Chosen Love

💌-CHAPTER 25

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The morning after Karwa Chauth carried a softness that hadn't existed before.

Not in the air. Not in the house.

But in Ruhika.

She woke before her alarm.

For a few moments, she remained still, her gaze unfocused, the early light filtering faintly through the curtains. The room felt quieter than usual—not silent, but gentler somehow, as if something within it had settled overnight.

The change did not come like a thunderclap. It did not arrive with a realization that could be pointed at and named, something she could examine, accept, or reject.

It came the way certain feelings do—quietly, steadily, slipping into the spaces between ordinary things until one day they were no longer separate from them.

Until they became part of the way she breathed. Her mind hovered somewhere between memory and awareness—uncertain which one she wanted to lean into.

And then—it returned. Not as a full recollection. Not as something she could replay. But as fragments.

The quiet firmness of his voice. The way he had stopped her—not abruptly, not harshly, but with a certainty that had left no space for question.

The warmth of his hand around her wrist.

And then—Her breath caught.

Her fingers lifted unconsciously, resting against her forehead.

As if something lingered there. As if the moment had left behind a quiet imprint she hadn't yet figured out how to erase, and more importantly the feeling that she liked it, maybe anticipated made her chest tightened slightly.

Too close.

Too real.

She dropped her hand almost immediately and sat up.

The movement was sharper than she intended. As if she could physically move away from the thought.

Because thinking about it—meant acknowledging it.

And acknowledging it...meant stepping into something she wasn't ready on how to understand.

She pushed the blanket aside and stood, moving toward the window. The morning outside had begun its usual rhythm—cars in the distance, faint movement on the street, the world continuing without pause.

Everything was normal. And yet—she wasn't.

Downstairs, the house moved as it always did.The comfort of routine.The predictability of movement.

The quiet certainty of things continuing as they always had.

Sunita moved between the kitchen and dining area, her hands occupied, her pace steady.

Aarav's voice echoed faintly from the living room, half-laughing, half-complaining about something.

The morning carried on. Unchanged.

But Ruhika didn't feel unchanged. She stepped into the kitchen and fell into her role seamlessly.

Helping.

Arranging.

Pouring tea. Her actions steady. Controlled. Practiced.

And yet—something inside her felt... unsettled.

Like she was carrying a thought she hadn't yet formed.

A feeling she hadn't yet allowed herself to name.

She reached for the teapot, pouring carefully into the cups lined along the tray.

Her movements were precise. Measured. But her mind wasn't entirely there.

It kept drifting.

Returning.

Lingering where she didn't want it to.

And then—she felt it.

Not a sound. Not movement.Just... presence.

The awareness came first.

Quiet. Unmistakable shift in the air. A recognition that didn't require confirmation.

Her hands slowed slightly. She knew.

Shivansh had entered the room.

"Morning." His voice was the same.

"Morning," she replied.

But this time— her voice felt like it belonged to someone else.

Softer.

Quieter.

As if something inside her had lowered its guard without permission.

She didn't look at him. Not immediately. Because she knew—if she did—she wouldn't be able to pretend nothing had changed.

She focused instead on the tray in front of her. But her mind wasn't in the room anymore.

It drifted. Back to the night. To the warmth. To the way something inside her had responded—without hesitation, without resistance.

Her grip on the teapot loosened slightly.

Just enough. Just for a second.And that's when it happened.

The stream of tea shifted, missed the cup.

Spilled over.

Hot. It touched her skin.

His voice cut through everything.

Different.

No longer calm.

No longer distant.

?

The chair moved back abruptly.The faint scrape loud against the quiet of the morning. And before anyone else could react—

he was already beside her.

"Careful—what are you doing?"

There was a quiet urgency in his tone, threaded with something sharper than usual. His hand closed around her wrist—not harshly, but firmly enough to steady it.

He turned her hand slightly, his brows pulling together the moment he saw the redness spreading across her skin.

"You spilled it on yourself." He said, with brows visibly tensed

She should have reacted more. Should have winced. Should have pulled back.

But she didn't. Because he was too close. Because his hand was still around hers, Because the concern in his voice—unfiltered, instinctive—reached her before the pain did.

His fingers adjusted her wrist carefully under the cold tap stream, angling it so the water ran evenly over the burn.

