At night, when the world softens into silence, Pakhi sleeps curled in Ansh’s arms—her breath steady, her face serene, as if even her dreams trust him. But sleep never finds Ansh. Not tonight. Not when she’s this close.

He lies awake, eyes tracing the delicate slope of her cheek, the way her fingers rest lightly against his chest, as if she’s always belonged there. Every blink feels like a theft—he doesn’t want to miss a second of her presence. He whispers thank you to the ceiling, to the stars, to whatever god dared to give him Pakhi.