Tie Knot

The mandap stood like a glowing beacon in the vast courtyard of the palace. Draped in cascading marigold garlands and strings of jasmine, it seemed to shimmer under the golden light of intricately carved chandeliers hanging from the open sky above. The floor of the mandap was an artwork of flower petals arranged in mesmerizing patterns, their scent mingling with the faint hum of temple bells echoing in the distance.

Around the mandap, flickering oil lamps cast dancing shadows, giving the scene an ethereal glow. The palace itself loomed majestically in the background, its walls adorned with centuries-old frescoes that whispered tales of grandeur and tradition. The atmosphere was serene, almost hypnotic, with the rhythmic chants of the priest weaving an invisible thread of divine energy through the air.

Then came a shift.

As the palace doors creaked open, the tranquil energy thickened, an unspoken anticipation rippling through the few who stood in attendance. The sound of measured footsteps echoed against the marble floor, heralding his arrival. Shiv Choudhary stepped forward, and the very air seemed to hold its breath.

Dressed in a maroon sherwani embroidered with delicate gold zari work, he was the epitome of regal elegance. The sherwani fit him like a second skin, its intricate patterns reflecting the light in just the right way to enhance his broad shoulders and tapered frame. A deep gold stole draped loosely over one shoulder added a touch of opulence, while a bejeweled turban with a single, striking emerald rested perfectly atop his head.

But it wasn’t just his attire that commanded attention—it was the aura he carried. His sharp jawline, shadowed slightly by a hint of stubble, and piercing eyes gave him a magnetic presence that made it impossible to look away. His every movement was deliberate, exuding authority and control, yet his face remained emotionless, a mask that betrayed none of the storm beneath.

As Shiv entered the courtyard, even the gentle night breeze seemed to hush, as if bowing to his dominance. The bodyguards stationed around the perimeter stood straighter, their eyes locked on him like he was a deity descended among men.

Shiv paused just before the mandap, his gaze sweeping over the sacred setup. The faintest smirk ghosted across his lips as he removed his shoes with practiced grace, setting them neatly aside. His bare feet touched the cool marble steps of the mandap, and he climbed with the confidence of someone stepping into a battlefield he was destined to win.

Reaching the top, Shiv turned to the priest, who paused his chants and offered a respectful bow. Without hesitation, Shiv bent slightly and touched the priest’s feet, his actions imbued with a surprising humility that contrasted starkly with his commanding presence.

As Shiv straightened, his eyes, sharp as a hawk's, lifted toward the aisle. For a moment, the world seemed to blur, the opulence around him fading into insignificance. His gaze was fixed, unwavering, awaiting her arrival.

The soft rustle of fabric and the distant hum of footsteps hinted at what was to come, but Shiv didn’t move. He stood rooted to the spot, the quiet tension in his posture betraying the storm of thoughts racing through his mind. For anyone watching, it was as if he had transformed the already magical mandap into the heart of a tale, one where he was both the hero and the enigma.

As the grand doors creaked open, the melodious strains of the shehnai filled the air, rising in a crescendo of celebration. The sound echoed through the courtyard, blending seamlessly with the faint rustle of the evening breeze. All eyes turned toward the entrance as Arya stepped forward, her presence as striking as a goddess descending to the earth.

She was a vision in a red Banarasi saree, its intricate gold embroidery glinting in the soft light of the chandeliers above. The heavy pallu was draped elegantly over her shoulder, cascading like molten fire. Her jewelry was understated yet regal—a necklace of uncut diamonds resting lightly against her collarbone and bangles chiming softly with her every step. Her hair was gathered into a traditional bun adorned with fresh jasmine flowers, their fragrance wafting around her like a delicate halo.

Beside her was Meera, her face alight with both pride and awe, while the bodyguards, clad in crisp uniforms, held the chadar above Arya’s head with precision. The soft silk fabric of the chadar was embroidered with gold and crimson threads, framing Arya in a canopy of majesty.

Arya lifted her eyes as she moved forward, her gaze locking onto Shiv, who stood tall on the mandap. His figure, silhouetted against the flickering lamps, seemed larger than life, a force that drew her closer with every step. The distance between them felt both infinite and shrinking, like the pull of gravity itself was at work.

As she walked slowly toward him, a faint voice emerged from the depths of her memory, like a whisper carried on the wind.

