“These little glimpses of her past... they feel like pieces of a puzzle that make her the woman she is today. I want to preserve them, to paint them into something timeless, so she'll always know how beautifully her journey began.”

Vivaan's POV:

The road stretched out before me as I drove toward Roohi’s house, my hands gripping the steering wheel. The past few days without her had been... different. The house had been unusually quiet without her, and I hadn’t realized until now just how much her presence had started to mean to me.

The warmth of her laughter, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about something she loved, even her quiet moments - they had all become a part of my life in ways I hadn’t expected.

I wasn’t great with words , emotions didn’t come easy. But even in my silence, I had felt her absence deeply.

Her home came into view, and I parked outside, taking a deep breath.

Her father opened the door, his welcoming smile instantly putting me at ease. “Ah, Vivaan beta! Come in, come in!”

“Namaste, Papa,” I said quietly, stepping inside.

Roohi’s mother appeared next, her face lighting up when she saw me. “Vivaan, you’ve come at the perfect time. Lunch is ready, and I’ve made all your favorites,” she said warmly.

“You didn’t have to, Maa,” I said, feeling a little awkward but touched nonetheless. I am genuinely touched by her thoughtfulness. She reminded me of my own mother in so many ways - kind, caring, always putting others first.

“Of course I did,” she said, guiding me to the dining table. “You’re family now.”

As we ate, I stayed mostly silent, letting the easy conversation between her parents fill the space. Roohi sat across from me, occasionally glancing my way.

Her father turned to me with a smile. “Beta, how’s the art work going?”

“It’s... going well, Papa,” I replied, choosing my words carefully. “I’ve been working on a few ideas.”

“I'm  happy to hear it ,” he said. “Roohi’s always so proud of your talent.”

I looked up, surprised, and caught Roohi quickly averting her gaze. A faint smile tugged at my lips.

Her mother leaned forward. “You know, Vivaan, you’ve brought out a different side of her. She talks about you so much --”

“Maa!” Roohi interrupted, her cheeks turning red.

“What? It’s true!” her mother said, laughing.

I cleared my throat, unsure how to respond. “She... talks about me?” I ventured, glancing at Roohi.

“No,” she said quickly, shooting her mother a look.

“She does,” her father teased, and I couldn’t help but smile.

After lunch, Roohi took me to her room to pack. I followed her in silence, my eyes wandering over the space. It was a cozy room, filled with small, thoughtful details - books stacked neatly on a shelf, fairy lights strung along the wall, and a pinboard covered in photos.

“These are nice,” I said quietly, pointing to the photos.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Maa insists on keeping them up as she loves my childhood pictures ,” she said, opening her wardrobe. “I’ve tried to take them down so many times, but she always puts them back.”

I stepped closer, studying the images. There was one of her laughing on a swing, another of her holding a trophy, and a few candid shots with her family. They were pieces of her past, fragments of a story I was still discovering.

I pulled out my phone and snapped a few pictures.

“What are you smiling at?” she asked, turning around unexpectedly.

“Nothing,” I said quickly, slipping my phone back into my pocket.

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further, returning to her packing.

When we were done, her parents hugged her tightly. Her mother’s voice wavered as she said, “Take care of yourself, beta.”

“I will, Maa,” Roohi said softly.

Her father turned to me, his hand resting on my shoulder. “Look after her, Vivaan. She’s precious to us.”

“I will, Papa,” I promised, my voice steady.

The drive back was quiet, but it was a comfortable silence.

“Did you miss me?” Roohi asked suddenly, breaking the stillness.

I hesitated, unsure how to put it into words. “The house felt... different without you,” I said finally.

She smiled, her eyes soft. “I missed you too,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Back home, we unpacked her things together and arranged it in wardrobe.

“You don’t have to help,” she said, glancing at me as I carefully folded one of her sarees.

“I don’t mind,” I said simply.

She paused, watching me for a moment. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

“Am I?”

She laughed softly. “You are.”

Once we were done, I turned to her. “I need to finish something in the studio,” I said. “Will you be okay?”

She nodded. “Of course. Go do your artist thing.”

In the peaceful atmosphere of my studio, I opened the photos I had taken. The girl on the swing, the one holding the trophy, they were pieces of her story that I wanted to preserve.

I picked up my brush, letting the memories guide me. The hours slipped away, and with each stroke, I felt closer to her, as though I were piecing together the fragments of her life.

By the time I returned to our room, it was late. Roohi was already in bed, her breathing soft and steady.

“You’re late,” she murmured as I slipped under the covers.

“Sorry,” I whispered, pulling her close and wrapping my arms around her.

She rested her head against my chest, her voice muffled. “You work too much.”

Her hand found mine, and in the stillness of the night, I felt a peace I couldn’t explain.

She smiled against my chest, and we lay there in silence, the rhythm of our breathing syncing. For the first time in a long time, I felt a sense of contentment I hadn’t known I was missing.

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