Until It Was Real

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

The alarm went off, sharp and cold in the quiet of the room. My eyes opened automatically.

Fajr.

I sighed, letting the sound of the early morning sink in before I turned my head.

She was still in my arms. Peaceful. Unaware. Breathing softly, her face half-buried against me.

After everything that happened yesterday... the chaos, the confrontation... she looked so untouched by the storm. So far away from it.

I reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, letting my fingers linger for a moment. She didn't stir, she's always been a heavy sleeper. Maybe it was better this way.

I got up, performed my ablution, and returned to wake her.

"Zoya, get up... it's time for Fajr," I said, giving her shoulder a light shake.

She didn't move.

I tried again, "Zoya... wake up."

She groaned, cracking one eye open, looking at me like I'd just committed a crime.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice still thick with sleep.

"It's Fajr time. Get up," I repeated, watching her expression.

Instead of moving, she simply turned away, pulling the blanket tighter. "I don't have to," she mumbled, eyes already shutting again.

I leaned forward, a small frown tugging at my brows. "Zoya, what are you saying? Time is passing, you're not going to pray?"

She turned back, this time looking more annoyed than sleepy. "Mr. Khan, for your kind information... I'm on my periods. So, please, don't disturb me." And with that, she rolled away again, hugging the pillow like it was a shield.

Oh....

I blinked, suddenly feeling awkward. Right. That explains, everything.

I looked away, exhaling through my nose. Woah, Zaigham... maybe understand before interrogating next time.

I straightened, smoothing the crease on my shirt and muttering under my breath, "Fine. Sleep, then."

Her voice came from under the blanket, muffled but teasing, "Thank you for your permission, Mr. Khan."

I gave her one long look before shaking my head and heading out for prayer.

After praying, I returned to bed. She was lying on her side, curled up tightly, almost like a ball.

That was normal for her... but something about the way she was curled today felt different.

And she was awake.

I slipped back under the blanket, pulling her gently toward me until she was in my arms.

"Zoya... what's wrong?" I asked, resting my chin against her hair.

She shook her head, the movement small.

I exhaled. "Then why are you curled up like this?"

Her voice was faint. "I'm not feeling well."

A frown pulled at my brows. I shifted her so she was facing me, searching her eyes before reaching up to check her forehead. "No fever..." I murmured.

She rolled her eyes slightly.What did I do wrong now?

Ya Allah... what do I do with him?

I took a deep breath. "It's... just period cramps. They're worse on the first and second day."

My eyes stayed glued to the blanket, as though saying it to the fabric would make it less awkward.

He didn't comment. Didn't even blink. He just got up immediately.

My brows furrowed. "Where are you going?" My voice was soft, partly from the pain, partly from confusion.

No answer. He went straight to the dresser, opened the top drawer, and came back with a small bottle in his hand.

Lavender oil.

I squinted. "What are you going to do with that?"

"Lie on your back. Straighten your legs," he instructed, voice calm.

I hesitated for two seconds. He didn't repeat himself, but his eyes held mine in a way that left no space for protest.

Slowly, I obeyed.

And that's when it clicked. My cheeks instantly heated, he was going to massage my stomach.

He rested his hand just above my shirt hem. "May I?"

The cramps were winning this battle. I nodded.

He lifted my shirt only to my mid-stomach. My cheeks felt like they were on fire.

Pouring some oil into his hands, he rubbed them together before pressing his palms gently to my stomach. His touch was warm, firm enough to soothe the tension, yet slow enough to not hurt.

My breath escaped in a small sigh as the tight knot of pain began to loosen. The steady circles he made over my lower abdomen pulled the cramp's edge away. I let my eyes close for a moment, letting the warmth sink in.

"Breathe," he murmured. "It will help."

I didn't even realize I was holding my breath until I exhaled.

"Better?" he asked quietly, still making steady circles.

"A little," I admitted, my voice smaller than I intended. "You... know how to do this?"

His lips curved faintly. "No." He paused, eyes holding mine. "I've never done this before."

The words hit harder than the massage. I looked away quickly, staring at the ceiling to hide my face.

When I dared glance at him again, he wasn't looking at what he was doing, he was looking at me. Intently.

The pain dulled, replaced by a strange tightness in my chest.

