Pranay pov:

I felt her stir beside me, soft hair tickling my arm as she shifted.

A tiny groan escaped her lips.
"College..." she mumbled, voice hoarse with sleep, and instead of getting up, she only buried her face deeper into my chest.

I chuckled, my hand lazily tracing circles on her back.
"You said that ten minutes ago," I whispered.

Another groan.
"Don't remind me..."

God, this girl.

Eventually, we did get up , slowly, like two people who had all the time in the world. We made breakfast together well, I made the omelets and she kept stealing slices of buttered toast. She claimed to be "checking the quality."

Right after brushing her hair into a loose bun and slipping into her kurta, she popped her head into the room.
"I need new shoes," she said. "And some stationery stuff. Can we go?"

The way she said it  wide-eyed, hopeful , how could I ever say no?

We went straight to the stationery store first.

She browsed like it was a candy shop. Pens, sticky notes, highlighters in pastel shades — every little thing brought this ridiculous sparkle to her eyes. And when she found a set of washi tapes with floral prints, she actually squealed.

"You're easily pleased," I teased.

"I've never had these before," she said simply, hugging them to her chest.

My heart twisted ,in the good way.

The shoe store was next.

God help me.

She tried every type — sneakers, sandals, slip-ons , walking around with exaggerated steps, doing little "test strolls" while asking for my opinion after each pair.

"This one makes my toe feel fat."

"This one is too tight."

"This one squeaks!"

I laughed more in that hour than I had all week.

She finally settled on a soft beige pair, comfy and neat. She sat down to tie the laces ,and after a few clumsy attempts, looked up with a sheepish pout.

I crouched down and gently took her foot in my hand.
"Let me," I murmured, fingers looping the lace like second nature.

Her eyes softened.
"You're good at this."

 I grinned. 

we had lunch at a cozy restaurant  restaurant tucked in the corner of the street. She kept stealing fries from my plate. I didn't complain.
After that, a spontaneous decision led us to a matinee show. She dozed off midway, head on my shoulder — and I didn't wake her. Watching her sleep peacefully was better than the plotline anyway.

We got home just before the sun dipped behind the buildings.

She was sorting her backpack, checking her assignments, laying out her ID card and water bottle — so meticulous. Meanwhile, I was replying to emails, half-focused, stealing glances at her every now and then.

Then she walked up with a small bowl of oil in her hand, tilting her head.

"Pranu..." she sang, "will you oil my hair?"

How the hell was I supposed to say no to that?

She sat on the floor between my legs, back leaning into me slightly, her hair falling like silk down her spine. I dipped my fingers into the oil, warm and thick, and started massaging her scalp gently.

She moaned  actually moaned ,in delight.
"That's unfair," I chuckled. "You're making it hard to focus."

She giggled and mumbled, "Tell me a story."

So I did. About college. The weird roommate I had. The time I accidentally ended up in a girls' hostel during a photography contest. She added commentary in between — snarky, sleepy, affectionate.

But at some point, she just... stopped.

I turned to find her dozing, head tilted, mouth slightly open.

Asleep. Sitting. Like that.

I laughed under my breath, shaking my head.
God, this girl.

I finished oiling the rest of her hair and braided it loosely. Then I lifted her — she was lighter than she looked — and carried her to our room.

Once we were under the blanket, she instinctively curled into me, a little smile forming even in sleep.

I held her close.

Saisha's pov:

I had barely stepped through the college gates when I heard it.

"Oho! Look who remembered we have classes!"

Riya's voice rang out across the courtyard, and before I could react, she was already looping her arm through mine, grinning wide. Behind her, Neha gave me a look — the kind that said, we know everything without needing to ask.

"Glow much?" she teased. "Either you've found a miracle skincare routine or..."

I rolled my eyes, half-smiling. "Don't even start."

"Oh, we've started," Riya smirked. "You've been away for one weekend and came back looking like you're starring in a romantic web series."

I ducked my head, cheeks warm, but I didn't protest. Because maybe they were right.

It wasn't just the soft new kurta Pranay had insisted I buy. Or the almond oil he'd massaged into my hair the night before — casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world to do.
It was something else.
Something deeper.
Like parts of me I didn't know existed had quietly unfolded ,like petals responding to gentle light.

In class, I caught myself actually answering questions — not because I had to prove anything, but because I felt sure of what I thought. Even during our critique session, when sir commented on my photo series, he paused thoughtfully and said, "Saisha, your framing has changed. There's something more grounded about it now."

I blinked. "Is that good?"

He smiled. "It's honest. That's always good."

My heart swelled.

Later, during lunch, the canteen guy waved me over with a paper bag. "Someone dropped this off for you. Said you'd know."

Inside was a takeaway cappuccino with two hearts drawn on the lid.

And a note.

Still thinking about last night?
Me too.
– P.

I closed my eyes for a second.
My fingers brushed the ink like I could feel his voice in it.

Back in the present, I stared at the coffee cup in my hand.

This... this was what it meant to feel beloved.
Not chained. Not caged. But gently anchored. To someone who didn't just love you — but witnessed you into existence.

I wasn't just Saisha Yadav, the girl who once never left her house at village .

I was Saisha Mishra now.
A woman who walked, spoke, created, and loved — with the kind of quiet confidence that even old fears bowed down to.

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