Morning light filtered through jasmine vines in the hidden rooftop garden, painting golden patterns across the marble floor. Aanya stirred on the low silk divan, draped in champagne-colored cushions, still half-lost in the warmth of Vihaan’s arms. He lay beside her, face softened by sleep, one arm curved protectively around her waist. The steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek was more comforting than any memory she could recall.

She lingered there, her senses drinking in every detail. The faint scent of sandalwood clung to his shirt. A single jasmine blossom nestled in his hair. The whispered murmur of the fountain below formed a soothing backdrop. And beneath it all, the echo of a love she’d once known so well—only to have it vanish in the dark.