After a while, he capped the bottle, set it back on the dresser, and went to wash his hands. When he returned, the faint lavender scent clung to him.

He lay down beside me again. "Better now?" His voice had softened, though it still carried that low rumble.

"Yeah," I whispered, smiling despite myself. "Thank you... really."

He gave a small nod, then, slipped an arm around me and pulled me closer.

This time, for the first time, I let my arms circle him back. My face found its place against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek.

He stiffened for a fraction of a second, then relaxed, engulfing me in his arms. His warm cologne filled my senses as his hand settled against the back of my head.

And then, unexpectedly, he pressed a light kiss to the top of my hair.

I smiled, small and hidden, and let my eyes close.

Within minutes, with his heartbeat in my ear, we both drifted back into sleep.

The first thing I registered when I woke was the weight in my arms.

Her.

Her head rested just under my chin, the steady rhythm of her breathing brushing against my chest. I could feel the faint warmth of her skin through the thin fabric between us, and the subtle movement of her breath seemed to fall in sync with my own without me even realising it.

A few loose strands of her hair had strayed against my jaw. They carried that faint scent I had grown used to, not perfume, not anything deliberate, just hers. It was... grounding in a way I'd never admit out loud. She fit against me.

I didn't move. Couldn't, for a moment. My arm was still draped around her waist, my fingers resting just above the curve of her hip.

My gaze found her face. A crease between her brows lingered even in sleep, a leftover trace of pain.

Carefully, I loosened my arm from around her. She stirred faintly, murmuring something unintelligible, before curling toward the pillow and clutching the blanket to her chest like a child guarding a secret.

I sat at the edge of the bed for a few seconds longer.

She's still not well. Two days at least. Let her rest.

By the time I returned from the bathroom, dressed and ready for the day, she hadn't moved. Sunlight had shifted across the room, spilling directly onto her face. She stirred faintly, her brows drawing together in a soft frown even in sleep.

I crossed to the window without a sound, pulling the curtain until the light no longer reached her. The moment the brightness faded, her features eased, the crease between her brows smoothing, her lips parting in a quiet sigh.

I found myself smiling, just a little, at the change. She looked almost... peaceful now. Almost impossibly so.

Her hair, a loose tangle against the pillow, caught the muted light in soft glints.

I stepped closer, crouching beside the bed. My hand moved without thought, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. My fingers lingered, tracing the gentle curve of her hairline. She leaned the barest fraction into my touch, still asleep.

For a moment, I simply studied her face, the faint shadows under her eyes, the way her lashes curled against her skin, the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. My gaze drifted lower, unhurried, until it rested against the soft curve of her lips.

The memory from the other day slipped into my mind without warning, the press of those same lips against mine, the hesitant way she had kissed me back, like she was testing the ground yet still unable to pull away. That kiss had burned into me in a way I couldn't name.

Even now, the thought of it sent a subtle ache through my chest.

She has no idea, I thought, how much she's undoing the control I've lived by all my life.

Leaning in, I pressed my lips to her forehead.

I was never this soft with anyone before... what are you doing to me, Zoya?

I sighed as I got up and headed downstairs.

The dining room was alive with the warm clink of cups and the aroma of breakfast.

Deeda looked up from her plate the moment I walked in, eyes narrowing with mild curiosity.

"Alone this morning?" she remarked, tilting her head ever so slightly. "That's unusual for you two."

I set my bag down on the chair. "Seems so," I replied, pouring myself tea.

Mama looked up from buttering a paratha, her gaze warm but searching. "Didn't Zoya come down with you?"

"She's not feeling well," I said, my voice even.

Mama's brow softened. "Then she won't be going to the office today?"

"No. She'll be skipping for a few days."

"Good," Mama said simply. "Let her rest."

I turned to the maid passing by. "Sadia, take Zoya's breakfast to our room."

"Yes, sir," she replied with a nod, disappearing into the kitchen.

As I ate, my mind ran through the day's meetings, deadlines, and calls.

I adjusted my cuffs, stood, and left for work... but the thought of her lingered, heavier than I cared to admit.

I groaned, stretching my arms lazily, as the relentless knocking on my door dragged me out of sleep. Whoever it was, they weren't just knocking, they were assaulting the poor door.

Ya Allah, what could possibly be so urgent this early?

