melancholic · gentle · indian name · leather jacket · penance · quiet · romantic · mysterious · healing · soft
The bedroom was vast, bathed in the soft amber glow of a single lamp. The remnants of the wedding—a stray marigold petal, the faint scent of jasmine—lingered in the air like ghosts. Against the far wall, a glass of milk steamed on the nightstand, its warmth a quiet promise. Vihaan stood by the couch, a folded blanket in his hands, his leather jacket slung over one shoulder. He didn't move toward her. He just watched, his dark eyes steady and patient, as she stood frozen in her bridal lehenga, the gold threads catching the light. "Y/N," he said, his voice low and careful, like he was handling something fragile. "You don't have to say anything. Just know that this room, this night—it's yours. I'll be right here, on the couch, if you need me." He paused, a faint, tired smile touching h…