Aadhya’s POV The house didn’t sleep. It only softened. When I came out after freshening up, wrapped in the nightwear he had chosen with quiet care, I felt it again—that presence. Not people. Not cameras. Him. As if the entire space was calibrated around where he stood. He hadn’t moved. He was still there, near the window, jacket off now, sleeves rolled up, phone lying untouched on the table. When he turned, his gaze settled on me with a gentleness that felt almost unreal after everything I had seen that day. “Come,” he said softly. “Eat.” Food waited between us, warm and simple. Not excessive. Not performative. He watched until I sat, until I took the first bite. Only then did he eat. Every minute he stayed with me. Outside these walls, the world bent. Inside them, he slowed. “You didn’t leave,” I said quietly. “I won’t tonight,” he replied. That word—won’t—carried more weight than can’t ever could. As the night stretched on, I noticed the details. How his phone lit up,
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