I turned to my side, expecting to find him there.

Empty.

I blinked at the clock. 8:30 a.m.

Oh no... office?!

"Come in," I called, my voice still groggy.

Sadia stepped in, holding a tray piled with breakfast. My brows drew together.

"Good morning, Zoya baji," she greeted, setting the tray on the coffee table.

"What is this, Sadia?" I asked, eyeing the breakfast and tea.

"Oh... Mr. Zaigham asked me to bring breakfast to your room," she replied casually.

My eyes widened.

Breakfast in the room? That had never happened in the Khan house before.

"Oh... okay. He's gone to the office?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

She nodded. "Yes, baji."

"Alright, you may go," I said with a small smile.

Once she left, I sat up, pushing my hair back.

Why didn't he wake me for the office?

After freshening up, I sat at the table, taking a bite of pancake.

Should I ask him? Yeah... I should.

I stood up to pick my phone from nightstand, my gaze fell on the small bottle of oil near the side table.

The memory of this morning's scene replayed, his warm hands, the gentle pressure easing my cramps, the quiet care in his touch.

A slow smile crept over my face.

Guess I really misunderstood him... he's so caring.

And, Ya Allah, I can't believe I'm admitting this, but I'm already missing him.

I picked up my phone and began typing.

Text: Zaigham, why didn't you wake me for the office?

Almost a minute later, the ticks turned blue. My heartbeat picked up.

Text: Thought you would need rest for two days... you said your cramps are worse these two days.

My lips curved in a wide smile.

Uff... this caring Zaigham is something else.

Text: Umm... it's alright. I still used to come to the office before.

Text: Not anymore... because you have me now, Zoya.

I froze for a second before a blush crept over my face.

Damn.

Text: Aww, is that so, Mr. Khan?

Text: Hmm... how are you feeling now?

Text: I'm fine now... thanks to your morning massage.

He left it on seen... and liked the message.

I sighed, setting my phone aside, but my cheeks still felt warm.

Somehow, breakfast tasted better now.

I was fixing the folds of my blanket when my door suddenly swung open, and a wave of chatter came in before I even saw who it was.

"Wow, look at her," Laiba said dramatically as they all filed in, "still in bed like a queen while the rest of us have been up for ages."

Ayat peeked over Laiba's shoulder. "Are you seriously still in your pajamas? Don't tell me you just woke up."

I put a hand over my chest, pretending to be offended. "Excuse me, I was having a very productive morning... in my dreams."

They laughed, shaking their heads, and made themselves at home, Laiba plopping down on the armchair, Ayat grabbing a cushion, Nouran api sitting at the edge of bed.

"It's 9:30," Laiba added, glancing at the clock. "Do you even know what time it is?"

I gasped. "9:30? No wonder I feel so refreshed."

Rumman api finally sat closer, her expression softer than the others. "We couldn't wait any longer," she said, reaching for my hand. "Zoya... so much has happened, and you didn't tell us anything?"

I looked down at our joined hands, my voice dropping. "It's not like that. When the first note came, I was terrified. That same day, I told Zaigham, I didn't want to hide anything from him. And after that, he's been with me every step. I just... didn't want to add to your worries."

She nodded slowly, her thumb brushing over my knuckles.

"You okay now, sweetheart?" Nouran api asked, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"Yeah," I said with a small smile.

Aaliya's voice trembled. "Zoya... please forgive us. We had no idea Z–Zaarib bhai could do something like this. I don't even know how to face you. The brother we thought was our protector..." her voice faltered, "...did something like this."

Her tears fell, I squeezed her hand. "Aaliya, this is not your fault. Not even a little. What happened... it hurt all of us, but none of us are to blame. Please, don't carry this. And besides—" I tried to lighten the moment, "—crying doesn't suit you. You're supposed to be the sassy one."

She let out a watery laugh and hugged me. I hugged her back, and soon Laiba, Rumman api, Ayat, and Nouran api piled in, turning it into a big, messy group hug.

When we pulled back, I noticed everyone's eyes were shiny. "Okay, enough," I said, wiping at my own eyes."You're all giving me old-aunty vibes now."

They laughed, and Laiba grinned. "Then let's make it a girls' day."