"Will you protect me?" The voice was soft, innocent, filled with the unguarded vulnerability of a young girl. It echoed in her mind, pulling her momentarily away from the present. Arya blinked, her eyes darting around as if searching for the source of the sound, but her feet never faltered.

Her gaze returned to Shiv, and another voice surfaced, this time deep and resolute.

"No matter what, I’ll be the stillness holding your storm."

It was the voice of a boy, firm yet gentle, a promise wrapped in steel. The weight of those words pressed against her chest as if tethering her to an unspoken truth, one she had long buried.

Arya’s steps slowed slightly as she neared the mandap, her eyes scanning every detail—the golden garlands that swayed gently in the breeze, the intricate patterns of the petals at her feet, and the guarded expressions of the bodyguards who stood like statues.

Her gaze flickered to Shiv once more. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes carried something—a storm she couldn’t quite decipher. The memory of those voices lingered, intertwining with the present moment as if the past and present were converging in that sacred space.

Meera noticed Arya’s subtle hesitation and leaned in slightly, whispering under her breath, “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Arya didn’t respond, her lips tightening as she tried to shake off the feeling. Whatever this was—this collision of memories and reality—she wasn’t going to let it show.

She reached the base of the mandap stairs, her heart thudding in rhythm with the shehnai. Shiv stepped forward, his movements deliberate, and extended his hand toward her. For a fleeting moment, the world seemed to pause as Arya placed her hand in his, their touch grounding the swirling chaos in her mind.

Arya carefully ascended the mandap stairs, her steps measured and graceful. She folded her hands and greeted the pandit with a slight bow of her head, her movements imbued with quiet elegance. Shiv stood beside her, his posture commanding yet serene, his hands mirroring her gesture. The golden flames of the agni kund flickered between them, casting a warm glow that danced across their faces, creating an almost ethereal tableau.

The rituals began, and the pandit chanted sacred verses, his voice deep and resonant. First, the jaimala ceremony commenced. Shiv picked up the garland, its marigold and jasmine flowers strung together with delicate threads. With a soft, steady hand, he gently placed it around Arya’s neck, his gaze unwavering as if sealing a silent promise.

Arya picked up her own garland, glancing at Shiv. Though just slightly shorter than him, she easily reached up to drape it over his broad shoulders. Their heights complemented each other so well that the act seemed effortless.

Meera, standing to the side with her arms crossed, seized the moment to tease. “Ah, now I see why my daughter has inherited such height. She needs to wrap a leash around her man without standing on her toes! Efficiency runs in the family,” she quipped, her voice dripping with mischief.

The pandit paused mid-chant, barely suppressing a chuckle, while Arya shot Meera a playful glare. Shiv, ever composed, allowed the faintest curve of a smile to touch his lips.

The ring exchange followed, and the moment felt oddly intimate despite the formalities. Shiv slid the delicate gold ring onto Arya’s finger with a precision that felt almost reverent, while Arya mirrored the gesture, her hands steady yet deliberate.

When the time came for the mangalsutra, Shiv leaned forward slightly as the pandit handed him the sacred thread. His fingers worked with quiet confidence as he clasped it around Arya’s neck, the black beads and gold pendant resting softly against her skin. The moment the thread settled in place, Arya felt a slight tug—a small reminder of its weight and meaning.

As Shiv prepared the sindoor, the air seemed to grow heavier with anticipation. He carefully took the pinch of vermillion, his movements deliberate as he applied it to the parting in Arya’s hair. A small speck fell onto her nose, and Meera’s voice chimed in immediately, “Ah, they say sindoor on the nose means your husband will love you to the moon and back! Arya, seems like you’ve hit the jackpot.”

Arya’s cheeks flushed as Shiv glanced at her, an amused flicker in his eyes.

Finally, it was time for the pheras. Meera approached to tie the knot between Arya’s saree and Shiv’s stole. “Don’t mind me, but I’m making this knot tighter than my own life savings,” she said with mock seriousness, pulling the knot with such vigor that even Shiv raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not a bungee cord, Meera,” Shiv commented dryly, his voice carrying just the right amount of amusement to earn a snicker from one of the bodyguards nearby.

The pheras began, and Shiv offered his hand to Arya. She took it, their fingers briefly intertwining as they started circling the sacred fire. With each step, the pandit’s chants filled the air, their words resonating with promises of companionship, love, and mutual respect. The flames seemed to roar higher with each circle, as if blessing the union with their vibrant energy.

