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𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

Sana chooses the couch, curling into herself like a wounded soul. The night stretches endlessly, every creak, every whisper of the house making her flinch like a leaf.

At some point, she drifts into a half-sleep—Agastya leans against his balcony railing, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. The ember burns bright in the dark.

He exhales smoke, watching her half sleep on the couch.

His mind won’t stop thinking about her.

“The way she stumbled during the pheras, the way her breath hitched when his fingers brushed hers during the sindoor ritual—like his touch was fire. The way she wouldn’t look at him during the wedding and in the car”.

He takes another drag.

"Fuck," he mutters in the empty air and take out his pistol from his wristband.

Later, when the room is still, until she hears a sound jolts her awake.

The soft click of something unloading.  

She turns towards the sound's direction, Agastya is just sitting by the balcony, cleaning a pistol.

She panicked to see a pistol in his hands, small sweat buds visible on her forehead. and a shiver ran all over her body.

"Can’t sleep?" Agastya asks, without looking up.

She doesn’t answer, lost in her own thoughts, “he has a gun? Did he find out everything? Is he really gonna kill me?.. He can't. He can't kill me. No. No. Please No..”. 

She started chanting in her mind and her heart began to pound.

He smiles—just a flicker. "Don’t worry Dear Wifee”, aiming towards her and showing her ,“It's just a pistol. Nothing to worry about."

She is so terrified to see a gun aiming towards her and his words "Dear Wifee”.. starts ringing in her head.

Then—without a word, he stood up— silently, like a shadow sliding across the room.

In the silence, she can hear her heartbeats beating like a drum in her ears.

His steps echoed softly on the cold marble as he made his way to the table in the corner.

She is just staring at his every single movement with fearful eyes.

He picked up a blanket with an empty crystal glass , its edges sharp and elegant, and then slowly poured water from the crystal jug beside it.

The sound was deceptively calm—water filling the silence.

He turned back to her, with a glass and blanket in his hands and stopped just a few inches away from her, arm extended.

But he doesn’t touch her.

He just drapes a blanket over her, his movements were slow and deliberate.

"You’ll catch a cold and drink it,"he mutters,voice low yet commanding.

Sana stared at the glass and him with a surprised and fearful eyes, she didn't move but her hands were shaking.
A smirk forms in his face, his thumb brushes the rim—right where her lips would touch, he can sense too."Afraid?"

With trembling hands, she reached forward and took the glass from him, her skin brushing against his fingers for the briefest second—ice and fire.

She takes the glass. The water is ice-cold. She looked away as she sipped, the coolness a relief against her dry mouth, but it did nothing to ease the storm in her heart.

He watches her swallow, his gaze dark, unreadable. Then he said,"Sleep."

The words slither down her spine.

Agastya watched her for a moment, he reached out, his hand brushing hers as he took the glass from her grip. Her fingers lingered for a second, cool against his, before she let go. He turned, his bare feet silent on the marble, and set the glass on the small table by the couch, the clink of it against the wood barely audible.

He crossed back to the bed, his steps deliberate, and paused at the bedside table the drawer closed with a quiet thud as he placed the gun inside—the click of metal against wood.

She flinched on the couch, her fingers digging into the cushions. The cold weight of what she’d just witnessed— Agastya casually unloading his pistol like it was just another part of his nightly routine—left her throat dry.  

He noticed.

Just straightened, adjusted the cuffs of his shirt, and headed toward the door without sparing her a second glance.

Sana sat frozen, curled into the edge of the velvet couch, tightly hugging the cushion unsure if she was supposed to sleep or just survive this night.

She waited until his footsteps faded down the hall. Until the house sighed into silence. Eventually, her eyes grew too heavy to fight. The tension in her bones gave up. She let herself lie down awkwardly on the couch, arms wrapped around her waist, breaths shallow and then sleep found her in pieces and deeply.

4:30 AM

The door groaned open.

Agastya stood in the threshold, his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows, veins visible under skin that looked carved in shadows. The scent of her floral perfume clung to him as he stepped inside and stopped when he saw her.

She wasn’t there.

She was, Just… not on the couch.

She slid off in her sleep, half-lying on the carpet, her arm awkwardly bent under her cheek, hair fanned out like ink in water. Her breathing was deep, steady and peaceful.

She didn't stir.

Not even the sound of his boots or the weight of his gaze made her flinch.

For a moment he just watched her and then, slowly his mouth curved into a smile.

Agastya crossed the room in a few strides. He bent down, gently brushing away a few strands of her hair with his index finger that had fallen on her face.

Sliding one arm under her knees, the other behind her back, lifting her effortlessly. She didn’t move, not even when her head rested against his shoulder.

Just a small, unconscious breath against his chest. She nuzzled unconsciously into his strong chest as he lifted her, her warmth seeping through his shirt.

For a moment, he just looked at her—the way her lashes fanned over her cheeks, the way a few strands fell into her face and started irritating her in deep sleep, the way her fingers clutched weakly at his collar even in her sleep.

Then he carried her to the bed, gently laying her down on the bed.

His thumb brushed a stray hair from her forehead. “Heavy sleeper”, He mummered with a real smile.

Agastya didn't leave but he stayed there and without thinking twice he stretched out beside her, gently put one arm beneath her neck, the other draped over her waist he pulled her closer, tucking her against him, claiming her without cruelty.

And when her breath hitched, just once, His lips curved into a smile, then he gently stroked her waist with his thumb just once.

And for the first time that night—He slept too.

Two strangers.

One bed.

A secret between them.

And this is the beginning of something neither of them could imagine.

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