His thumb brushed lightly along her skin—not intentionally soothing, just... checking.

But the effect—was something else entirely.

"Dhyan rakhna chahiye tha na, How many times have I told that you shouldn't be doing all this" He was not truly scolding her, there was just raw concern in his voice which made her forget the pain momentarily

Her gaze lifted, Settled on his face.

And stayed there.

He was frowning slightly.

Completely unaware of the way she was looking at him. Of the way something inside her had softened—completely, helplessly—at the sight of him worrying like this.

"I'm fine," she said softly.

He looked up then. Finally.

And paused. Because she didn't look like someone who had just burned her hand.

Then he exhaled slightly, turning off the tap.

"Wait," he said. But didn't let go this time either.Just guided her—again—toward the counter. A small first aid box was pulled out.

He took out the ointment, And then—without making it a question—he held her hand again.

This time—more gently.His fingers steadied hers as he applied the ointment.

The touch slow, Careful not to hurt her. But every small movement—felt magnified.

Ruhika's breath slowed. Her shoulders softened. Because this—wasn't rushed. Wasn't distracted.

She didn't answer. Because she wasn't thinking about the burn anymore. She was thinking about this moment. About how easily he had stepped in. How naturally he had taken care of it. How instinctive it had felt for him.

And how—unexpectedly—it had felt... right.

When he finished, his fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary. As if making sure it was okay.

Then he finally let go. "Be careful," he said again, softer now and don't use the hand much, let me know if it pains

She nodded. But her eyes didn't leave his face and behind them, the kitchen had resumed.

But Aarav—had seen everything. He leaned back slightly in his chair, watching the two of them with narrowed eyes and a barely concealed grin.

A few minutes later, Shivansh picked up his phone and stepped out to take a call.

The moment he left—Aarav moved.

"Bhabhi."

Ruhika blinked slightly, turning toward him. "Yes?"

He tilted his head, studying her.Too observant.Too aware.

"What exactly was that?" He asked

She frowned. "What?"

"That." He gestured vaguely toward her hand. "Are you okay? I mean..the teapot slipping, could happen. But..." He leaned forward slightly.

"That look, on your face

Her expression shifted. Just slightly. "What are you talking about, I wasn't making any face."

Aarav raised an eyebrow."Oh, you were."

She looked away. Picking up a spoon.Adjusting something unnecessarily, "I was just... fine."It's okay

"Hmm." He didn't look convinced. At all.

"It looked like You didn't even feel the burn," he continued. "Bhai was more affected than you."

Her lips pressed together.

"And then you were just standing there," Aarav added, a slow grin forming now, "looking at him like—"

He held up his hands slightly. "Okay, okay, So something is happening."

She didn't answer.But the silence—said enough.

Aarav leaned back again, satisfied.

Ruhika looked at him then. A faint flush rising to her cheeks. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, he shrugged, "this house was getting too calm.

she smiled.And somewhere—deep beneath the hesitation—the confusion— the fear of naming it—something inside her settled.

Because for the first time—something didn't feel one-sided.

It felt... shared, reciprocated. And that—terrified her yet comforted her at the same time.

______________

Sunita had remained where she was, her hands still moving through the familiar rhythm of the kitchen, but her eyes had lifted—just once, briefly—toward the two of them when Shivansh had rushed forward.

It hadn't been the act itself. Concern was natural and Expected. But something about how quickly he had moved...The urgency.

The instinct. The way everything else had seemed to pause for him in that moment—She had noticed.

Not enough to say anything. Not enough to question. But enough for the thought to stay, And as she turned back to her work, that thought lingered quietly in the background—unformed, unnamed.

______

Ruhika felt things differently, Not Sunita's gaze.

Not Aarav's teasing

But the after-effect of what had just happened. Even after he had stepped away. Even after the moment had dissolved into routine again, Something in her had not returned to where it had been.

Her hand rested lightly against the counter. The faint coolness of the ointment still lingering. But it wasn't the burn she was aware of.

It was the memory. Of how he had looked at her.Of how he had held her hand. Of how naturally he had taken control of the moment—not as someone obligated.

But as someone who cared. And the realization crept in

quiet.

Unavoidable.

The thought made her chest tighten again.

Not painfully.

Not uncomfortably.

But deeply.

She stepped away from the kitchen after a while, needing space—not physically, but mentally.Needing to breathe around what she was beginning to feel.

