The next morning, they sat cross-legged on the floor, sunlight spilling across the carpet as he started unwrapping the gifts he’d received the previous night. Torn ribbons, glossy paper, and opened envelopes collected around them like festive debris.

One box in particular pulled his attention, a small one wrapped in royal blue paper, tied with a neat white ribbon. It didn’t have a tag. No name. No hint of who sent it.

He picked it up first… then paused.

Anonymous?
No one ever did anonymous.

Setting it aside, he opened the ones with names written in familiar handwriting. His family. Close friends. Business partners who’d attended out of courtesy. Every gift felt thoughtful, warm, and expected.

Except the one person he wanted something from the most… wasn’t on any card.

He let out a slow exhale, eyes flicking back to the blue box.

“Not such a smart move, Dove,” he muttered under his breath, unable to hold back the small, knowing smile tugging at his mouth.

Finally, he tugged the ribbon loose and peeled away the wrapping.

Inside was a wrist watch sleek, elegant, but unmistakably customized.
The back plate was engraved.

He turned it over, thumb brushing the metal. The message was short but personal, the kind that hit harder because it didn’t try too hard.

A date.
A word.
A memory only the two of them shared.

For a moment he just stared, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and warmth spreading through his chest.

She had been there.
Not in the room the night before but in the details, in the thought, in this quiet little box wrapped in his favorite colours.

And somehow… that felt even more like her.

Kiara was on the balcony, phone pressed to her ear, the morning breeze tugging gently at her hair. He stepped out of his room, the watch still in his hand, planning to show her… maybe tease her a little for going “anonymous.”

But before he reached the balcony, her voice floated back through the half-open door.

“Yes, Mr. Katiara, send me those papers,” she said, her tone polite but firm.

He paused mid-step.

Mr. Katiara?
The name was too familiar. It took him a few seconds to place it.
A lawyer. Someone he had heard of before… maybe at an event, maybe in a business conversation. He couldn’t remember exactly, but the title clicked.

A lawyer?
Why would Kiara be speaking to one?

He waited for another beat, listening to the quiet murmur of her conversation, trying to piece it together. Documents, formalities, deadlines her side of the call sounded strictly professional.

He felt the smallest tug of curiosity. A question forming.
But it slipped away almost as quickly as it came.

It was Kiara.

If she was handling something, she had a reason. And if she wanted him to know, she would tell him. He never had to doubt that.

So he didn’t overthink it. Didn’t let suspicion linger,because there was none.
His trust in her was the kind that didn’t waver, didn’t crack at shadows or half-heard sentences. Whatever she was doing, whatever she needed those papers for… she would tell him when the time was right.

He leaned against the doorway, letting himself smile as she ended the call.

He had this blind trust in Kiara,steady, absolute, unwavering.
No matter what.

Just then, he got a call from Kartik.

He hated when Kartik called.

The phone buzzed against the table, the name flashing across the screen like a headache he didn’t want to deal with. Aryansh considered ignoring it… but Kartik never called without a reason.

He picked up.

“Aryansh.”
The way Kartik said his name flat, heavy already told him this wouldn’t be pleasant.

Aryansh didn’t respond, jaw tightening.

“Just tell Kiara the truth before it’s too late.” Kartik’s voice carried a warning, sharp enough to slice through the morning quiet.

Aryansh’s grip on the phone tightened. His stomach knotted.
He didn’t want to hear this,not now, not ever.

“There’s nothing to tell her,” he snapped, heat rising in his voice, “and even if there was, I know what to tell my wife and what not to.”

There was a click of annoyance on the other end, followed by a tired, mocking exhale.

“Yeah, sureee,” Kartik drawled. “Just remember,when this blows up in your face, don’t blame me.”

Something flared in Aryansh’s chest,anger, fear, something messier in between.
He didn’t want the past dragged into the life he’d built now. Didn’t want old shadows touching Kiara. Didn’t want her looking at him differently.

He ended the call before Kartik could say anything else, dropping the phone onto the table with more force than necessary.

For a moment, he just stood there, breathing hard.

The past.
The truth.
The secret he’d buried deep enough he thought it would stay there.

