Abhimaan SS-Bounded By Fate

The morning arrived gently, with soft golden sunlight streaming through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room. The air was still, save for the faint rustling of leaves outside, the distant chirping of birds breaking the silence. The curtains swayed slightly with the morning breeze, carrying in the crisp scent of a new day. 

The room was bathed in hues of gold and cream, reflecting the serenity of the morning. It bore the quiet remnants of the night before—the slight disarray of the bedsheets, the half-folded blanket at the edge of the bed, and the neatly stacked pillows that had formed an invisible wall between them. 

On one side of the bed, Abhira stirred. She stretched lazily, blinking as the sunlight kissed her face, coaxing her out of sleep. The warmth seeped into her skin, and with a slow breath, she turned slightly, her gaze unconsciously drifting towards the other side of the bed. 

Armaan lay on his stomach, his face half-buried in the pillow, his mouth slightly open. His hair was tousled, strands falling over his forehead in a disheveled mess. His even breaths rose and fell in a steady rhythm, oblivious to the world stirring around him. 

A faint, unknown smile crept onto Abhira’s lips before she realized it. She didn’t know why, but something about this sight—this unguarded moment—made her pause. Her thoughts drifted back to the previous day, to the way he had been there for her, without expectation, without hesitation. The way he had caught her when she had nearly collapsed, the way he had insisted she take care of herself, the silent ways he had ensured she was okay. 

Shaking herself from the thought, she slowly sat up, careful not to wake him. She set her side of the bed first, smoothing the sheets and placing the pillows back in their place. A quiet sense of order settled in her movements as she made her way to get ready for the day. 

By the time she stepped out, dressed and ready for office, she found Armaan awake. He was setting his side of the bed, running a hand through his still-messy hair in an attempt to tame it. He noticed her briefly but said nothing, merely nodding as he continued his task. 

The morning unfolded in a quiet calm. 

They moved about the room, each engaged in their own routine yet subtly aware of the other. Abhira straightened the scattered cushions on the couch, and Armaan noticed, silently placing her hairbrush back in its spot when he saw it left on the dresser. She picked up his scattered files and placed them neatly on the table, and he, in turn, adjusted the blanket she had draped over the chair. 

There were no words exchanged, no explicit gestures of gratitude or acknowledgment—just an unspoken understanding in the little things. A routine that neither had planned but somehow existed between them. 

As the morning sun climbed higher, the quiet moments stretched, lingering in the space between them. It was just another day, yet something about it felt different. A silent shift, small and almost imperceptible, but there nonetheless.

Abhira made her way to the kitchen, rolling up her sleeves, ready to help with the morning’s breakfast preparations. The house had begun to hum with the usual morning chatter, but as she neared the kitchen, an unmistakable smell reached her nose. She stopped mid-step, her expression twisting into a grimace. 

“Oh no…” she muttered under her breath. 

Just then, Aryan and Krish emerged from the kitchen, both looking thoroughly defeated. Krish clutched his protein shake like it was his last hope of survival, while Aryan heaved a sigh so dramatic that it could have belonged to a tragic hero in a play. 

“What happened to you two?” Abhira asked, folding her arms. 

Aryan groaned. “The horror, Abhira Bhabhi. The absolute horror!”