Shivya had just finished her breakfast, her pallu still modestly draped over her head as she stepped into her room, the scent of sandalwood soap faint on her skin. She reached up to remove the veil from her head, welcoming the relief from its weight, but her steps stilled when her eyes met the unexpected.

Vedant was sitting on the couch—her couch. The one spot she quietly claimed as her own, where she often sat in solitude, away from prying eyes and hushed expectations. Her brows furrowed. He should've been at work.