He rubbed a hand over his face, looking toward the balcony where Kiara was still standing, unaware of the storm someone else threatened to drag into their life.

He wasn’t ready to tell her.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.

But the warning in Kartik’s voice echoed through his head long after the call ended.

That afternoon, when Aryansh unlocked the door, the house met him with a quiet that didn’t belong there. The air felt too still,no soft humming from Kiara drifting from the kitchen, no light footsteps crossing the hall, not even the familiar clink of a mug she’d forgotten to put away. Silence pooled in the corners, thick and unsettling.

His brow tightened as he set his keys aside. Something felt off sharply, undeniably off. Without calling her name again, he walked toward their room, guided by a worry that grew heavier with each step.

Kiara was curled on the bed, tucked into herself as if she were bracing against a cold only she could feel. The blanket was a tangled mess around her legs; her pale face pressed half into the pillow, her breaths thin and uneven.

“Kiara?” he said softly.

Her lashes fluttered, but she didn’t answer.

He reached out, resting his palm on her forehead and shock rippled down his spine. Heat. Too much heat.

“Kiara…” The word was barely a whisper. “You’re burning up.”

Her lips parted slightly, and a faint, broken sound escaped her. “Hmm…?”

“I’m right here,” he said, more firmly this time, as though the steadiness in his voice could anchor her. “Just stay still, okay?”

He hurried to the bathroom, filling a bowl with cold water and grabbing a clean cloth. When he returned, she shifted weakly, her voice barely audible.

“Aryan… where…?”

“Here,” he murmured, kneeling beside her. “I’ve got you.”

The cloth made a soft hiss against her fever-hot skin. He brushed the damp strands of hair from her forehead, trying to soothe her even as worry gnawed at him.

She winced. “It’s… cold.”

“It’s supposed to be,” he said gently. “Your body’s fighting too hard. Let the cool help.”

She made a small, pained sound, her brow tightening. “Sorry… I didn’t… I should’ve—”

“Don’t,” he cut in, his voice low but warm. “You don’t owe me anything. Just breathe.”

Minutes blurred. Then hours.

Sometimes she stirred, mumbling through the fever’s fog.

“It’s… hurting.”

“I know,” he whispered, refreshing the cloth and placing it on her temple this time. “I’m keeping watch. You’re not alone.”

Her fingers twitched near the blanket. “Will you… stay?”

He tucked the blanket around her properly, smoothing it with slow, careful hands. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Evening folded into night, the lamp casting a quiet glow around them. Every shift of her breath had him leaning forward instinctively.

He guided a glass of water to her lips when she blinked open.

“Just a sip,” he said. “Slowly.”

She obeyed, then sagged into the pillow, murmuring, “Thank you…”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied, brushing her cheek lightly to check the heat again. “Just get better.”

When her fever finally began to ease, her trembling faded to small shivers. Relief softened his shoulders, though fatigue crawled in right behind it.

He tried to sit on the chair but didn’t quite make it. Instead, he slid down beside the bed, settling near her feet. His head rested against the mattress, his arm draped loosely over the edge, fingers brushing the blanket in case she reached for him.

Her sleepy voice drifted down to him, faint as a sigh. “Aryan…?”

“Hmm?” he murmured, already half-asleep.

“Don’t… go.”

His eyes closed, but a tired smile touched his lips. “Never.”

And with the cool cloth slipping from his hand and the room settling into a calmer kind of silence, Aryansh finally drifted off still keeping vigil over her, even in sleep.

The night stretched itself thin around them, like a quiet guardian holding its breath.
Kiara stirred faintly beneath the softened glow of the bedside lamp. The fever still clung to her skin with stubborn fingers, no longer raging but smoldering like a fire remembering it once had strength. Her lashes trembled, half-opening before surrendering to exhaustion again, as though even the small act of waking was a mountain she wasn’t ready to climb.

Aryansh slept beside the bed in a way only those who love deeply ever do lightly, unevenly, as if each breath kept him tethered to her. His fingers twitched every so often, reaching for her without knowing, pulled by a devotion that asked for nothing and promised everything in its quiet way.

