RED STRING
I lay flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling like it personally owed me answers, not even attempting to sleep because my brain had clearly decided tonight was for overthinking and emotional replay.
"Mr. Justice Saviour," I called lazily.
He hummed from the floor like a man who had already checked out of life.
I rolled onto my stomach and crawled dramatically to the edge of the bed, peeking down at him where he was lying like some abandoned victim of poor life choices.
"Married couples are supposed to sleep together," I announced, with the confidence of someone who had zero actual experience but full authority.
He slowly raised one eyebrow, glanced at me for exactly half a second, and then turned his head away like he had just decided I was not worth the effort.
The audacity.
"Excuse me?" I said, offended.
"No," he replied calmly.
I blinked.
"That's it? Just 'no'?"
"Yes."
I pushed myself up on my elbows, staring down at him like a disappointed teacher.
He sighed like a tired man dealing with a lifelong mistake.
"Go to sleep, Viyana."
"I cannot sleep knowing my husband is lying on the floor like a rejected pillow."
"I am completely comfortable on my floor," he muttered, turning slightly.
I crossed my arms and leaned forward, narrowing my eyes at him.
"Are you shy to sleep beside me?" I asked, a slow smirk spreading across my face.
That got his attention. He squinted at me suspiciously, like he was trying to figure out what kind of trap I had just set for him.
"I am not-" he started, then stopped.
Because unfortunately for him, I had already noticed it. The slight redness creeping up his ears. The way he avoided looking directly at me.
I gasped dramatically.
"Oh my God," I whispered, placing a hand over my mouth. "You are shy."
"I am not shy," he said immediately, a little too quickly.
"Then prove it."
"By doing what? Ruining my sleep?" He asked.
"By coming and sleeping on the bed like a normal husband."
He stared at me like I was the problem.
Which-again-fair.
"If you don't come and sleep on the bed," I said, lowering my voice with full seriousness, "I am divorcing you."
He blinked once.
Then slowly turned his head to look at me properly.
"This is emotional blackmailing," he said, his voice still heavy with sleep. "You are forcing me to sleep with you. I am going to file a police complaint against you."
I nodded thoughtfully.
"Do that. I will represent myself."
He groaned and covered his face with his arm like he was deeply regretting marrying me.
"Fine," I muttered dramatically. "If you won't come up... I will come down."
Before he could stop me, I got off the bed and dropped down beside him on the floor, adjusting my position like I had always belonged there.
The floor was cold. Uncomfortable. Absolutely not made for human existence.
But my ego was stronger.
I sat beside him proudly.
He slowly turned his head and looked at me like I had officially crossed all known limits of sanity.
"Go and sleep on the bed," he said flatly, turning away again like I was a temporary inconvenience.
I stared at his back.
Excuse me?
I leaned closer and poked his shoulder.
"No."
He ignored me.
I poked him again.
"Adithya."
Nothing.
One more poke.
"Adithyaaa."
He let out a long, tired sigh and turned around abruptly, grabbing my wrist to stop my continuous harassment.
"What?" he asked, clearly losing his last bit of patience.
I looked at him innocently.
"If you are sleeping here... I am also sleeping here."
"You have a bed."
"You have a wife."
"That is exactly the problem."
I gasped.
"You are insulting your wife again. Very bad start to married life."
He groaned softly and turned away like my question had personally attacked his peace.
"How does it feel to sleep while cuddling someone?" I asked anyway, my voice carrying that same shameless curiosity I had never learned to hide.
"If you are done with your ridiculous questions, then I will sleep," he muttered.
I let out a quiet scoff, though a smile tugged at my lips.
"I am clearly the only romantic person in this relationship," I said, shifting slightly closer, my tone laced with playful pride. "Maybe you should start calling me Miss Romance Saviour."
He chuckled and looked at me. I didn't give him time to rethink it.
Slowly, carefully, I moved closer and lay down beside him on the floor, the cold surface pressing against me for a moment before his presence made it feel less harsh.
I adjusted myself, inch by inch, until I rested my head gently on his arm. And the effect was immediate. His entire body went still.
I bit back a smile, my heart softening at the way someone so composed could be undone by something so simple.
I moved closer again, closing the distance without asking, and pressed my face lightly against his chest.
Warmth spread through me instantly-quiet, steady, grounding in a way I had never known I needed.
"Don't die, Adithya," I murmured softly, my lips curving as I closed my eyes. "Your heartbeat is literally violent."
For a moment, there was nothing but that sound.
His heartbeat.
Loud.
Unsteady.
Alive.
And beneath my cheek, it felt like I was listening to something real-something unguarded that he never showed the world.
The faint scent of his cologne wrapped around me slowly, familiar and comforting, mixed with the sharp trace of antiseptic and the lingering warmth of coffee.
I shifted closer without thinking, my hand lightly gripping the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him as if that alone could anchor me there.
"I am literally going to die very soon," he muttered, his voice low and half-buried in exhaustion, as if my presence had finally pushed his already fragile composure to its absolute limit.
And yet his stiff hand finally moved slowly until it found my waist. And then, without another word, he pulled me closer.
Warmth spread through me instantly, steady and grounding, as if his touch had drawn an invisible line between chaos and calm and placed me firmly on the right side of it.
Then he shifted slightly, just enough to look at me, his face so close that I could feel his breath brush against my skin.
And before I could say something ridiculous to ruin the moment -he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.
