stillness of the night, but inside him, there was a storm-a need, a longing.

His usual composed self was cracking, layer by layer. And he wasn't complaining.

As he opened the door, the faint scent of sandalwood welcomed him. The room was dim, the only light coming from a small lamp in the corner. Noor was asleep on the sofa, clutching that cherry pillow like it was her lifeline.

His sharp eyes softened instantly. Her presence in the room melted something cold inside him, something he had kept locked away for years. She was his calm, his escape, his peace.

Sidharth's steps grew smaller, quieter, as he moved toward her. Each step made his heart beat louder. When he finally reached her, he stood still for a moment, letting her soothing presence wrap around him like a balm.

Her hair had fallen over her face, hiding her soft features. His hand moved instinctively, brushing the tendril away with care. His fingertips tingled as they grazed her skin, and before he knew he was caressing her cheeks softly.

Her softness undid him. A shiver ran through his body-not from the cold, but from the overwhelming warmth she brought into his life. He stared at her sleeping face, his lips curling into a faint smile, but his chest ached. He missed her eyes-those eyes that could silence the chaos in his mind.

He shook his head slightly, clearing his thoughts, but his gaze stayed on her. She shifted a little, her small frame sinking deeper into the sofa. He noticed how uncomfortable she looked, and without hesitation, he bent down to pick her up.

But then his eyes landed on that cherry pillow. His jaw tightened. He hated that thing-how she clung to it like it could protect her, like it could take his place. Never. Carefully, he pried it from her hands, his movements slow and deliberate. Once it was free, he tossed it across the room with a flick of his wrist, the sound of it hitting the floor faint but satisfying.

With nothing else in the way, he scooped her up in his arms. She was light and delicate, but the weight of her in his hold made him feel whole.

Still looking at her face, which was glowing under the small light, he felt mesmerized.

He carried her to the bed, laying her down with a tenderness that didn't match his usual firm demeanor. Her body sank into the mattress, and he paused for a moment, his eyes tracing her features before stepping into the bathroom.

When he returned, he changed into more comfortable clothes, and he found her still in the same position. The sight tugged at something deep within him. He slid into bed beside her, careful not to disturb her, but as if sensing him, she turned toward him. Her small hand reached out, draping over his body in a way that felt so natural, so right.

A rare smile broke across his lips. Warmth spread through his chest, filling every corner of him. Slowly, he placed his hand on her waist, his fingers brushing against her bare skin under the soft fabric of her kurti. She was warm, soft, and his.

He buried his face in the curve of her neck, inhaling deeply. Her scent filled his senses, washing away every bit of tension from the day. His mind went quiet, and for the first time, he felt a peace he had never known.

Pulling back slightly, he looked at her face, glowing even in the faint light. His thoughts swirled as he stared at her. I was never like this. He had always been cold and detached, but now... everything was different.

But just her.

She was everything. Precious, innocent, something he couldn't imagine missing, not for the world.

His heart tightened as he thought about how this marriage, something he had once seen as nothing more than a duty, now felt like the greatest blessing of his life. She had changed him in ways he didn't understand, but he didn't care. For her, he would break every wall he had built.

He looked down at her peaceful face, his voice a whisper only he could hear.

"Mine, my wife."

How can she be so beautiful?

Slowly, very slowly, he leaned down. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. His eyes closed as he buried his face back into her neck, her warmth pulling him into a deep, peaceful sleep.

And like always, he felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

With her.

In her arms

Always.

_________________________________________

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