The room had shifted with time’s unnoticed passing.
The bowl of water had turned lukewarm.
The cloth lay near his fingertips, still damp with the echo of his care.
The curtains whispered against the open window, letting the moon paint soft, ghostly patterns across the floor.

Every sound softened in their little universe. Even the night itself seemed to tiptoe.

Kiara’s hair clung to her cheek in a damp strand, her skin flushed unevenly, her body curled inward as though it was the only shield she had left. The minutes folded gently into hours, quiet and unhurried.

A faint rustle broke the stillness when she shifted again a small, instinctive movement. Aryansh woke instantly, his breath catching as though he’d been listening for her through the veil of sleep.

He blinked through the haze of drowsiness, but the confusion lasted only a heartbeat. His gaze locked onto her.

“Kiara?” he whispered not calling her awake, just calling her into the moment. His voice was a soft thread woven into the silence.

A weak sound slipped from her throat, barely formed. “Mm…”

He reached for the cloth, dipping it gently into the bowl. “Easy,” he murmured. “Don’t force yourself.”

He wrung out the cloth and pressed it to her forehead. She let out a faint sigh, a fragile release of tension that almost broke him.

“Good… that’s good,” he whispered, brushing her temple lightly. “Just rest. I’m right here.”

Her fingers twitched under the blanket, curled slightly toward him small, unsteady, but unmistakable. A seeking motion.

He slid his hand closer, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. Their fingertips brushed, feather-light. He didn’t take her hand fully afraid to jostle her yet the closeness was enough.

Her voice came out cracked and soft, barely a scrape of breath. “Don’t… leave.”

His answer was immediate, breathed rather than spoken. “Not for a second.”

His hand stayed by hers, a quiet anchor in the dim-lit room. Outside, the world carried on indifferently, but within these four walls, time slowed to a tender rhythm two breaths, uneven but together.

Care became its own kind of dialogue.
Silences spoke.
Warmth watched over fever.
Presence became a promise.

The night deepened, shadows shifted, and Kiara’s fever loosened its grip by the smallest margin. She drifted in and out of awareness, but whenever consciousness brushed her, she felt steadiness curled like a guardian at the edge of her bed.

Aryansh stayed awake, despite the weight dragging at his eyelids. His eyes were tired, his body worn thin, but he remained quiet, unwavering.

The hours ahead were uncertain, stretched long and dim, yet neither of them floated alone anymore. In that fragile, moonlit stillness, the space between them grew roots that daylight hadn’t yet learned to reveal.

Morning light filtered softly into the room, brushing against Kiara’s face. Her eyelids fluttered open, heavy from the fever, and the first thing she saw wasn’t the ceiling… but him.

Aryansh was asleep on the floor near her legs, head resting against the side of the bed, fingers loosely wrapped around her hand like he hadn’t let go the entire night. There was a faint crease on his forehead, as though even in sleep he hadn’t stopped worrying.

For a fraction of a minute, guilt pricked her chest sharp, unexpected.
He had stayed the whole night. Taking care of her. Watching over her.
And she… she was hiding things. Planning things.

She inhaled slowly, then shook the thought away.
“Don’t back out now, Kiara,” she whispered to herself, quietly enough that only the pillows could hear.

She gently tried to remove her hand from his, but the moment her fingers slipped away, he stirred. His eyes blinked open, unfocused at first, then widening with alertness.

“Kiara?” His voice was rough from sleeping on the floor. He pushed himself up immediately. “Are you okay, Dove? How’s your head? Are you still cold? Wait—let me check your fever—”

He didn’t even give her time to answer. He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, then her neck. His brows furrowed in concentration before finally easing.

“Your temperature’s back to normal,” he breathed out, relief washing over him.

She tried to sit up, but he stopped her with a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder.

“I swear, you need rest,” he said, slipping right back into caretaker mode. “I’m staying home today to look after you. No arguments.” He got up, brushing off the sleep from his clothes. “Change into something comfortable. I’ll bring breakfast to the room.”

And with that, he left quiet, focused, already halfway down the hall before she could even protest.

Kiara leaned back against the pillows, watching him go.

