Rukhsar’s POV

The sun was slow that day... lazy, almost shy, slipping through the sheer white curtains like it didn’t want to disturb us. Or maybe the world just paused for a little while, letting us stay in that perfect bubble a few moments longer.

Our bedroom was quiet, except for Azeem’s slow, even breathing behind me. His arm was draped over my waist ...loose, effortless .... the way someone holds on to something they trust won’t leave.

I didn’t move at first. I just stayed still, soaking in the peace. There was something sacred about waking up before him... watching his jaw slack in sleep, one corner of his mouth slightly curved like he was smiling at a dream.

Azeem only looked like this in the early mornings. Vulnerable. Free. All the sharp edges life gave him were smoothed out by sleep and my presence beside him. He didn’t look like a businessman or a man people feared in meetings. He looked like mine.

I turned a little, whispering with a smile, "You’re going to be late."

He stirred, eyes fluttering open. "And you’re too damn pretty to wake up next to," he muttered, voice husky with sleep.

I rolled my eyes. "That’s not an answer."

He grinned lazily, pulling me closer, his lips brushing the curve of my shoulder. "Five more minutes."

"You say that every day, and then you’re the one running around looking for your socks like a headless chicken."

"Rukhsar, please," he groaned dramatically. "Don’t ruin this beautiful morning by mentioning socks."

I laughed, shoving him off gently. "Get up. I’m making aloo paratha today. But only if you're out of bed in the next ten seconds."

"Aloo paratha?" he sat up immediately, feigning alertness. "You should’ve led with that."

I shook my head with a smile and padded into the kitchen, still wearing his oversized T-shirt from the night before. The one that said "Property of No One" ... something I’d bought as a joke, but he insisted looked better on me.

The kitchen was warm and familiar ... sunlight spilling across the countertop, the faint clinking of bangles on my wrist as I kneaded the dough. If you’re reading this story on any other platform and paying money for it, please know this story is available on Scrollstack under my ID yublen_writes_. Kindly report the copied version and continue reading it here.

I could hear the shower running. Azeem was humming something under his breath. That awful 90s Bollywood song he knew I hated. Probably on purpose.

Fifteen minutes later, I laid out the breakfast on the dining table. Two plates of golden, crispy parathas with butter melting on top, a bowl of curd with a sprinkle of jeera, and his favorite,  aam ka achaar from Ammi’s kitchen.

He walked out in a towel and wet hair, pointing at the table like a spoiled child. "That’s my love language right there."

I handed him his cup of chai and raised an eyebrow. "You mean food?"

He winked. "No. You. Cooking for me in my T-shirt, looking like this, giving me attitude while feeding me carbs. That’s it. That’s the dream."

We sat together, legs brushing under the table, stealing glances over bites of breakfast.

"You remember Coorg?" he asked suddenly, scrolling through his phone and pulling up a picture.

I looked. It was me ...laughing, wild hair flying, a scarf tied like a bandana, and him behind me, holding a coconut like a victory trophy. I remembered that day. We had gotten lost on a trek and ended up at a tiny roadside stall. No signal, no GPS. Just each other.

"Why are you showing me this?" I asked.

He looked at me ... really looked. "Because that’s still how I see you."

I didn’t respond right away. There was a lump in my throat I didn’t know how to swallow.

"I’m not that girl anymore," I whispered.

"You are," he said softly. "Just... with a few more layers."

He reached across the table, his fingers gently brushing mine.

"Promise me we’ll never become boring," I said, almost like a prayer.

He smiled. "Promise me you’ll always wake me up with parathas and sass."

"And you'll always be this easy to bribe?"

He leaned closer. "Only for you."

And in that moment ....warm kitchen, full stomachs, soft sunlight ...