Her room felt quieter.

Safer.

She sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers unconsciously tracing the faint redness on her hand.

And this time—she allowed herself to think.

Why did it feel like that?

Why did that moment stay?

Why did his concern feel... different?

Her thoughts spiraled.

Not chaotically.

But carefully.

Like she was walking around something fragile—afraid to touch it directly.

And then—another realization slipped in.

It wasn't just today. It had been happening.

The way he noticed when she was tired. The way he adjusted things around her without making it obvious.

The way he stood closer now. The way his touch lingered just a second longer than before.

And the way—she had begun to notice it, And respond to it.

She stood up abruptly. Picked up her bag. She needed a break, A familiar space, The drive felt longer than usual.

Not because of traffic.Not because of distance.But because her mind refused to stay still. It kept circling back. She picked up her phone, dialled Isha, who picked up on almost the third ring

Ruhika smiled faintly, though her eyes were still distant. "I'm coming to meet Mumma, can you be there too?"

There was a pause on the other end.

A shift.

"Oh?" "What happened?"

The word came too quickly. Too practiced.

"Which means something happened." Isha said

Ruhika exhaled, her gaze drifting toward the passing city lights. "I don't know."

And this time—it wasn't deflection. It wasn't avoidance.It was truth.Because she didn't know what to call this.

What to do with it.Where to place it.

By the time she reached, Isha didn't ask again.She didn't need to, She just looked at her.

Carefully.

Closely.

As if reading something written between the lines.And then—she smiled.

"There it is."

Ruhika frowned faintly. "What?"

"That look."

Isha crossed her arms, leaning casually against the bed, but her eyes didn't leave Ruhika's face.

"You're not confused. You're just pretending you are.

The words didn't land sharply. They settled.

"Isha..." Ruhika began, but didn't finish

"You're softer," Isha continued, her voice gentler now, less teasing, more certain. "You're not reacting the way you used to. You're thinking before you speak. You're feeling before you deny it."

"And you just said 'I don't know' like it actually matters."

Ruhika didn't interrupt. Didn't argue.

Because somewhere—something in that felt familiar.

"You like him." Isha stated

The words were simple.But they didn't echo loudly.

They settled quietly. And for the first time—Ruhika didn't rush to deny them.

"I don't know if it's that," she said after a moment.

Isha raised an eyebrow. "Then what is it?"

Ruhika looked down at her hands.Her fingers curled slightly, as if trying to hold onto something she couldn't quite grasp.

"It's just... when he's around..."

The words didn't come easily.Not because they weren't there.But because she had never said them out loud before.

"...it feels different."

"Different how?" Isha asked

She searched.Not for the right words.But for something that felt true.

"...like I notice him more."

The admission was quiet.But it carried weight.

Isha's expression softened. "That's a start."

She hesitated. Then— "...I notice that too."

Silence followed.But it wasn't empty. It was full of understanding. Because some realizations don't arrive with certainty. They arrive with absence. With noticing.

With feeling the difference.

________

Miles away, in a space that felt entirely separate but somehow connected—Shivansh sat at his desk.

The file in front of him had remained open for far too long.

Unturned.

Unread.

Rohan noticed. "You're staring at the same page again."

No response.

"You're distracted." He added

Still nothing.

"Is it Ruhika?"

That—was enough.

Not sharply.Not defensively. But with a quiet awareness that he had been seen.

Rohan leaned back, a faint smirk playing at his lips.

"There you go."

Shivansh exhaled, leaning back in his chair.For a moment, he didn't speak. Not because he didn't have the words. But because he had just realized he didn't need to search for them anymore.

"I don't know when it happened," he said finally.

"Classic." Rohan remarked

"It just... did."

Rohan's expression shifted slightly.Less amused now. More observant. "And?"

This time— No hesitation. No weighing of meaning.

"I love her." He simply stated, determined.

The words didn't feel heavy. They didn't feel dramatic. They didn't feel like something new being discovered. They felt like something which was already there and was simply being spoken out loud now

Rohan watched him for a moment. Then nodded. "Took you long enough."

A faint breath of amusement left Shivansh. "I'm not rushing it," he added quietly.

Rohan raised an eyebrow.

"She's still figuring things out," Shivansh continued. "I can see it. I don't want to... pull her into something she hasn't maybe reached yet."

