Morning came softly.
The first rays of the sun filtered through the curtains, casting a golden warmth across the room. Outside, the world was waking up — birds chirping, the scent of morning dew filling the air.
But inside the bedroom, time seemed to have slowed.
Myra stirred faintly, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks. For a moment, she didn't remember where she was. Her mind floated in a haze — half-dream, half-reality — where peace wrapped around her like a thick, comforting blanket.
It was the steady rhythm beneath her ear that finally grounded her.
A heartbeat.
Strong, sure, constant.
Her fingers shifted slightly, feeling the fabric of a shirt bunched under her hand. Her body was enveloped by something warm — arms, holding her so securely it made her chest ache.
Slowly, memories trickled back.
The shattered glass.
The panic clawing at her lungs.
The desperate, silent scream inside her.
And then... him.
Ranvijay.
Her heart stuttered violently in her chest.
Cautiously, Myra lifted her head a little, her body protesting the movement after such stillness. Her gaze drifted upward — and collided with a sight she wasn't ready for.
Ranvijay was still asleep.
His face, usually carved from stone, was softer in slumber. His brows weren't furrowed in intensity like they usually were. His lips, so often pressed into a firm line, were relaxed.
He looked… peaceful.
And heartbreakingly beautiful.
For a long moment, she simply stared.
A war raged inside her — a hurricane of fear, anger, confusion... and something far more dangerous.
Longing.
Without thinking, her fingers twitched against his shirt, clinging a little tighter before she realized what she was doing.
Panic shot through her veins.
What was she doing?
Why was she still in his arms?
Why did being here feel... right?
No.
No, no, no.
She couldn't afford to feel this way.
Not when everything about him threatened to tear her apart.
As if sensing her unrest even in his sleep, Ranvijay shifted slightly — his hold on her tightening, as if his body refused to let her go.
His hand slid up along her back, soothingly, protectively, until his fingers tangled lightly in her hair.
Myra froze.
Tears burned the backs of her eyes — irrational, unwanted.
Why did you come last night? she wanted to scream.
Why do you always come when I tell myself I can survive without you?
Why do you make it so hard to hate you, Ranvijay?
But she said none of it.
Just like last night, her voice was locked inside her chest, too scared to escape.
Minutes passed.
Maybe hours.
Eventually, Myra found enough strength to slowly, carefully disentangle herself from him. She moved with the softest, feather-light motions — terrified of waking him.
When she finally managed to slip out of his embrace, she stood beside the bed, wrapping her arms around herself.
The coolness of the morning air kissed her damp cheeks. She hadn't even realized she had been crying.
Taking a shaky breath, she walked toward the window, needing space. Needing air.
Outside, the world looked normal. Beautiful even.
But inside her... everything had changed.
She touched the bandages on her palms lightly, the memory of his hands so tenderly taking care of her flashing before her eyes.
A lump formed in her throat.
Turning slightly, she looked back at the bed — at the man who had become her home and her storm all at once.
Ranvijay stirred, his lashes fluttering open lazily.
The moment his eyes found her — standing there, bathed in morning light, fragile and lost — he sat up immediately, concern flooding his face.
"Myra," he rasped, his voice still heavy with sleep.
She shook her head gently.
She didn't want him to say anything.
Not now.
Not when her heart was already breaking apart under the weight of emotions she had buried for so long.
Ranvijay read her silence perfectly.
He didn't push.
Didn't question.
Didn't demand.
He just looked at her — a thousand unspoken promises in his gaze.
And for once, Myra allowed herself to believe in them.
Allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe...
there was someone in this world who would catch her every time she fell.
Even if she hated needing him.
Even if she was too broken to admit it.
For the first time, Myra didn't run.
She simply stayed.
Silent.
Hurting.
Healing.
With him.
The silence lingered a moment longer between them before Myra sniffed, straightened her spine, and marched toward the dresser — trying to pretend the last night hadn't happened.
Ranvijay leaned back against the headboard, his arms crossed lazily, watching her like a predator amused by his prey.
"You're quiet today," he drawled, voice low and teasing.
Myra huffed, grabbing a brush and furiously attacking her already messy hair. "Unlike some people, I don't enjoy wasting breath on unnecessary conversations."
His lips twitched.
There she was — his fierce little queen.
Trying so hard to hide her trembling heart behind sharp words.
He loved it.
He loved her.
In every shade, in every mood.
He swung his legs off the bed and stood, slowly, deliberately, like he had all the time in the world.
Myra's eyes widened a little when she noticed him advancing toward her through the mirror's reflection. She hastily lowered her gaze, pretending to focus on her hair.
But it was impossible to ignore him — his looming presence, his dark teasing eyes, the way the air thickened between them.
He stopped right behind her.
Close enough that she could feel his body heat.
Close enough that her hands faltered.
Ranvijay tilted his head slightly, studying her through the mirror. "You know…" he began, casually, "I heard someone muttering in their sleep last night."
Myra stiffened.
He smirked, sensing her panic.
"Something like, 'I tried to be brave but you weren't here'," he repeated with exaggerated sweetness.
Myra whirled around instantly, cheeks flaming. "I did NOT say that!"
Ranvijay arched a brow, completely unfazed. "You did."
"No, I didn't!" she insisted, furious.
"Oh sweetheart…" he drawled, stepping closer, trapping her between the dresser and his towering frame, "you absolutely did."
Her palms flattened against his chest instinctively, trying to push him back, but it was like trying to move a mountain.
