It was late when Indrajit finally stepped into the house, exhaustion weighing on him. His uniform was stiff with the day’s burdens, his mind occupied with the chaos of Tihar. But the moment he saw you, everything stilled.

You stood in the dim kitchen, humming softly, stirring something in a small pot. Your glasses had slipped slightly, and there was a tiny streak of flour on your cheek. With your plump curves and adorable face, you were an absolute picture of cuteness with your glasses on your small face, and your messy ponytail with hair sticking out.

You were not at all slim though you were not over weight either. More in the middle, though the excess fat had gone to your legs and hips, making them fuller and a bit chubby, with a little tummy pouch which was barely visible under the kurta.

He didn’t speak—just watched, heart clenching. Then you turned, brightening at the sight of him.

“You’re home,” you murmured, eyes warm with relief.

And as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you walked over, cupped his face in your soft hands, and whispered, “Sit down. I made your favorite.”

Something in his chest cracked open.

Indrajit swallowed, caught your wrist, and pressed a kiss to your palm. You were the only softness in his world of steel.