There was no impatience in his voice. No urgency. Just certainty. And care.

_______

Back at her mother's house—her phone buzzed. His name lit up the screen.

And her breath paused. Not dramatically. Just enough to notice

She answered. "Hello?"

A small smile appeared before she could stop it.

"It's fine."

"No."

She nodded instinctively, even though he couldn't see her. "Okay."

She laughed softly. "You too."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Liar. I know from the past months, you never have lunch before calling me around this time

He didn't deny it.

"Eat," she said softly.

And something in her tone shifted. Not commanding.

Not playful. Caring.

He noticed. "Okay."

The call ended.But the silence that followed didn't feel empty.

Isha let out a slow whistle from across the room. "Oh this is bad."

Ruhika frowned. "What?"

"You're smiling after a basic phone call."

She immediately looked away, as if caught. "I'm not."

And this time—she didn't argue.Because she could feel it too. That quiet curve of her lips. That warmth that hadn't faded even after the call ended.

________

When she returned home later that evening—nothing looked different. The same rooms. The same walls.

The same quiet.And yet— everything felt... slightly altered.

She moved through the space more consciously. More aware of where he might be. More aware of where she was.

When he looked at her— she felt it. Before she even met his gaze.

And when she did— she looked away. But not quickly enough to miss what passed between them.

Something unspoken. Something steady. Something that didn't demand acknowledgment—but didn't need to hide anymore.

They didn't speak about it. Not that evening. Not directly.But in the quiet spaces between their words—

in the pauses that lingered just a second longer—in the way their awareness of each other had sharpened something had already changed.

Not declared.

Not defined.

But undeniable.

Because somewhere—between hesitation and realization—between noticing and accepting—they had both stepped into something new.

And this time—neither of them was trying to step back

_____________

Things, or life in general is not as simple as it looks like, it had been a few days both of them were adjusting to the new realisations blooming in the corners of their hearts, giving time to the other person.

That's the problem with humans, we sometimes tend to complicate simplest of things

It was one afternoon, Shivansh was sitting with Rohan in his cabin, both deeply immersed in reviewing quarter analysis, when his phone rang.

The sound cut cleanly through the room and his gaze flickered toward it instinctively.

He let it ring once, but it was there again a few minutes later to which Rohan prompted, "Look at it once, might be something important"

that made him pick it up and put it on speaker on the fourth ring, his mind too occupied to think otherwise

Then, a voice—thin, frayed at the edges, and stripped of the vibrance it once carried—broke through the speaker.

"Shivansh? It's... it's Meera."

The pen in Shivansh's other hand stilled.

Beside him, Rohan's head snapped up at the mention of the name.

It was a name from almost a decade ago, a name that carried the scent of old library books and the reckless ambition of their college years "Meera Sethi"

"Meera," Shivansh repeated, his voice dropping an octave, while Rohan came and stood in front of him

Between stifled sobs, the story spilled out—a messy, brutal divorce, a husband who had systematically emptied their joint accounts before disappearing with his girlfriend and the terrifying reality of being six months pregnant with no safety net, parents passed away years ago in a car accident.

"I'm at a guesthouse near the city center. They...they're asking me to leave by morning, I have nothing left."

Shivansh's jaw tightened, a familiar, protective iron entering his gaze, he remembered how the three of them were a power trio before Meera lost contact with everyone and then they got to know her relatives married her off, almost five years ago, she wasn't even allowed to invite any of her friends to her wedding

"Stay where you are. Don't worry. I'm sending a car for you now." He said

He hung up and looked at Rohan.

The atmosphere in the room had shifted from corporate strategy to a rescue mission in seconds.

Shivansh was visibly shaken, "She's pregnant, Rohan. And that bastard cheated, left her with nothing."

Rohan ran a hand through his hair, his expression a mix of pity and concern. "The Meera we knew would rather starve than ask for help. If she called you, she's at the end of her rope.

Then he added a moment later, But bhai, what about Ruhika, you will need to tell her about this.

Shivansh paused, his hand on his car keys. He thought of the morning—the way Ruhika had adjusted his tie, her fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary, her eyes shyly meeting his.

Their relationship was a fragile sprout, just beginning to find its light.

