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AAVYA RAJAWAT

I shifted slowly beneath the duvet, the fabric rustling softly with my movement. The air felt cool against my bare shoulder, a stark contrast to the warm breath that brushed across my neck. I froze, my heart skipping a beat, then turned cautiously—drawn to the source of the heat beside me.

Vihaan. He was still asleep.

Strands of his dark hair had fallen over his forehead, slightly messy yet impossibly perfect. There was a softness to his features that I rarely got to see when he was awake—none of that guarded intensity or sharp-edged control. Just peace. Innocence. The kind of look that could make you forget the storms he carried inside him.