When the rituals were complete, Arya and Shiv bowed before the pandit, seeking his blessings. The solemnity of the moment hung in the air, but it was not devoid of warmth. As they rose, Shiv extended his hand once more, steady and sure, and Arya placed hers in his, their union now sealed by sacred vows and shared moments.

Meera, watching from the sidelines, sighed dramatically. “Well, there goes my Arya. Off to rule another kingdom. Just remember who the original queen is, alright?”

The pandit laughed softly, and even Shiv’s lips quirked upward at Meera’s antics. Arya, on the other hand, rolled her eyes, her lips curving into a faint smile as they prepared to step into the next chapter of their lives.

As the marriage rituals concluded, the priest declared the ceremony complete, and the air of Meera, clutching a small bag of Arya’s belongings, suddenly broke into a loud, exaggerated sniffle that echoed across the grand palace hall.

“Damad ji!” she wailed, her voice trembling with over-the-top emotion, “please promise me you’ll take care of my daughter. She’s stubborn, but her heart is pure! She’s my treasure!”

Arya, already rolling her eyes so hard it looked like they might stick, crossed her arms. “Stubborn? Says the woman who cried for three days because someone scratched her car.”

But Arya couldn’t resist joining the act. She folded her hands together, tilting her head as if she were auditioning for a tragic soap opera. “Mother, I’ll miss you dearly. I promise to wake up at the crack of dawn, cook for the entire family, and—”

Meera cut her off, waving her pallu dramatically. “No, my child! You’ll do no such thing. Damad ji will hire chefs! You must remain the queen you are!”

Shiv, observing the spectacle with an arched brow, finally spoke. “If this continues, I might actually think twice about this marriage,” he said, the dry humor in his voice making Arya smirk.

Just as they thought it couldn’t get any more ridiculous, a muffled sniffle caught everyone’s attention. Shiv and Aman turned toward the sound, only to find one of the burly bodyguards wiping a tear from his eye.

Aman’s jaw dropped. “Is he… is he crying?”

Before Shiv could respond, another bodyguard—just as burly—moved to console his colleague, patting his shoulder gently. “It’s okay, bro. Weddings are emotional.”

Aman was about to crack a joke when, out of nowhere, Meera upped her theatrics. She grabbed her pallu, clutched it over her head, and began singing in a hoarse, off-key voice, “Babul ki duaayein leti jaa…”

The two bodyguards, clearly inspired by Meera’s performance, joined in. One held her by the arm like an overly sentimental aunt, while the other fanned her dramatically with a handkerchief.

Arya stared at the scene, utterly incredulous. “This… this is what I’m marrying into?” she asked, side-eyeing Shiv.

Shiv, for his part, looked like he was questioning his entire existence. “I’m not sure if this is a wedding or the world’s weirdest improv class,” he muttered.

Meera wasn’t done. She lunged forward, grabbing Arya in a bone-crushing hug. “Oh, my sweet child! If that husband of yours so much as raises his voice, just call me! I’ll come flying with my slippers!”

Arya groaned, patting Meera on the back. “Mother, you’re embarrassing me. And stop singing—you’re scaring the bodyguards.”

“I’m not embarrassing you; I’m creating memories!” Meera retorted before bursting into fake sobs again.

Aman couldn’t hold back anymore. “Shiv, I think your bodyguards might need therapy after this. I know I do.”

Finally, Arya snatched the bag from Meera, glaring at her but with a trace of a smile. “Alright, enough drama. Let’s go before someone writes a Bollywood script about this.”

As Arya and Shiv turned to leave, Meera called out, “Take care of her, damad ji! And remember, if she gives you trouble, send her back to me! I’ll straighten her out!”

Arya groaned, glancing at Shiv. “If you hear her singing that song again, just pretend you don’t know us.”

Shiv, barely holding back a chuckle, replied, “Deal.”

As Arya and Shiv settled into the car, the faint hum of the engine filled the air. Shiv leaned back, his gaze fixed out of the window, while Arya stared out of her own, lost in thought. A sudden burst of Meera, the same woman who had been wailing like a soap opera heroine just moments ago, was now back to her glamorous self. She adjusted her dupatta dramatically, reapplying her lipstick like she was prepping for a red carpet event. Then, to everyone’s utter disbelief, she turned to the burly bodyguards—Shiv’s stone-faced, muscle-bound security detail—and started barking orders like a film director.