And then, as if that wasn't enough, he pulled me even closer, closing whatever little distance was left between us, until I could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek again.
I let out a small breath and shifted slightly, my fingers curling into his shirt again.
"So," I murmured, my voice lazy but laced with amusement, "this is how Mr. Justice Saviour dies? Because his wife decided to cuddle him?"
He huffed softly, clearly unimpressed.
"I am a simple man," he replied. "I was not trained for this level of emotional disturbance."
I smiled against his chest.
"You survived me threatening you with a gun," I pointed out. "But this is where you draw the line?"
"That was physical danger," he said calmly. "This is psychological."
I let out a quiet laugh.
"Pathetic."
"Accurate."
There was a pause.
Then I tilted my head slightly, looking up at him.
"So... answer my question."
He groaned softly.
"I regret opening my mouth."
"How does it feel?" I insisted.
He stayed silent for a moment, like he was debating whether answering me was worth the consequences.
Then finally, in a voice quieter than before, he said,
"...warm."
I blinked up at him.
"Just warm?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.
He exhaled slowly, his gaze shifting away like he had already said too much.
"...quiet," he added after a second.
"And?" I pressed, softer now.
He looked back at me briefly, something unreadable passing through his eyes.
"...like I don't have to pretend," he finished.
I softened completely, my teasing fading without resistance. I adjusted slightly, pressing closer to him, my voice quieter now.
"Then stay like this," I whispered.
He didn't reply.
But his arm tightened just a little around me.
And after a moment, he spoke again, his tone lighter now, trying to escape the depth he had just stepped into.
"You are still heavy."
I gasped, offended.
"I am leaving."
"Good."
I didn't move.
He sighed.
"...don't go."
I smiled to myself, hiding it against his chest.
"Make up your mind."
"I did," he muttered. "Unfortunately, it includes you."
I let out a soft laugh, my eyes finally closing as the warmth, the quiet, and his steady presence wrapped around me completely.
"Have you ever thought you would be cuddling the Vice Chairperson?" I asked, lifting my head just enough to look at him.
He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, his chest vibrating faintly beneath my cheek.
"Never in my wildest dreams," he said, shaking his head as if even now the reality of it hadn't fully settled in him.
I smiled, satisfied.
"Neither did I," I replied. "I never thought I would end up with a nurse."
He glared at me as I grinned against his chest.
"You know this red string theory, Viyana?" he asked.
I frowned slightly and lifted my head, looking at him with genuine curiosity.
"No," I said, shaking my head. "What is that?"
"They say," he began slowly, "that two people who are meant to be together are always connected by an invisible red string."
I blinked.
He continued, his gaze drifting somewhere distant for a moment.
"It doesn't matter how far they are... or how different their worlds are... or how many times they miss each other."
His fingers unconsciously tightened slightly on my waist.
"The string may stretch," he said quietly, "it may tangle... it may take time..."
Then he looked at me again.
"But it never breaks."
I swallowed slightly, my voice softer now.
"So you are saying... I was stuck with you from the beginning?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"You were the problem, not me."
I smiled faintly.
"Of course."
He let out a quiet breath, his tone lighter again, though something deeper still lingered beneath it.
"Maybe... some things are just meant to happen."
I let out a slow breath, my fingers still lightly clutching his shirt as my thoughts drifted far beyond the quiet room we were lying in.
Me-a girl who had walked through storms and survived situations that should have broken me, always guarded, always chaotic, always carrying a world that never allowed softness.
Born and raised in luxury and wealth, surrounded by power and control, yet never once feeling like I truly belonged to any of it.
And him-an ordinary man, with responsibilities stitched into his bones, with a quiet presence that never demanded attention yet somehow held everything together around him.
We might have crossed paths a hundred times in a hundred different ways.
In the same city.
In the same hospital.
Under the same sky.
Breathing the same air.
But never once-never once-did either of us think that one day, we would become this.
That we would become each other's person.
I exhaled slowly, my cheek resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat like it was grounding me back into reality.
Call it fate.
Call it love.
Call it whatever name the world gives to things it cannot fully understand.
But somehow-something had drawn me toward him.
Like an invisible pull I had never noticed until it was too late to turn back.
I had roamed through life like a refugee, carrying a heart that never found a place to stay, never found something gentle enough to rest in.
Always moving.
Always searching.
Always surviving.
Never belonging.
And maybe...maybe I was tied to him all along.
Through that invisible red string he spoke about so casually.
Maybe that was what kept pulling me back, even when I tried to walk away from everything... even when I stood at the edge, ready to give up, ready to fall into a silence I thought would finally give me peace.
Maybe it wasn't strength that brought me back.
Maybe it was him.
I don't know what theory explains this.
I don't know what logic could ever justify how two lives so different could collide so completely.
But whatever it is-it brought me to Adithya.
And for the first time in my life, I felt grateful for something I didn't control.
After years of wandering through a world that felt too loud and too cold, carrying a heart that had been bruised more times than it could count- I had finally found someone.
Not someone who would fix me.
Not someone who would change me.
But someone who would sit beside me in silence and still make everything feel less heavy.
An artist-who didn't use colors or words, but something quieter.
He mended without touching the wounds directly. He healed without asking questions.
With nothing but a quiet smile...and a presence that felt like home.
I shifted slightly closer to him, my eyes closing slowly, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Maybe that string really exists..."