And the guilt she had tried so hard to ignore pressed just a bit heavier on her chest.

She watched him disappear down the hallway, the soft thud of his footsteps fading until only the faint hum of the ceiling fan remained. The door swung shut behind him with a muted click that felt far too final for such an ordinary act. The room grew still…still enough that her own thoughts echoed back at her like unanswered questions. Too quiet, too full of everything she didn’t allow herself to speak aloud.

Kiara pushed the blanket aside, her body still weak but her resolve sharper than it had been in weeks. The moment her feet touched the floor, a small shiver ran through her. She made her way to the washroom, each step slow but determined.

The cold tiles hit her soles like needles, startling her fully awake. She twisted the tap and splashed water on her face. The icy shock clung to her skin, sliding down her cheeks, gathering at her collarbone. Droplets clung to her eyelashes, heavy enough to make her blink twice before lifting her gaze to the mirror.

The reflection staring back wasn’t simply her face.

It was a woman worn thin by quiet battles.
A woman who had carried too much for too long.
A woman who had spent nights convincing her own heart not to break under the weight of choices she hadn’t made lightly.

Her grip tightened on the sink’s edge until her knuckles flushed pale.

“No, Kiara,” she whispered, her voice barely steady, but hers all the same. “You do this. You came this far.”

The mirror seemed to lean closer, as if demanding she believe herself.

She inhaled deeply slow, grounding, familiar.
“We are not going to ruin our self-respect,” she said, more firmly this time. “Not now.”

She let the words settle. Let them become armor.

She changed into something soft and comfortable, brushed out her hair until it fell in calmer waves around her shoulders, then stepped back into the bedroom. Her phone blinked on the nightstand with a quiet insistence on missed calls, unread messages, little digital reminders that life outside this room was still moving.

She unlocked it, her thumb trembling just slightly, and skimmed through her emails. One message made her breath catch not out of fear, but out of the unmistakable sense of a page turning. Documents attached. The ones she had been waiting for. The ones that could change the architecture of her life.

She opened the message and typed quickly, fingers tapping with a precision born of purpose.

Send this to me in a copy.

Her thumb hovered over the send button for only a fraction of a second before she tapped it. The message whisked itself away, leaving a small aftertaste of adrenaline beneath her tongue.

Just then, footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Slow. Heavy. Familiar.

She placed the phone face-down on the bed, as if hiding it beneath a simple gesture could hide the truth beneath her ribs. She straightened her posture, smoothing the hem of her shirt, schooling her face into the calm she needed him to see.

The door opened.

Aryansh entered with a tray that held a simple breakfast toast, a bowl of some warm broth, a glass of water. Nothing extravagant, but every element placed with deliberate care. His hair was still slightly messy from the night he hadn’t really slept; his eyes carried shadows shaped like worry.

When he saw her awake and sitting upright, something in his expression softened, thawing just a little around the edges.

“You should be lying down,” he said, barely above a whisper.

Before she could object before she could remind him she was capable of holding a spoon he sat beside her and lifted the plate.

“I’ll feed you,” he said gently, leaving no space for argument. “You need to regain strength.”

His voice softened further, almost dissolving. “And… I don’t want you moving around too much.”

He offered her the first bite, hand steady but eyes uncertain.

She looked at him really looked at him.
He wasn’t trying to control her.
He wasn’t trying to cage her.
He was scared.

Scared in the quiet, helpless way people get when something they cherish starts slipping through their fingers and they don’t know how to hold on without hurting it.

She opened her mouth slightly, accepting the spoonful he offered. Warm food slid down her throat, but the heaviness that followed wasn’t from the meal.

It was the weight of everything she hadn’t told him.
Everything she was preparing behind the shelter of silence.
Everything that would shift the ground beneath them when she finally said it aloud.

His gaze lingered on her face, searching for signs she didn’t want him to find.

“Does it hurt?” he asked softly.

She nodded faintly. “A little.”

He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear with gentle, trembling fingers. “Just rest. Let me take care of you today.”

She managed a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Okay.”

But inside her chest, something bruised and tender pressed against her ribs.

Because as she swallowed the next bite he offered, she wasn’t just eating.