“Move to the left! No, not there, the light’s all wrong!” Meera waved her hand impatiently. “Click it from above—higher! I need the slimming angle!”

One of the bodyguards, a towering hulk of a man, obediently crouched and angled the phone upward, his expression oddly solemn for someone holding a floral-patterned phone case. The other bodyguard, who usually resembled a human tank, now held Meera’s pallu like an overzealous assistant, fluffing it for maximum drama.

Arya’s jaw dropped. “Are they… are they seriously taking her photos?”

Shiv’s usual calm demeanor faltered. His brow furrowed as he leaned forward, squinting at the mirror. “That’s my head of security. He wrestled a bear once. A bear, Arya. And now he’s…” Shiv trailed off, gesturing helplessly at the scene.

Meera, oblivious to their shock, struck a new pose, her hand delicately touching her cheek. “Make sure the background isn’t cluttered! Shiv’s mandap needs to be the centerpiece—show the grandeur!”

The second bodyguard, still holding the pallu, nodded earnestly, adjusting the angle again. “Yes, Ma’am,” he said with surprising conviction.

Arya blinked. “Is this real life?”

Shiv, who rarely displayed anything other than composure, looked genuinely rattled. “How… how did this happen? These men are trained to take a bullet for me, and now they’re—what is he doing?!”

The first bodyguard had climbed onto a stool for a better angle, precariously balancing as he zoomed in on Meera’s face.

“They’re her entourage now,” Arya deadpanned, leaning back in her seat. “Congratulations, your security team has been upgraded to Meera’s personal glam squad.”

As they turned a corner and Meera finally disappeared from view, Arya shook her head in disbelief. “What even was that?”

“I don’t know,” Shiv muttered, running a hand through his hair. “But I’m giving them all a pay cut.”

Arya smirked. “Oh, don’t be salty. Maybe Meera can train you to find your good angles.”

Shiv shot her a sideways glance, his lips twitching with the hint of a smile. But the humor was short-lived as Arya’s voice turned monotone. “So… where exactly are we going?”

Shiv exhaled, leaning back in his seat. “To the hotel first. In five hours, we leave for Gurgaon.”

As the word Gurgaon echoed in Arya’s mind, flashes of the accident and the haunting cry for her mother came rushing back. Her breathing quickened, and she closed her eyes tightly, trying to steady herself. Shiv noticed the tension that gripped her and immediately pulled out his handkerchief, gently offering it to her. "Here," he said softly.

Arya grabbed the hanky and pressed it against her face, taking a deep breath to calm down. After a moment, she lowered the hanky and said, her voice tinged with irritation, "Why didn’t you inform me earlier?"

Shiv leaned casually against the car door, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "I thought it was predictable," he replied with a teasing glint in his eyes.

Arya narrowed her gaze, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she retorted, "Sure. Marrying you, I should’ve known to get used to surprises."

Shiv chuckled softly, but Arya wasn’t done. She straightened her posture and said firmly, "From now on, listen carefully—I’m your wife. You must discuss these things with me." Her tone was authoritative yet laced with just a hint of exasperation, making it clear she wasn’t in the mood for more surprise

.Shiv’s smirk deepened into a full smile, his eyes gleaming with amusement as Arya’s authoritative tone rang through. He liked it—the firmness, the way she didn’t hold back. But before he could respond, Arya caught the smile.

“Why are you smiling like that?” she snapped, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

They stood in the soft glow of the hotel’s driveway, the warm amber lights bouncing off the sleek black car behind them. The faint hum of distant city traffic filled the air, but for them, the world seemed to narrow into this moment.

“I’m not smiling,” Shiv said, biting his lip to suppress the grin that refused to fade. His attempt to look serious only made it worse.

Arya crossed her arms, tilting her head as if trying to dissect his expression. “Oh, you absolutely are. Do you think this is funny?”

“Not funny,” he replied, his tone light but with a playful edge. “I just think it’s cute when you’re bossy.”

Arya’s jaw dropped, and her eyes widened in mock offense. “Bossy? Excuse me! That’s called being responsible. You should try it sometime.”