"Not yet," Shivansh said, his voice tight. "Ruhika is finally starting to feel secure in this house, maybe the marriage, bringing this into our home would shatter the peace we've just built.

I'll need to confess first or she'll think she's being replaced by a ghost of my past, which is not at all true.

We'll settle Meera first. I'll tell Ruhika when the situation is stable."

It was a decision made with a protector's heart, but it was the first stone laid in a wall of silence.

When Shivansh returned home that evening, the softness Ruhika had been basking in was met with a sudden distraction .

She was in the living room, a book open on her lap, waiting for the sound of his keys.

When he walked in, she looked up, a bright, welcoming smile ready on her lips.

But the smile faltered. Shivansh didn't look at her like he did daily.

He was staring at his phone, his thumb flying across the screen in rapid-fire messages to a real estate contact.

"You're late," she said softly, closing her book. "Hard day?"

For the next few days, the man who had been drying her hair and standing with her in the rain became overly occupied, it seemed like whatever she lived the past days was fragments of some dream.

What she didn't know is how guilty he was on being distracted throughout the dinner, how he reapplied ointment on her burnt hand when he was back in the room after she had fallen asleep, of how badly he just wanted to confide.

...but he couldn't because he wanted to protect what they've built and it mattered to him more than anything.

..more than a few days of silence he thought.

Shivansh wasn't cold. That was the problem.

If he had been rude, she could have fought him. If he had been angry, she could have asked why. But he remained the same steady, protective man—just... fragmented.

He was physically there, but his mind was a locked door, and Ruhika found herself standing outside, unaware of what suddenly hit them.

She knew he cared, some mornings he would leave early, but not before kissing her forehead and leaving a message on her phone, she was aware, of all this, she just couldn't voice out that something was wrong, but felt it.

It was the little things that hurt the most

One night, she had made his favorite tea, just how he liked, placing it on his study room desk as he pondered over a legal document.

Usually, he would catch her wrist, pull her into the crook of his arm for a fleeting second, and murmur a thank you against her temple.

Today, he simply nodded, his eyes never leaving the screen. "Thanks, Ruhika. I'll be up late. Don't wait.You have an early day tomorrow"

She retreated to their room, the rejection stinging more than a thousand harsh words.

She didn't know that the moment the door closed, Shivansh had looked at the tea, his chest aching with the urge to follow her and drift off to sleep beside her.

He had just received a message that Meera's blood pressure was spiking, and the legal battle for her frozen accounts was turning into a nightmare.

He wanted to tell Ruhika. He wanted to bury his face in her neck and let her quiet strength anchor him.

But then he thought of her smile—that fragile, newfound warmth in her eyes.

If I tell her I'm sheltering a woman from my past who is pregnant and broken, he reasoned, the insecurity will crush her.

I'll fix this first. I'll make the world safe for her again before I let her in.

_________

A few days later, Shivansh was in the shower, and his phone, sat vibrating on the nightstand.

Ruhika tried to ignore it. She really did.

She wasn't the wife who would pry or resort to checking phones, she wasn't doubting him either, just caught up with the emotional mess in her head and heart was making her loose her sleep for the past days.

But the vibration was incessant—a frantic, rhythmic pleading. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she leaned over. The screen illuminated the dimly lit room.

Ruhika felt the world tilt. Meera. A woman's name.

A baby.

The air in the room suddenly felt too thin to breathe. It wasn't just a "complex audit."

It was a woman who called him by his first name.

A woman who leaned on his strength. Someone who held a part of his life that Ruhika didn't even know existed.

She didn't feel jealousy yet—it was something far more primitive. It was terror.

She had just started to build a nest in the hollow of his heart, and now she realized there was a squatter there, someone with deep roots and a claim that involved the word "baby."

The thought of sharing him, of giving away the man who looked at her like she's important , who was starting to understand her without words, to someone else who clearly needed him more, felt like a physical mutilation.

When the shower stopped, she scrambled into bed, pulling the duvet to her chin and shutting her eyes tight.

Shivansh stepped out, the scent of sandalwood clinging to him. He saw her small form huddled under the covers and felt a wave of adoration so sharp it was painful.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his hand hovering over her shoulder, wanting to shake her awake and confess everything.

Instead, he leaned down and pressed a kiss so light it was barely a breath to the back of her head.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, so softly he thought she couldn't hear. "Just a few more days, Ruhika. I promise."

