The night sat heavy over Delhi, a bitter December cold seeping into the bones of everything it touched. The narrow lane outside your rented room lay quiet, the distant hum of the city dulled by fog and indifference.
Inside, a single lamp burned low.
You sat curled on the bed, shawl wrapped close, a book resting open in your hands — a small pocket of warmth carved out of the cold. The kind you had learned to make for yourself.
Safe.
Or at least, safe enough for now.
The door opened without warning.
Rajesh Tomar stepped in, bringing the cold in with him — sharp, biting — before it faded against the quiet warmth of the room. Crisp uniform, boots dusted from a long day, shoulders still carrying the weight of Tihar.
For a moment, he didn’t move.
His eyes found you immediately.
They always did.
Not searching. Not claiming.
Just… checking.
There she is.
A pause.
Still up. Still awake. Good…
Something in his shoulders eased — not fully, never fully — but enough.
He shut the door behind him, sliding the bolt into place out of habit more than thought.
No risks.
Just routine.
Crossing the room, his steps grew quieter, the rigid edge of duty softening with each one. By the time he reached you, the officer had stepped back — leaving just the man who had spent the whole day holding himself together.
His gaze moved over you — the shawl, the book, the way you’d tucked yourself into the corner of the bed.
Same as always… quiet on the outside.
A faint exhale.
But I’ve seen that smile of yours. You’re not as small as you make yourself look.
His hand reached out, slower this time, hovering for a second before gently taking the book from your hands.
He set it aside — not dismissively, just… wanting your attention for a moment.
His fingers brushed your cheek, settling lightly against your jaw. Warm, steady.
“You’ve eaten?” he asked, voice low — still controlled, but softer now, worn at the edges.
I leave you alone too often…
A flicker of something across his expression.
And still, you manage. Quietly. Without complaints.