Shiv leaned slightly closer, his smile softening. “If it means hearing you talk to me like that, I just might.”

Arya’s lips twitched, betraying a small smile before she quickly covered it with an exaggerated eye roll. “Unbelievable,” she muttered, turning toward the hotel entrance, her steps brisk but with a noticeable hint of a grin.

Behind her, Shiv chuckled, following at an easy pace, thoroughly enjoying the fiery energy she brought to their dynamic

he car pulled up to the entrance of the grand hotel, a towering structure of modern elegance and timeless charm. The exterior gleamed with polished glass panels reflecting the evening lights, and a lush red carpet stretched from the driveway to the main doors, bordered by perfectly manicured greenery. Golden chandeliers spilled their warm glow onto the marble flooring inside, visible even from the entrance, exuding opulence.

As the car came to a halt, the hotel staff immediately sprang into action. Two doormen, dressed in crisp uniforms adorned with golden buttons, stepped forward, their posture straight and professional. Behind them, a young man holding a bouquet of fresh lilies and roses nervously adjusted his tie. The staff exchanged quick, hushed words, their demeanor a mix of anticipation and awe—it wasn’t every day they received someone of Shiv’s stature.

The moment Shiv stepped out, the team greeted him in unison, their voices slightly shaky. "Welcome, Mr. Shiv. We’re honored to have you." The man with the bouquet handed it to Arya, bowing slightly. "And welcome, ma’am," he added, his tone a blend of respect and nervousness as he handed over the bouquet.

Arya glanced at Shiv, raising a brow at the lavish greeting, but he merely offered a polite nod, his usual composed self. She accepted the bouquet with a small, courteous smile, noting how every staff member seemed to be watching Shiv’s every move, careful not to falter.

A poised female staff member, dressed impeccably in a tailored uniform, stepped forward to escort Arya. "This way, ma’am," she said, gesturing toward the elevator with a warm but professional smile.

As they walked through the lobby, Arya couldn’t help but take in the surroundings. The sheer grandeur was overwhelming—gleaming marble floors, intricately carved pillars, and a massive, cascading crystal chandelier that dominated the ceiling. The air smelled faintly of lavender and sophistication, a signature fragrance of the hotel.

The staff member led Arya to the private elevator reserved for the presidential suite. "Your room is ready, ma’am," she said softly, pressing a button. As the elevator doors closed, Arya felt a momentary wave of awe at the sheer scale of luxury around her.

As Arya entered the presidential suite, the sheer grandeur of the space left her momentarily speechless. The room was a perfect blend of sophistication and indulgence—a sprawling space with polished marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the glittering city skyline, and plush furnishings in warm tones of gold and cream. A chandelier with cascading crystals hung in the center, casting soft, ambient light over the room. The bed, draped in luxurious satin sheets, sat beneath a canopy of delicate lace. Rose petals were scattered across the bedding, and the faint aroma of fresh blooms mingled with the soothing notes of lavender from the diffusers.

She walked over to the bed, her heels clicking softly against the floor, and sat down with a sigh of relief. One by one, she removed her heels, letting them drop to the plush carpet with a dull thud. She leaned back slightly, her hands reaching up to unfasten her earrings, followed by her necklace, placing them neatly on the side table. Her fingers then moved to her hair, undoing the tight bun. As the pins fell away, her hair tumbled down, releasing the flowers nestled within. She gently shook her head, letting them scatter onto the bed.

Taking a deep breath, Arya turned toward the mirror, her fingers fumbling to reach the zipper of her blouse. She tried once, then again, frustration mounting with each failed attempt. Her shoulders stiffened as irritation began to bubble within her. Closing her eyes, she exhaled deeply, willing herself to find the courage to keep trying.

Suddenly, she felt it—a cold, firm hand gliding up her back, tracing the path of the stubborn zipper. Her entire body froze, a shiver racing down her spine. She opened her eyes but didn’t dare turn fully, her reflection in the mirror showing Shiv standing behind her, his expression calm and composed.

“Shh,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “Let me help you.”

The atmosphere shifted instantly. The air between them grew heavier, charged with an unspoken tension. His hand moved deliberately, sliding the zipper down in a slow, fluid motion. The sound of it echoed softly in the otherwise silent room.

As the blouse loosened, Shiv leaned in slightly, his breath warm against her neck. “For someone so determined, you do find the simplest things challenging,” he said with a faint smirk, his tone laced with sarcasm.