"Yes!" I said, my energy lifting. "Just like we used to when one of us was sad. And wow, Laiba... didn't know you had such brilliant ideas hidden in there."

She swatted my arm. "Don't forget, I'm older than you."

I rolled my eyes.

"Mission Girls' Day!" Ayat announced, throwing her hands up like she was rallying troops.

"Yayy!" everyone joined in.

In our group, girls' day means baking...cakes, cupcakes, muffins, then eating more than we should while watching movies until the heaviness lifts.

"Alright," I said, getting up. "Give me five minutes to get ready and I'll join you." I reached for my clothes and hijab, my chest feeling just a little lighter than when they'd first barged in.

By noon, the kitchen had transformed into something between a bakery and a battlefield.

Laiba was perched on the counter, legs swinging, holding a whisk like it was a microphone. "And in today's episode of The Great Kitchen Disaster, we are joined by our guest star... Zoya Khan!"

Zoya groaned, holding up a bowl of flour. "Laiba, get down before I drop this on your head."

"Threats won't save you," Laiba shot back, leaning dramatically toward the imaginary camera. "This contestant once burned toast. Twice. In the same day."

Everyone laughed, and Ayat nearly spilled the milk she was measuring. "Wait..twice? How is that even possible?"

Zoya slapped her hand over her forehead. "Okay, first of all, that was years ago—"

"—Last year," Nouran corrected, smirking.

Zoya pointed at her. "Traitor."

The blender suddenly roared to life, making Ayat jump and spill a little milk on the counter. "Oh no!" she squeaked, reaching for paper towels.

"Relax," Rumman api said, taking over with practiced ease. "It's not a girls' day unless someone spills something."

The doorbell chimed in the distance, and a few seconds later, two more voices echoed down the hallway. Inaya and Yusra appeared, peeking into the kitchen like they were walking into a secret meeting.

"We heard there's free dessert being made," Inaya said, grinning.

"And we come bearing reinforcements!" Yusra added, holding up two bags of chocolate chips like precious treasures.

The room instantly got louder. Yusra jumped in beside Laiba on the counter, while Inaya stole the whisk from her hand and began mixing a bowl of batter. "Okay, who's in charge here?" Inaya asked.

"Technically me," Zoya said, "but the moment I walked in, Laiba turned it into a comedy show."

"Correction," Laiba said, "an award-winning comedy show."

Nouran shook her head, laughing. "Someone please keep the comedians away from the oven before they start baking sarcasm into the cupcakes."

Ayat leaned over the counter. "Actually, sarcasm-flavored cupcakes would sell. Imagine the packaging: Bitter on the outside, sweet on the inside."

That sent everyone into another round of laughter.

Inaya began sneaking spoonfuls of the chocolate chips whenever she thought no one was looking. "Inaya!" Zoya called out, catching her in the act.

"What?" she said innocently. "I'm just... taste-testing."

"Pretty sure that's called stealing," Yusra teased, and the two broke into a mock chase around the island counter, narrowly avoiding Ayat carrying a tray of cupcakes toward the oven.

"Careful!" Ayat shrieked, stopping just short of a collision. "Do you know how hard I worked on these?"

"You poured milk into a bowl," Laiba said, deadpan.

"Exactly," Ayat replied. "It was exhausting."

Flour dust floated in the air, the smell of vanilla, blueberries and sugar growing stronger as trays began filling the oven. At one point, Yusra tried piping frosting and ended up with a pink blob that looked nothing like a rosette.

"That's... abstract art," Rumman api said delicately.

"I'll have you know it's a cupcake masterpiece," Yusra declared proudly, placing it at the center of the cooling rack like a trophy.

They kept baking, decorating, and stealing bites until the counters were lined with an impressive and slightly chaotic spread, cupcakes with too much frosting, muffins in mismatched liners, a cake that had risen unevenly but smelled heavenly.

By the time they were done, the kitchen looked like a storm had passed through, and everyone was breathless from laughter. It wasn't perfect, the cupcakes weren't uniform, the counters were a mess, and there was more sugar on the floor than in the actual desserts.

The laughter and clatter from the kitchen spilled down the hallway, carrying with it the sweet scent of vanilla and melting chocolate.

In the lounge, Deeda was knitting by the window, her needles clicking in a steady rhythm. Layla sat beside her, scrolling lazily through her phone, while Haneen and Nazneen were sipping tea.