She was swallowing the truth she hadn’t spoken.
The plan she had already set in motion.
The future that was inching closer, quietly, steadily, inevitably.

And for a fleeting moment, she wished the truth didn’t taste so much like goodbye.

Just then, Kiara’s phone buzzed again a tiny vibration against the blanket, barely noticeable to the world, but loud enough inside her chest to drown out every other sound.

Aryansh was still in the room, stacking the empty bowls on the tray.
She didn’t reach for it, she couldn't while he was there,not with his eyes so full of worry because of her yesterday's fever

Only when he lifted the tray and said softly, “I’ll go wash these. Don’t get up,” did she allow herself to breathe again.

“Okay,” she murmured.

He walked out with slow, dragging footsteps. Not completely silent,she could hear him,but soft in the way someone walks when they don’t want to disturb you. Familiar footsteps. Safe footsteps. Footsteps that made her chest ache.

The moment the door clicked closed behind him, she snatched her phone.

One notification.
Her lawyer.

The papers are done. Will be sent in a week.

The words punched the air out of her lungs.

One week.

The exact week of their one-year anniversary.

Her fingers tightened around the phone.
“Of all days…” she whispered. “It had to be then?”

From the kitchen came faint sounds,clattering utensils, the soft splash of running water, the metallic ring of a spoon tapping a plate. Domestic sounds. Ordinary sounds. Sounds that should have meant comfort.

Instead, they broke her.

She pressed a shaky hand to her mouth. “A week,” she repeated, breath shivering. “I thought I would have more time, I would be more happy.”

Her phone slipped slightly in her grip. She turned it face-down on the bed just as footsteps began returning down the hallway. She forced her posture straight, forced her breathing calm, forced her heart back behind its defenses.

The door opened.

Aryansh stepped inside, drying his hands with a towel.
“You didn’t lie down,” he said gently.

“I’m fine,” she replied too quickly.

His brows drew together. “You’re not fine. You can barely sit straight.”

“I said I’m fine,” she repeated, softer this time, careful.

He walked closer, worry etched plainly across his face. “Kiara… if you’re feeling worse, you need to tell me. Please.”

She swallowed. “I’m managing.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking slightly beneath his weight. His voice was quiet, rough. “You scared me last night.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“You were burning up,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I kept thinking… what if something happened and I didn’t”

“Nothing happened,” she cut in quickly. “I’m right here.”

“Yeah.” His voice lowered. “Right now.”

The words lingered,heavy, aching, true in a way neither of them wanted to unpack.

Kiara’s gaze slipped to the phone she had turned upside-down. Its dark screen felt like a secret staring back at her.

He noticed. “Someone messaged you?”

“Just work stuff,” she said, keeping her tone steady.

“Work?” His frown deepened. “You’re still sick. They shouldn’t be bothering you.”

“It’s nothing urgent.”

“You sure?” he asked softly. “If someone’s stressing you, just tell me.”

Her chest twisted tight.
“I can handle it.”

He looked at her for a long moment really looking or perhaps,searching her expression for cracks.

“You always try to handle everything alone,” he said quietly.

“And you always try to fix everything,” she replied.

A beat.
A realization settling between them.

“I just want you okay,I can’t lose you again” he whispered.

“I know.”

And she did.
That was the part that made it hurt more.

He reached out and adjusted the blanket around her shoulders, tucking it with the same gentleness he had used while cooling her fever the night before.

“I thought maybe tonight we could watch something together,” he said. “Something light. Just… stay close. That’s all I want.”

Something inside her trembled.
She hid it with a small nod.

“Okay.”

He let out a breath of relief and stood. “I’ll make tea for you. Something mild.”

“Alright.”

As soon as he stepped out again, Kiara closed her eyes.

Her whisper barely left her lips.

“On our anniversary… in a week…”

Her hand pressed against her chest, trying to hold the pieces steady.

“How am I supposed to tell you?”

Beside her, the silent phone lay like a countdown.

He was trying to hold on.
She was preparing to let go.

In the kitchen, the tea kettle whistled softly
a reminder that time was moving forward,
even when her heart begged it to stop.