The morning sunlight filtered gently through the curtains, casting a soft golden glow across the room, and Anaya stirred slowly, not because of an alarm, but because she felt movement beside her — the quiet, careful kind that tried not to wake someone.
Aarav.
She kept her eyes closed for a moment, listening to the faint rustle of fabric as he adjusted his shirt, the soft click of his watch fastening around his wrist, the steady rhythm of his breathing — familiar now in a way that felt strangely comforting.
"Are you pretending to sleep?" his voice came softly from above her.
Her eyes opened immediately.
"I was resting," she corrected, though a smile betrayed her.
He looked impossibly composed already — dressed for work, sleeves crisp, hair slightly damp from a shower — yet there was something softer in his expression these days, something less guarded.
"Resting," he repeated lightly. "At seven in the morning."
"You were moving too much," she said. "It's distracting."
"Distracting?" he asked, amused.
"Yes," she replied calmly. "You exist loudly."
That made him laugh quietly — a rare, genuine sound that warmed the room more than sunlight could.
He leaned down slightly, adjusting the blanket near her shoulder.
"Go back to sleep," he said gently.
"You're leaving already?" she asked.
"Meeting at nine," he replied. "I didn't want to wake you."
The small thoughtfulness of that gesture made her chest tighten in the softest way.
She sat up slightly, the blanket slipping down her arms.
"You don't have to tiptoe around me," she said.
"I don't mind," he answered.
There was a pause.
A small one.
But familiar now.
He stood there for a second longer than necessary, as if debating something silently.
She tilted her head. "What?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he stepped closer to the bed.
Close enough that she could feel his presence again.
"You forgot something," she said teasingly.
"Oh?" he raised an eyebrow.
"Yes."
"What would that be?"
She didn't respond with words.
She just looked at him.
And he understood.
A faint smile curved at the corner of his lips before he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead — gentle, lingering just slightly longer than routine.
But when he pulled back, she caught his sleeve lightly.
"That's not what I meant," she murmured.
His expression shifted — not surprised, just curious.
"Isn't it?" he asked quietly.
She shook her head.
So he leaned in again.
This time his lips brushed hers softly — not intense, not consuming — just warm and unhurried, like something woven naturally into morning.
She felt it in her chest more than anywhere else.
A simple kiss.
But it carried familiarity now.
Belonging.
When he pulled away, his thumb brushed lightly against her cheek.
"I'll be late today," he said softly.
"How late?" she asked.
"Dinner time."
She nodded.
"I'll wait."
His gaze held hers for a moment longer.
"You don't have to," he replied.
"I know," she said. "I want to."
Something in his eyes softened again.
Later, when he stepped out the door, Anaya stood near the window watching his car pull away, feeling an unexpected emptiness settle in the house.
Not loneliness.
Just absence.
It was strange how quickly someone's presence could become part of the rhythm of a space.
That evening, true to his word, Aarav returned just as the sky deepened into shades of orange and blue, loosening his tie as he entered, exhaustion visible but not overwhelming.
"You look tired," she observed.
"I am," he admitted.
"Rough day?"
"Long," he corrected.
She stepped closer, taking his briefcase from his hand without being asked.
"You work too much," she murmured.
"And you worry too much," he countered gently.
There was something domestic about it — about her adjusting his collar absentmindedly, about him leaning slightly into her touch without hesitation.
It wasn't dramatic.
It wasn't intense.
It was natural.
And that somehow felt deeper.
As they sat together at dinner later, their knees brushing occasionally under the table, their conversation light but easy, Anaya realized something quietly powerful.
Love doesn't always look like fireworks.
Sometimes it looks like:
• Morning kisses
• Waiting for someone to come home
• Sharing tired smiles
• Small touches without thinking
And maybe that was enough.
That night, as they prepared for sleep, Aarav paused before turning off the light.
"Anaya," he said softly.
"Yes?"
He hesitated for a fraction of a second.
"I like coming home," he admitted.
She smiled in the dim light.
"Good," she replied. "Because I like you coming home."
He reached for her hand in the darkness.
And this time, the closeness felt easy.
Not intense.
Not overwhelming.
Just right.