The sound of Zoya's laugh rang out, full, unguarded, the kind that made you forget the weight of the past week.

Deeda's hands stilled mid-stitch, her gaze drifting toward the kitchen doorway. "She's laughing again," she said softly, almost to herself, but everyone heard it.

Nazneen's lips curved into a smile. "And loudly too. I haven't heard her like this in days."

Layla leaned back in her chair, listening to the overlapping voices.

"It suits her," Haneen said, eyes warm. "Happiness. She looks... lighter."

Deeda's face softened, her gaze still fixed on the source of the noise. "It's good for the house too. A girl's laughter changes the air in a place."

Nazneen exchanged a glance with Layla, both of them smiling quietly as the chaos in the kitchen reached another peak, someone had clearly dropped something, followed by another wave of uncontrollable laughter.

"Let them be," Deeda murmured with the kind of approval. "This is the kind of mess worth keeping."

By noon, the kitchen was officially a disaster zone of frosting smears, cupcake crumbs, and a suspicious amount of spilled sprinkles. But no one cared, the real party had moved to the living room.

Plates stacked high with warm brownies, pastel-frosted cupcakes, and a mountain of popcorn were balanced precariously on every available surface. The lights were dimmed, the AC was humming, and the opening credits of Jawani Phir Nahi Ani rolled on the TV.

"Ladies," Laiba announced like she was introducing an award winner, "today's choice is a cinematic masterpiece,Jawani Phir Nahi Ani."

"Yes!" Ayat said, tossing a piece of popcorn into her mouth.

"Shh, it's starting," Yusra hissed, even though she was the first to start laughing when Humayun Saeed's as Sherry appeared in his overconfident glory.

As soon as Pervez entered the frame with his exaggerated expressions, Ayat clutched her stomach. "That's literally you, Laiba api, when you're caught lying."

"Oh please," Laiba said, throwing a popcorn kernel at her, "I'm way more graceful than Pervez."

"Graceful?" Zoya laughed so hard she almost dropped her cupcake. "You tripped over the kitchen rug this morning!"

The scene shifted to Sheikh bragging shamelessly. Yusra pointed at the screen, mimicking his tone. "This is me after making instant noodles, 'Gordon Ramsay who?'"

Everyone laughed.

When Mehwish Hayat's character entered, Inaya fanned herself dramatically. "Look at her! Even her angry face looks like a perfume commercial."

The scene where Sherry is trapped in his lies came on, and the girls lost it.

"This is Zoya," Laiba teased, pointing at the screen. "When she tries to convince Zaigham bhai she hasn't touched his things."

"Excuse me?!" Zoya threw a cushion at her. "At least I don't look like Pervez when I panic."

The laughter roared again.

By the time the movie ended, my cheeks actually hurt from laughing. The room was a battlefield of half-eaten snacks, cushions thrown everywhere, and girls lying around like they'd just run a marathon of pure chaos.

It was around 7 when I suddenly heard the familiar sound of a car honk from outside. My head instantly turned toward the window. My heart did a little flip.

I shot up from the couch, nearly stepping on Ayat's leg in the process. "Sorry, gals, my husband has arrived. Gotta perform wife duties so far." I wiggled my brows dramatically.

The room erupted in laughter.

"Wife duties?" Laiba teased. "Go on, Mrs. Khan, impress him."

"Don't forget to fix your hijab," Inaya added with a smirk.

"Too late," Ayat snorted, pointing at me. "Look at her, flour on her cheeks and that hijab? Messy chic."

I gasped. "Ya Allah!" But instead of fixing anything, I laughed and waved them off. "He's seen worse."

Without another thought, I dashed out of the room, still smiling like an idiot. My heart was doing that weird warm thing it does whenever I know he's home.

The front door opened just as I reached it. There he was, tall, calm, coat draped over one arm, eyes landing on me instantly.

"Assalam u alaikum," he greeted in his deep, steady voice.

"Walikum salam," I replied quickly, stepping forward to take his coat and bag before he even had the chance to blink. The smell of his cologne instantly wrapped around me, warm and grounding. The maid offered him a glass of water.

Without thinking, I fell into step beside him, trailing behind as he walked toward the room. I was still holding his things like some over-enthusiastic personal assistant, but I didn't care. It just... felt right.

