Roohi pov

The soft morning light streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. I blinked awake slowly, feeling the steady rise and fall of Vivaan’s chest beneath my cheek. His arms were wrapped securely around me, as if even in sleep, he wasn’t willing to let me go.

A small smile tugged at my lips. I had never been a morning person, but waking up like this - wrapped in his warmth, listening to his heartbeat—made me wish mornings would last forever.

I tilted my head slightly, looking up at him. His face was peaceful in sleep, his long lashes resting against his cheeks. A strand of his hair had fallen over his forehead, and without thinking, I reached up and gently brushed it away. He stirred slightly, his arms tightening around me before his lips curved into a lazy smile.

“You’re staring,” he murmured, his voice husky from sleep.

I chuckled. “Maybe I just like watching my husband sleep.”

His eyes fluttered open, deep brown meeting mine. “Then I should wake up to this every day,” he said softly, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my back.

I sighed contentedly. “You already do.”

He pulled me closer, burying his face in the crook of my neck. “Let’s stay like this forever.”

I laughed. “As tempting as that sounds, Mr. Chaturvedi, we have a day ahead of us.”

His hold on me tightened. “Nope. Not letting you go.”

I playfully swatted his arm. “Vivaan!”

He groaned but loosened his grip, allowing me to sit up. “Fine, but only because I’m hungry.”

I shook my head fondly. “Come on, let’s get breakfast.”

______________________________________

Later that afternoon, I led him toward the art studio, trying my best to suppress my excitement. “Close your eyes,” I instructed.

Vivaan raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Just trust me,” I said, grabbing his hand.

He sighed but obeyed, and I carefully guided him inside. The moment we stepped in, I whispered, “Okay, open.”

His eyes flickered open, and for a second, he just stood there, staring.

The studio had been transformed. The lighting was brighter, the storage space was more organized, and there was a brand-new easel waiting in the center of the room. On the side, I had framed a collection of his best works, making the place feel more like his own sanctuary.

He turned to me, his expression unreadable. “Roohi…”

“Do you like it?” I asked, suddenly nervous.

Instead of answering, he pulled me into a tight hug. “You did this… for me?”

I nodded against his chest. “You deserve a space that inspires you.”

He exhaled slowly before pulling back, his hands cradling my face. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

I smiled. “Well, you can thank me by painting something just for me.”

He chuckled. “Deal.”

A few days later, Vivaan kept his promise.

“Come here,” he said, patting the seat beside him.

I sat down, watching as he prepared the canvas. “So, what are we painting?”

His lips twitched. “We’re not painting. You are.”

I blinked. “Me?”

“Yes. You said you wanted something just for you. So, I’ll teach you how to paint.”

I hesitated. “But I’ve never painted before.”

He handed me a brush, his fingers brushing against mine. “That’s the fun part.”

I glanced at the blank canvas and then back at him. “Okay. Where do I start?”

Vivaan smiled and dipped the brush in a soft shade of blue. “Here.” He guided my hand, making smooth strokes against the canvas.

At first, I tried to be careful, concentrating hard on every movement. But soon, Vivaan started teasing me.

“Why are you so stiff?” he laughed. “Painting isn’t a math problem.”

I huffed. “Excuse me for trying to be precise.”

“Art is about feeling, not perfection,” he said, dabbing a bit of paint on my nose.

I gasped. “Vivaan!”

He grinned. “What?”

I narrowed my eyes before dipping my fingers into the palette and swiping a streak of red across his cheek.

He stilled for a second before shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

And then—before I could escape—he smeared blue paint across my forehead.

I squealed, trying to dodge, but he was too quick. Soon, we were both covered in paint, laughing like children.

Breathless, I finally collapsed onto the floor, my cheeks aching from smiling so much. Vivaan sat beside me, his face smudged with colors, but his eyes shone with something much deeper.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured.

I rolled my eyes. “I look like a mess.”

He cupped my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. “The most beautiful mess.”

My heart flipped.

He leaned in, his forehead resting against mine. “Thank you, Roohi… for everything.”

I smiled, my fingers tracing the paint on his skin. “Always.”

That night, as we lay in bed, our fingers intertwined, I whispered, “Vivaan?”

“Hmm?”

“Promise me we’ll always be like this?”

He turned to me, his eyes soft. “Like what?”

“Happy,” I said simply.

Vivaan kissed my forehead, his voice a quiet vow. “Always, Roohi. Always.”

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