Two months.

That's how long it had been since Aryan married Diana—two months of shared mornings, quiet meals, teasing glances, and the slow unraveling of layers neither of them had known how to express before. It had been two months of learning each other's rhythms—her bursts of energy and playful chaos, his quiet affection and unspoken care.

And today, for the first time in a while, she had taken the day off. Aryan had been caught in meetings and conference calls all day, glancing at his phone more than he should've, missing her presence more than he'd admit to anyone.

By the time the office clock hit 7:30 PM, he was already halfway out the door, a bouquet of white roses in hand—her favorite.

There was no special occasion.

He just missed her.

The elevator ride up to their floor felt unusually long, and his heart beat just a little faster as he reached their apartment door. Twisting the handle open, he stepped into their warm, softly lit home—and paused.

Music floated out from the bedroom. Light, upbeat, and unmistakably Diana.

He followed the sound quietly, slipping off his shoes at the entrance and loosening the knot on his tie. The roses stayed cradled in his left arm as he walked closer to the bedroom.

The door was open.

And there she was.

Diana.

Spinning slowly in the center of the room, barefoot, her hair cascading down her back, her oversized cotton shirt swaying as she twirled, her voice singing along to the old Bollywood song that played from her speaker.

"Dekha ek khwaab toh yeh silsile hue..."

Her eyes were closed as she swayed, completely unaware of his presence, lost in the moment. Aryan stood at the doorway, quietly leaning against the frame. A smile played on his lips as he watched her—his wife—free, alive, unfiltered. There was something magical about her when she thought no one was looking. The world seemed to fall away.

He waited until the song neared its end before stepping into the room, the wooden floor cool beneath his feet. Silently, he walked up behind her and, just as she was about to spin again, he wrapped his arm around her waist.

"Door tak mein hain gul hue ; Dekha ek to yeh hue" He softly sand in her ears

Diana let out a soft gasp of surprise, before immediately relaxing into his hold.

"You scared me," she said with a breathy laugh, tilting her head back against his shoulder.

Aryan chuckled, resting his chin on her shoulder. "You were too busy stealing the spotlight."

She turned slightly to face him, cheeks flushed, a grin tugging at her lips. That's when she noticed the bouquet in his hand.

"For me?" she asked, her voice going soft.

He nodded and handed her the white roses. "They reminded me of you. Soft. Pure. Chaotic in the best way."

Diana's heart fluttered. She pressed the bouquet to her chest. "They're beautiful. But what's the occasion?"

Aryan paused, then reached up and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"I don't need an occasion to love you," he said, his voice low and sincere. "But if you want a reason... it's because today, I realized something."

Her eyes sparkled. "What?"

"That coming home to you is my favorite part of every day."

Something in her chest tightened, a sweet ache that only he seemed to inspire. Without a word, Diana cupped his face and pulled him into a kiss.

It wasn't playful or rushed. It was slow, deep, and full of emotion. A thank you. A reply. A longing.

Aryan responded without hesitation, his hands finding her waist as he pulled her closer. The kiss deepened, and her fingers threaded into his hair. He had grown more confident now, more open with his affection—but still, when she kissed him like this, she could feel the gentle tremble in him. He wanted her, needed her—but he also revered her.

She broke the kiss, her forehead resting against his, their breaths mingling.

They stood like that for a long moment—foreheads pressed together, hearts pounding in sync.

Diana set the flowers gently on the nightstand. Then, she took his hand and led him to the bed.

They didn't rush.

He watched as she unbuttoned his shirt, each button revealing a part of him he no longer wanted to hide. Her eyes drank him in, not with judgment, but with quiet wonder.

And when she stepped out of her shirt—wearing nothing underneath but her skin and that bold confidence she always carried—Aryan couldn't breathe.

She was art.

And he felt both unworthy and unimaginably lucky.

His hands found her waist, thumbs brushing along the soft curve of her hips. She leaned into him, their skin finally meeting in full, and it felt like electricity.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice unsteady, searching her eyes.

Diana cupped his face, thumbs stroking his cheekbones. "I've never been more sure."

The rest unfolded with soft laughter, shared breaths, gentle touches, and whispered promises. They explored each other like a map, patient and attentive, every glance a checkpoint, every sigh a reassurance.

For Aryan, it was the first time he'd felt this depth of intimacy—the emotional, physical, and spiritual merging of two people. He trembled under her touch, under the weight of what she gave so freely—her trust, her body, her love.

And Diana?

For all her boldness, she had waited too. She had loved before, but never like this. Never someone so innocent, so earnest, who treated every inch of her like she was poetry.

Their bodies moved together like music, learning each other's rhythms, syncing in breath and heartbeat. Aryan took his time, listening to her sighs, watching her reactions, adjusting with every look in her eyes. His nervousness melted into reverence.

And when they finally joined, it wasn't with explosive passion—it was with a quiet, overwhelming fullness. A moment that was both gentle and earth-shattering.

Diana cupped his face as they moved together, her lips brushing against his cheek, then his jaw. "You're doing perfect," she whispered, her voice broken with emotion.

And he was.

Because they weren't just making love. They were writing something eternal into the marrow of each other's bones.

The moment they reached their peak—together—it wasn't loud. It was a held breath, a silent cry, a stillness that pulsed through their veins like starlight.

Afterwards, they lay tangled in each other's arms, the world outside forgotten. Aryan brushed a strand of damp hair from her face, eyes soft.

"You okay?" he whispered.

Diana smiled, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. "More than okay."

He kissed her forehead, then her cheek, then the tip of her nose.

"I love you," he said.

"I know," she whispered. "I love you too, Pookie."

Aryan groaned, burying his face in her neck. "You had to ruin the moment."

Diana laughed, pulling him closer. "I had to remind you who you married."

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

They drifted off to sleep like that—wrapped in white sheets, bathed in the moonlight peeking through the curtains, hearts finally and completely at rest.