He stayed up in the dark, watching her sleep, while Ruhika lay perfectly still, her eyes burning with unshed tears.

She realized then that she wasn't just "adjusting" to this marriage. She was terrified of a world where he wasn't hers.

She wasn't ready to let go of the man who had become her gravity, but she didn't know how to fight a ghost.

_______

For Shivansh, the days were a blurred marathon of guilt and duty.

Every time his phone buzzed with a message from the legal team or the clinic regarding Meera, he felt a jagged pang of betrayal toward the woman waiting for him at home.

He watched Ruhika from the doorway of the study late at night. She would be sitting on the bed, her head bowed over a book, the soft lamplight catching the curve of her neck—the same curve he had traced with his eyes just a week ago.

It was in the way his phone—once left carelessly on the nightstand—was now always facedown or tucked away in his pocket.

She wasn't a jealous woman by nature; she hadn't had enough of "hers" to ever fear losing it.

But now, having tasted the warmth of care, protectiveness and maybe love and the prospect of going back to the cold was unbearable.

One evening, she stood by the window, watching the sunset bleed into a bruised purple.

She heard the soft click of the door and the hushed tone of his voice from the hallway. "Yes... I've arranged the apartment. It's closer to the maternity centre.

Ruhika's hand flew to her mouth, her wedding ring catching the dying light.

The words felt like a physical blow to her stomach. She felt a hollow, aching terror—not that he was unfaithful, but that she was unnecessary.

She had finally started to believe that she was the one he chose. But as she listened to the raw, protective edge in his voice—the same voice that had told her 'I've got you'—she felt like an interloper in her own marriage.

She didn't want to share him. The realization was sudden and violent. She didn't want to share his strength, his silence, or the way he smelled of sandalwood and rain. She wanted to be the only person he felt the need to protect.

That night, Ruhika lay awake, staring at the ceiling.

She watched a notification light up his screen—a brief flash in the dark. She didn't reach for it. She didn't need to.

The name Meera had already branded itself into her mind.

A tear escaped, sliding silently into her pillow. She realized then that the "settling in" was over. The shy smiles and the flustered glances had matured into something far more dangerous.

She was no longer just a girl in an arranged marriage; she was a woman whose heart had been hijacked.

She wasn't ready to call it love—the word felt too big, too heavy, too terrifying. But as she listened to the steady sound of his breathing, she knew one thing with absolute, agonizing certainty: She would rather fight a thousand storms with him than stand in the sun with anyone else.

But as the clock ticked toward 3:00 AM, the fear remained, cold and biting. Who was Meera? And why did Shivansh look like he was carrying the weight of the world for her, the smoke was clearing, and Ruhika was finally seeing the fire.

But she couldn't tell if it was meant to keep her warm... or if she was about to get burned.

Her fingers curled slightly against the bedsheet, gripping nothing.And everything.

She didn't doubt him.Not once.That wasn't what this was.

This was something far more unsettling. It was the realization that love—whatever fragile, unnamed form it had taken between them—was no longer just hers to feel.

It could be... divided. Interrupted. Shared.

And she didn't know how to stand steady in that thought. Because she hadn't even fully claimed him yet.

Hadn't said it. Hadn't understood it. Hadn't allowed herself to. And now—she was already afraid of losing him.

A tear slipped quietly into her hairline.

She didn't move to wipe it. Didn't make a sound.

Beside her, Shivansh shifted slightly in his sleep.His hand moved—instinctively. Searching.It brushed lightly against her arm and settled on her shoulder

Then stilled there. Resting.As if even in sleep—some part of him still knew where she was.

Ruhika's breath hitched. Because that touch—that unconscious, familiar claim, should have comforted her.

But tonight—it only made the ache deeper. Because if this was what he was to her—her quiet. Her certainty.

Her home—Then what was she to him...

Outside, the night stretched endlessly.Unmoving. Heavy.And somewhere between what she felt...and what she didn't know—Ruhika realized something with a clarity that left no room for denial. This was no longer adjustment. This was no longer newness.

This was something she could lose. And that—terrified her more than anything else ever had.

Beneath that stillness—something had already begun to crack.

Not loudly. Not visibly. But enough.Because maybe love had entered quietly.

And now- so had fear. And she didn't know, which one would stay.

____________

Aesthetic

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