Arya caught his gaze in the mirror, her eyes narrowing slightly as she retorted, “Enjoying this, are you?” Her words were sharp, but there was a teasing edge that caught Shiv off guard.

He hesitated for a moment, but his hands remained where they were, resting lightly on her waist. His expression faltered briefly, betraying a flicker of surprise, before his usual composure returned.

“And if you’ve had enough admiring my back,” Arya continued, her tone calm but her cheeks warming under the intensity of his gaze, “can I go change now?”

Shiv stepped back, his hands falling away reluctantly. Arya stood, her movements fluid and composed, though her heart raced uncontrollably. She walked toward the bathroom with an effortless grace, disappearing behind the door.

Inside, she pressed a hand against her chest, feeling the rapid thrum of her heartbeat. Closing her eyes, she steadied herself, the memory of Shiv’s touch and the charged tension lingering in her mind

Inside the bathroom, Arya splashed cold water on her face, letting the coolness calm the storm inside her. She looked up at her reflection, water dripping from her chin, and muttered, “This is driving me insane.” She wiped her face briskly and changed into her cozy pullover t-shirt and matching co-ord set, hoping the comfortable attire would soothe her frayed nerves.

Meanwhile, Shiv was in the suite’s bedroom, his sherwani neatly discarded on a chair. He slipped into a soft cotton shirt and loose pants, opting for a relaxed look. As he laid back against the headboard, resting his head on the corner of the bed, his eyes wandered to his hand. He flexed it slightly, remembering the brief but electric touch of Arya’s skin. A faint smile crossed his lips before he clenched his fist, shaking his head at himself.

The sound of the bathroom door opening drew his attention. Arya stepped out, her damp hair framing her face, and Shiv’s gaze instinctively found hers. She paused, noticing his intense stare, her cheeks warming slightly under its weight.

He patted the space beside him on the bed and said with a teasing grin, “Don’t be shy. I promise I won’t pound on you tonight.”

Arya raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a mock smile. “How reassuring,” she retorted, moving swiftly to the other side of the bed, clearly determined to put as much distance between them as possible. She sat with her back to him, adjusting her pillow pointedly.

Shiv watched her with amused eyes, resting his chin on his hand. “You know,” he drawled, “it’s rude to turn your back on someone.”

Arya turned her head slightly, her expression a mix of curiosity and challenge, but before she could respond, Shiv leaned over and snatched her pillow.

“You snore when you sleep on a pillow,” he declared, his tone smug.

Arya’s jaw dropped in disbelief, her hands instinctively reaching for the pillow. “I do not!” she protested, but her voice faltered under his unwavering confidence.

“You absolutely do,” Shiv said with a mock-serious expression, clutching the pillow like a trophy.

Left with no argument, Arya huffed and crossed her arms, settling down beside him with a defeated sigh. For a moment, the room grew quiet, save for the soft rustling of the sheets. They both lay there, side by side, their gazes inadvertently meeting.

The atmosphere shifted subtly, the teasing banter fading into a quiet tension. Shiv’s smirk softened as he studied her face, and Arya felt her heart quicken under his unguarded gaze. Neither said a word, but the unspoken connection between them lingered in the charged air, the silence saying far more than words ever could.

rya, still half-asleep, caught Shiv off guard with a soft, unexpected comment. “Your feet are cold,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, as she shifted in the bed, pulling the covers closer around her.

Shiv blinked, momentarily stunned by her words. He opened his mouth, likely to offer some sort of witty retort or defense, but before he could utter a sound, Arya had already dozed off. Her breathing evened out, her features softening into peaceful sleep.

Shiv stared at her for a long moment, the silence in the room almost deafening. His fingers traced the edge of the blanket as he considered her words, and the thought lingered in his mind: Is this what I’ll have to deal with for the rest of my life?

A small, bemused smile tugged at his lips despite himself. He lay back, adjusting his position carefully so as not to disturb her, his gaze continuing to trace her peaceful form. The room, once charged with tension and playful banter, now settled into a quiet serenity.

For the first time that evening, the weight of responsibility seemed to lift slightly. In the calm, he realized that perhaps, no matter how unpredictable or frustrating, moments like these were the ones that made life with Arya bearable—and oddly comforting.

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