A few days passed in a haze of warmth—shared meals filled with laughter, harmless teasing, inside jokes, and those silent moments between Mihir and Tara where words were unnecessary. They were beginning to know each other in the unspoken ways—through glances, gestures, and the comfort of just being.

That morning, golden sunlight spilled into the room, falling across Tara’s face and pulling her from sleep. She blinked against the brightness, stretching lightly before her eyes landed on Mihir. He was curled up awkwardly on the couch, his head leaning against the armrest, one arm dangling helplessly toward the floor. Her brows pinched in concern. Quietly, she went to lift his arm back onto the couch, lingering for a moment before sighing and retreating to the washroom.