Roshni blinked awake to a light stinging her eyes — not harsh, but annoying, like a stubborn thought. Some crack of light had made it through the bent curtain rod and landed right on her face.

She groaned quietly, lifting her hand to shield herself. Her fingers brushed her own cheek, dry and a little sticky with sleep.

She wasn’t in her bed. That was the first thing that registered. The pillow smelled different. The mattress was stiff, and the air was heavier — it smelled of dust, peeled paint, maybe old instant noodles, and… something else.

A warmth behind her. A body.

Her mind scrambled for a second.

Then she slowly turned her head.

And there he was.

Rahat.

Sleeping like a statue on the edge of the bed. His arms close to himself, his face half-buried into the cheap, crumpled bedsheet. His chest rose and fell gently. Hair messed up. Lips slightly parted.

Her eyes lingered longer than they should.

Then it all came back.

The court office. The shaky “Kobul ase.”

The jokes. The dinner. The stupid things she said.

The moment she dragged him to bed like it was normal. Like this was life now.

She buried her face in the pillow for a second.

What the hell was I thinking yesterday?

Still half-asleep, still a bit dazed, she peeked again. Rahat hadn’t moved.

There was something weirdly peaceful about his face — still awkward, still boyish, but not the kind of awkward that made you pity someone. It was the kind that made you want to hold them. Protect them. Maybe even tease them a bit.

And then her eyes drifted downward, and yeah...

There it was.

That small awkward bulge under the blanket.

No shame. No warning. Just... morning.

Roshni bit the inside of her cheek, blinking twice.

Not that she hadn’t heard of it. She wasn’t stupid.

But seeing it there — right next to her, in her bed — made it real. Made him real.

The lean body. The messy hair. The boyish mouth. The hard mattress under them. The crack in the wall.

She could’ve felt grossed out. Or weirded out. Or ashamed.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she just smiled.

Small. Stupid. Sleepy.

Maybe she was still dreaming.

Maybe this boy — this poor, shy, barely-talking web nerd who flinched every time someone looked at him — maybe he really was her husband now.

And she liked the way his skin warmed the sheet.

And the quiet little huff he made in his sleep.

And the way his scent — cheap body spray and maybe shampoo from a few days ago — clung to the air around them.

The room was ugly. But he wasn’t.

The morning was confusing. But not cold.

So she shifted, slow and quiet, and curled one arm over his waist. Her fingers barely touched his shirt.

And then — just a little braver than she thought she was — she rested her head near his shoulder and whispered something even she didn’t understand.

“Ten more minutes.”

And just like that, she closed her eyes again.

_________

Rahat didn’t wake up like heroes do in movies. There was no grand stretch, no birds chirping, no perfect morning light. Just a stiff neck, a sore back, and the weird heat of someone else’s breath tickling his shoulder.

He blinked. Once. Twice.

Something warm was pressed against his side.

His brain kicked in slowly, sluggishly. There was hair in his face. Long. Soft. A faint smell too — sweet, like coconut, maybe shampoo, maybe just her.

He didn’t move. He barely breathed.

Her arm was draped over his chest. Her fingers curled near his collarbone like she fell asleep mid-thought. Her legs—God, her legs—one of them was tangled with his under the blanket, and he was pretty sure his thigh was resting dangerously close to hers.

And then it hit him.

Roshni.

Not a dream. Not a hallucination. She was here.

His wife.

The same girl who stormed into his room, flipped his life upside down, said kobul ase with fire in her eyes, and dragged him into this messed up little fairy tale.

And now she was asleep beside him like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Rahat’s heart started hammering. Not out of panic. Not really.

Just... what the hell was happening?

He turned his head slightly. Just enough to see her face.

Her lips were parted. Not in a seductive way — more like she forgot to close them while dreaming. Her brow was furrowed just a little, like the light was bothering her. But her cheek rested peacefully against his shoulder, and her breathing was steady, soft, like waves in a quiet sea.

He could smell her more clearly now. That faint mix of sweat, warmth, and girl. It was intoxicating.

He didn’t know girls smelled like that. Like something that made your throat go dry without warning.

He swallowed.

His eyes drifted down — not on purpose, just… naturally.

Her chest rose and fell under the blanket, her body curved close into his like she didn’t want any space between them. He could feel the pressure of her. Her thigh against his hip. The warmth of her stomach. Her breath on his neck.

He shifted slightly.

Mistake.

The blanket brushed across his lower half, and yep—there it was again.

That awkward morning curse he thought would be gone by now.

He closed his eyes, mortified. God, no. Please no. Not now.

But she didn’t move. Didn’t wake up. She just… stayed there. Asleep. Peaceful. As if she belonged there.

And maybe she did.

Rahat stared at the ceiling for a while.

His room was still a mess. The cracked wall. The fan that made more noise than wind. The stench of last night’s instant noodles probably still lingering somewhere. His old cracked phone charging on the floor like it could die at any moment.

He didn’t deserve this.

This girl. This moment.

She was way too good for this place. Too pretty. Too confident. Too full of life. And still, she chose to be here. With him.

He looked back at her again.

Her lips moved slightly in her sleep. Maybe dreaming. Maybe whispering.

She looked so young like this. So real. So close.

His chest ached in a weird way. Not pain. Not quite love. Something in between.

A part of him wanted to hold her tighter. Pull her even closer. Kiss her hair. Tell her he’d figure it out somehow.

The other part just wanted to freeze time and never move again. Because reality was coming. Rent. Bills. Her parents. His future. Their everything.

But for now, in this single fragile moment, he wasn't alone anymore.

He let out a small, shaky breath. Then, very slowly, he rested his hand over hers.

Not a grip. Just... enough. Enough to say:

I’m here. I’m trying. I’ll be better. Maybe.

And for the first time in forever, Rahat closed his eyes again — not out of exhaustion, but because sleep next to her felt… safe.