"I was being delirious," she sputtered. "People say stupid things when they're—when they're—!"
"When they're missing their husband terribly?" he supplied helpfully, grinning.
Her eyes blazed. "I was missing my pills! That's all!"
Ranvijay threw his head back and laughed — a deep, rich sound that made her stomach do ridiculous flips.
"You're adorable when you lie," he said, tapping the tip of her nose.
"I'm not lying!" she cried.
"You were brave," he said seriously now, his teasing dropping into a low, intense timbre that sent shivers down her spine. "But even warriors need someone sometimes, Myra."
Her throat closed up.
"And lucky for you," he added smugly, tilting her chin up with a finger, "you've got me. Whether you like it or not."
Myra narrowed her eyes. "More like a curse than luck."
His grin widened dangerously. "Careful, wife. If you provoke me too much…"
"What?" she challenged, tilting her chin defiantly.
"You might end up paying in ways you're not ready for yet," he whispered, voice wickedly dark.
She swallowed hard, her cheeks going crimson.
Ranvijay watched her squirm for a second longer before stepping back, giving her the illusion of space — while knowing full well that she was already tangled in him far more deeply than she realized.
"Come on, braveheart," he said lightly. "Let's get some breakfast before you faint dramatically in my arms and accuse me of not feeding you."
Myra scowled at his back as he walked away — cocky, arrogant, infuriating.
But her heart...
Her stupid, traitorous heart…
It was smiling.
And for the first time since Niyati's arrival, the air around Myra felt lighter.
Maybe because no matter how much her past tried to haunt her, she knew one thing for sure now —
Ranvijay would always come for her.
Even when she didn't call.
Even when she tried to push him away.
And somewhere deep inside, a tiny part of her had finally started to believe...
Maybe, just maybe, she deserved it.
The morning sunlight spilled into the kitchen, painting everything in soft gold. Myra entered behind Ranvijay, trying to keep her face neutral — while inside, she was still fuming from their earlier conversation.
Ranvijay, on the other hand, looked disgustingly relaxed.
He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt lazily and walked straight toward the counter, where breakfast was already being prepared by the servants.
He picked up a plate and scanned the dishes laid out — fluffy parathas, aloo sabzi, and a few delicate sweet treats.
He turned slightly, catching her standing there stubbornly at the door.
"Well, braveheart," he drawled, a mischievous glint in his dark eyes, "come here. You need your strength to keep fighting me all day."
Myra narrowed her eyes but walked toward the dining table with all the grace she could muster.
She pulled out a chair and sat, pointedly looking away from him.
Ranvijay chuckled under his breath.
God, he adored this woman.
She could be stubborn as hell — fiery and fragile at the same time — and somehow, every part of it made him want her even more.
He sauntered over with a plate in hand, dramatically setting it in front of her.
"There you go," he said, with an exaggerated bow. "Special breakfast for my warrior queen."
Myra blinked — it was her favorite: aloo paratha with just the right amount of butter and pickle.
She peeked up at him suspiciously. "What's the catch?"
"No catch," Ranvijay said, looking far too innocent. "Just feeding my brave little wife who apparently missed me last night."
Her cheeks heated again.
"I missed no one!" she snapped.
"Sure, sure," he said, sliding into the seat across from her, leaning forward on his elbows. "Just muttered my name in your sleep, cried a little, clutched the bedsheets like a lovesick fool…"
"Liar!" she gasped.
He grinned wickedly. "I have witnesses."
"You do not!"
"Shiv heard too," he said shamelessly.
She almost choked on air.
Ranvijay watched her flail for a moment before pushing a glass of water toward her with all the solemnity of a man presenting a peace offering.
"Here. Drink up. You need hydration after all that emotional exhaustion."
She wanted to throw the glass at his face.
But instead, she grabbed it furiously and drank, trying to ignore the fact that her hands were still a little shaky — not from anger now, but from…
something else.
Something terrifyingly close to happiness.
Ranvijay watched her quietly, the teasing fading a little as his gaze softened.
He caught a glimpse of the small, almost invisible tremor in her hands.
The way her shoulders were still a bit stiff.
The way she was trying so hard to act normal.
His heart twisted.
Without thinking, he reached out and gently touched her hand.
Myra flinched at the sudden contact, her wide eyes meeting his.
He didn't say anything.
Just squeezed her fingers lightly.
I'm here.
I'm not going anywhere.
You're safe.
The words weren't spoken aloud.
But she heard them all the same.
For a moment, they just stayed like that — two stubborn, scarred souls trying to find peace in each other.
And then — because he could never let a serious moment linger too long — Ranvijay smirked and said in an exaggeratedly soft voice:
"Myra... next time if you miss me again, feel free to call. I might even sing you a lullaby."
Her mouth dropped open in horror.
"You wouldn't dare!"
He leaned closer, eyes gleaming with mischief.
"In fact, I'm thinking of recording one. 'Lullabies for Wifey — Volume One.'"
She let out a noise somewhere between a growl and a squeal and shoved him away, making him laugh — a deep, genuine laugh that filled the whole kitchen.
And somewhere between the laughter and the teasing, Myra realized…
Maybe she wasn't so alone anymore.
Maybe — just maybe — she was finally finding her place.
Not as someone's shadow.
Not as someone's burden.
But as someone cherished.
Someone loved.
And for the first time in what felt like forever…
her heart didn't feel quite so heavy.
It felt — light.
Hopeful.
Alive.