They entered the room together, her steps light and cheerful, his as composed as always. Zoya moved ahead, placing his coat neatly onto the hanger, setting his bag in its spot with the same attentiveness she carried into everything she did for him.

When she turned back, she didn't say anything—just walked straight toward him and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist.

Zaigham stilled. His hand halfway to unbuttoning his cuff paused in the air, caught completely off guard by her sudden gesture. Slowly, he lowered his hand and held her back, his arm resting protectively across her small frame.

"What happened?" he asked quietly, tilting his head down to see her face.

Still holding onto him, she tipped her chin up, smiling softly, and shook her head. "Nothing... just missed my husband."

Something in his chest gave a faint, unfamiliar flutter at the way she said it, so open, so unguarded.

His eyes softened despite himself. He took in the details now that she was this close.

..the smear of flour dusting her cheek, the slightly crooked hijab framing her face, the faint pout of her lips that made her look even smaller in his arms.

She looked... adorable. Dangerously so.

His brows drew together faintly as the corner of his mouth lifted. "What's this?"

"What?" she asked, brows knitting in confusion.

Without answering, he shifted his grip, stepping behind her and turning her toward the mirror, his arms still securely around her waist as he put his chin on her shoulder.

"This," he murmured near her ear, his voice calm but threaded with amusement. "Look at you... being messier."

Her eyes widened before she grinned, almost guilty. "Oh, actually, we had a girls' day today. Baking, fun, movies..."

"Mhm." He hummed the sound against her hijab as if weighing her words.

Then, gently, he turned her back toward him. His eyes didn't waver. "You're still looking pretty."

The words were so low, so quietly meant for her alone, that they settled in her stomach like a warm secret.

Before she could respond, he reached up, undoing her hijab with deliberate care, letting the fabric fall loose.

He dipped his head, pressing his face lightly into the curve of her neck, inhaling like he was letting himself indulge in something addictive as he pulled her close.

Zoya froze, from the unhealthy amount of butterflies erupting inside her. Her heart stuttered.

When he finally leaned back, his eyes held something she had never seen this bare before...pure, unshielded affection.

"I missed you too," he said.

Her eyes widened. Not just because of the words, but because he'd said them without hesitation.

Still leaning against the counter, he kept her close. She smiled softly, tilting her head. "Oh, is that so?"

His grey eyes lingered on her face, tracing every little detail as if memorizing it, the way a faint streak of flour still clung to her cheek, the soft disarray of her hair, the innocent curve of her lips.

There was a quiet intensity in his gaze, warm yet unyielding, like he couldn't, and wouldn't, look away.

She tilted her head slightly, meeting his stare, unaware of how endearing she looked in that moment.

Something in his chest tightened.

And then, almost as though surrendering to an impulse he could no longer keep in check, his voice dropped, velvet-soft not being able to resist her cuteness.

"Can I kiss you, Mrs. Khan?"

She blinked in surprise. "Oh? But you didn't ask the first time. Why now?"

His gaze darkened, but not with anger, something heavier, richer. "You very well know why I did that then. And now... I'm asking because I want to."

Her breath caught at the quiet conviction in his tone.

She nodded.

Slowly he leaned in, one hand slipping to her waist, the other brushing the back of her neck.

Their lips met in a kiss that was soft at first, hesitant, almost searching, before deepening naturally.

She tasted faintly of blueberries and vanilla from the dessert they'd shared earlier, sweet and warm.

He, in turn, carried the crisp coolness of mint mixed with something more elusive. .. something undeniably him.

She found herself sinking into him, fingers tangling in his hair as if it was the only thing keeping her steady. His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.

They broke apart only when breath became scarce, foreheads resting together, both of them breathing heavily.

And then... he smiled.

It wasn't the faint curl of lips she'd occasionally seen, it was an actual smile, unguarded and breathtaking.

She stared, her breath catching again. "Beautiful," she murmured before she could stop herself.

His brows furrowed faintly. "What?"

"Your smile," she whispered, still a little dazed. "It's so charming."

A low chuckle escaped him, soft and warm. "Is that so?"

She nodded earnestly, and without thinking, hugged him again, just because she could, and because she didn't want to let go.