Master Bedroom - 10:52 PM
Samarth closed the bedroom door behind him and found Nimisha at the vanity, removing her earrings with practiced movements, her face reflected in the mirror.
She met his eyes in the glass.
"How are you?" he asked.
"I'm—" She caught herself. Something in his expression made her stop. "I'm tired," she said instead. "Genuinely tired. Not fine-tired. Actually tired."
"Of what?"
"Of walking into rooms where I'm not wanted. Of smiling through silences that are designed to make me feel small." She set down her earring and looked at her own reflection. "Of waiting for this house to feel like home."
He crossed to her and stood behind her, their eyes meeting in the mirror.
"What would make it feel like home?" he asked.
She was quiet for a long moment. "You."
The word was soft. Undefended.
"Not the version of you that has rules for who I'm allowed to be," she continued. "Not the version who touches me in darkness and ignores me in daylight. The real you." Her eyes held his steadily in the mirror. "The one who read my book and called the hero an idiot. The one who sends Shaurya across the estate with chocolates during meetings. The one who held me in his office all night without needing anything from me."
He reached out and turned her gently to face him.
"I'm trying," he said. The words were harder to say than he expected. "I don't know how to do this—any of this—without being afraid I'm doing it wrong."
"You're doing it wrong constantly," she said simply. "You keep waiting until you're certain before you let yourself feel anything. But feeling doesn't work that way."
"How does it work?"
"You just feel it. Even when you're terrified. Even when it makes no sense. Even when—" She stopped.
"Even when what?"
"Even when the person you're feeling it for has no guarantee of feeling it back." Her voice was steady. Honest. "That's the risk. You take it anyway."
He pulled her up from the stool, his hands gentle on her waist.
"I read something in your book," he said. "The part where Vihaan says he's afraid that if he lets her in, she'll see the monster underneath."
"I remember writing it."
"He was wrong." His hands moved to her face, tilting it up toward his. "She'd already seen the monster. She was there anyway. That was the point."
Her eyes softened. "Yes."
"You've seen mine. You've been watching me operate for a year." His thumb traced her cheekbone gently. "And you're still here."
"Yes."
"Why?"
She held his gaze. "You know why."
He kissed her then—slow, deliberate, without urgency. Like he had all the time in the world and intended to use it. Like she was worth taking time for.
She made a small sound against his mouth and wrapped her arms around his neck, and he felt her relax completely against him. Not the tense, guarded submission he'd been accepting for a year. Real surrender. Real trust.
