The past few days had been a quiet storm for Arina — a whirlwind of flour, meetings, décor choices, tasting sessions, and endless lists. She had poured every drop of herself into the preparation for the bakery. Rashi, Kundan, and Sia were already hired and trained, each of them helpful in their own way. The signboard was in place, the display counters polished, the aroma of freshness lingering even when nothing was baking.
Everything was finally ready.
There was only one thing left — something she had been carrying in her thoughts for days.
And she had decided she would talk to Reyansh about it on Sunday.
Because Sunday meant time with him.
And he never left home on Sundays.
---
The next morning welcomed them with a calm September breeze — the kind that touches skin softly and leaves warmth behind. Arina had woken early, her mind already rehearsing her words, though she didn't know why she felt nervous. This was Reyansh — her husband, the man who now understood her silences as easily as her words.
He didn't have office today, no meetings, no obligations. Just him… and her.
So she suggested they have breakfast in the garden.
And he agreed without hesitation.
---
They sat under the soft shade of the old neem tree — Reyansh with his black coffee, Arina with her green tea. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, scattering golden flecks across the table, across their hands, across her face.
It felt peaceful — a morning she wanted to freeze in memory.
She took a small sip of her tea, gathering the courage she didn't completely understand.
"Reyansh," she said softly, turning slightly toward him.
He lifted his eyes from his cup immediately.
He always did.
Whenever she spoke.
"Hm?"
"I… want to have a small puja at home."
Her voice was gentle, almost unsure.
"One day before the bakery opens."
Reyansh didn't react for a breath. Not with dislike — just surprise.
Arina continued quietly, almost thinking out loud.
"We never had any puja after marriage. I never asked before because I know you don't believe in this and… I didn't want you to feel obligated. But now… I just feel like I want to start this new chapter with something positive."
She didn't add the rest:
And because this home is the first place where I feel something real. Something warm.
Reyansh set the cup down.
Then, without a second of hesitation, he said:
"Do whatever you want, Arina. Even if I don't believe in it… I'll still do it with you."
Her breath caught.
It was a simple sentence.
But for Arina — it meant everything.
Her lips curved into an involuntary, soft smile.
She looked at him the way one looks at something precious without meaning to.
And he caught the look.
His fingers brushed hers under the table, just lightly — yet it made warmth pool in her chest.
She nodded. "I'll invite my family. And… Manav too, if you want."
"You tell me whenever to invite him. I'll call," he replied, tone steady, certain.
"I'll ask Panditji first," she said, "and then tell you."
He nodded again. "If you need help with anything… tell me."
She didn't say it, but she already knew —
He would do anything she asked for.
Life, lately, had fallen into a rhythm she wished would never end — soft smiles exchanged in passing, warm hugs at unexpected moments, light teasing that made her heart flutter, and kisses that stole her breath before she even realized what was happening.
But today… today she had planned the whole day around him.
She always enjoyed time with Reyansh.
But the last few weeks had changed the way she saw him — or maybe the way he saw her.
The distance between them had thinned into something warm, something sweet, something dangerously close.
Something she wanted.
And today, he was entirely hers.
---
By late morning, they were in the kitchen.
Reyansh stood in front of the counter like a man being introduced to battle for the first time. Arina held the mixing bowl, the whisk, the ingredients lined neatly around them.
"We're making cake today," she reminded him, trying hard to hide her amusement.
He deadpanned, "And you are sure I won't burn the kitchen?"
"You won't," she assured, tying a small apron around his waist.
Her fingers brushed his shirt, and she felt him still, just a fraction.
She turned away quickly, pretending not to notice — but her heart was thumping.
"For you, I'll try," he said, softer.
That warmth again.
She handed him the whisk.
The first five minutes were chaos.
Reyansh had never baked anything before, and his attempts showed it.
"No, no—slowly!" Arina laughed as the dry flour puffed out of the bowl.
He coughed dramatically. "Why does it attack me?"
"Because you are whisking like you're mixing cement."
He gave her a look. "That is the only kind of mixing I know."
She couldn't stop the giggles that escaped.
And Reyansh — quiet, serious, intimidating Reyansh — broke into a smile that was so unexpectedly boyish, it stole her breath.
"Come here," she said, stepping beside him.
She placed her hand over his on the whisk.
"Like this… steady. Slow."
His eyes dropped to her hand resting over his.
Warm. Small. Trusting.
"Better?" he asked quietly.
She nodded. "Much."
But she could feel his gaze more intensely than the warmth of the oven.
"Arina."
She didn't look up.
She didn't need to.
His voice already told her everything.
"Hmm?"
"You're blushing."
Her hand slipped, the whisk jerking in the bowl.
"I—I'm not," she tried.
He leaned closer, the faintest brush of breath near her ear.
"You are."
Her entire face heated.
He didn't touch her.
He didn't need to.
The proximity alone made her forget what she was mixing.
Just as she steadied herself, he gently tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.
His knuckles grazed her cheek — soft, careful, intentional.
Her heartbeat stuttered.
"Reyansh…" she whispered.
He didn't move back.
"You look cute when you're flustered," he said.
She pressed her lips together, trying not to smile — and failing.
Working beside him, guiding him, hearing his low chuckles, watching him concentrate — it all made something warm curl in her stomach.
She loved this.
Not the cake.
Not the baking.
Him.
With her.
Like this.
When the cake finally went into the oven, Reyansh dusted his hands, leaned against the counter, and watched her clean up the mixing area.
"Arina."
She glanced back. "Hmm?"
"Come here."
The way he said it — calm, steady, but with something deeper underneath — made her steps slow.
She stood in front of him, suddenly aware of the small distance between them.
His hand lifted, brushing a bit of flour from her cheek.
He didn't remove his hand immediately.
"You get messy easily," he murmured.
"You caused it," she replied softly.
He smiled, faint but undeniably warm.
His thumb lingered on her skin.
Not demanding. Not urgent.
Just… close.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
"For what?" she blinked.
"For letting me be part of this."
His gaze softened.
"This bakery… this dream… your world."
Her chest tightened.
She didn't know when she moved — or if she moved at all.
Maybe it was instinct.
Maybe it was emotion.
Maybe it was him.
But she lifted her hand and placed it lightly on his chest.
He covered her hand with his, fingers tightening just enough to be felt.
"Reyansh," she whispered, "you're… important to me."
His breath paused.
Just for a moment.
Then he leaned down, pressing a soft, slow kiss to the top of her head.
It wasn't heated or rushed.
But it melted her.
A simple touch.
Yet it made her feel claimed in a way that was quiet… but deep.
He didn't pull her closer.
He didn't overwhelm the moment.
He just wrapped his arm around her waist and held her, chin resting lightly on her hair, as if the world wasn't moving.
Arina closed her eyes.
A soft hug.
A warm morning.
A heartbeat under her cheek.
And the simple truth that their relationship, whatever it was becoming…
was no longer small or fragile.
It was blooming.
It was real.
---
When the cake cooled, Reyansh insisted on tasting it first.
He took a bite, chewed slowly, then looked at her.
"It's good," he said.
"Good?" she repeated, raising a brow.
He took another bite.
"Very good."
She crossed her arms. "So you liked what you made?"
He stepped closer.
"I liked what we made."
Her heart fluttered again — ridiculously, helplessly.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead lightly.
Warm.
Firm.
"Thank you for today," he murmured.
She smiled up at him.
"It was meant for us."
And the way he looked at her in that moment — steady, filled with something he wasn't saying — made her believe it completely.
---
Romance doesn't need grand gestures; sometimes, it's just two people learning to share a life, one small moment at a time.