Page 114 of Scars and Crowns

"No palace."

"No expectations."

"No one needing anything from us."

"Just..." She laughs quietly. "...peace."

I kiss the top of her head. "It was never a foolish thing to want."

"It just took us an unnecessarily long time to get here." She laughs.

"The longest route imaginable."

"Oh."

I nod solemnly. "We excelled at taking the scenic route."

She laughs harder this time. The sound vibrates softly against my chest. And I decide, not for the first time, that I would spend the rest of my life trying to hear that exact laugh again.

We fall into comfortable silence. The fairy lights sway gently in the evening breeze. Somewhere below us a temple bell rings. The stars multiply overhead until the sky is crowded with them. I don't remember the last time I sat somewhere doing absolutely nothing. I understand now why ten-year-old Anamika insisted on teaching me.

Eventually she lifts her face. I look down at exactly the same moment. She's already watching me.

No walls.

No hesitation.

Just that soft, searching look that's become more familiar over the last few weeks. I brush one loose strand of hair behind her ear. She doesn't look away. Neither do I. I lean in slowly, giving her every chance to close the distance herself. She does. Our lips meet gently.

There isn't any urgency. No desperation. No fear that the moment might disappear if we don't hold onto it tightly enough. Just quiet certainty. A kiss that feels less like beginning something...and more like finally arriving somewhere we'd been walking toward for years. My hand slides carefully to her cheek. Warm beneath my palm.

She sighs softly into the kiss, and I swear I can feel every silent year between us dissolving a little more with each heartbeat.

When we finally part, neither of us goes very far. Her forehead rests against mine.

Her breath fans lightly across my lips. She smiles. Small. Content. "Best first date I've ever had." She giggles and a chuckle escapes me. "It's also the only first date I’ve ever had."

I laugh again and wrap an arm around her shoulders, pulling her comfortably against my side. She comes willingly. We stay there without another word.

Watching the stars.

Listening to the wind.

The lights overhead swaying lazily against the old stone walls that had once belonged to two children hiding from the world . . . and now belonged to two people who had finally found their way back to each other.

COLORING IN

ANAMIKA

I step into our room expecting the usual chaos that follows Sara wherever she goes. What I don't expect is to stop dead in the doorway.

Sara is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed with a neat row of washable markers spread out in front of her, arranged with the seriousness of a surgeon preparing for an operation.

And Yuvaan . . . Yuvaan is standing beside the bed with nothing on but a pair of lounge trousers, absentmindedly rubbing a towel through his damp hair after his shower, completely unaware of the effect he's having on the woman who has apparently forgotten how to blink.

For one ridiculous second, my brain simply . . . stops. I've seen him shirtless before. Little glimpses. Early mornings when Sara insisted on sleeping between us. A hurried change of clothes after polo. Moments that disappeared before I could actually look. This isn't one of those moments.

Sunlight spills through the windows, falling across broad shoulders still glistening faintly with water. His hair is damp and unruly, stubborn strands refusing to lie flat no matter how hard he rubs the towel through them. Tiny droplets slide lazily down the planes of his chest before disappearing beneath the waistband of his trousers.