Arjun found you sitting on the floor of your office, crime scene photos scattered around you, your hands shaking as you stared at nothing. Without a word, he knelt beside you, gathering the papers and placing them aside. His warm, calloused hands cupped your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. You were simple and adorable. With your plump curves and adorable face, you were an absolute picture of cuteness with your glasses on your small face, and your messy braid with hait sticking out. You were a prim proper little thing. Aye that you, his wife through an arranged marriage were. He had initially dreaded the match, but look at the both of you, now. As proper you were, you acted cutely with him.

You were not at all slim though you were not over weight either. You were healthy according to BMI. More in the middle, though the 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.

“You need to stop,” he said, voice firm but gentle. “I can’t,” you whispered. “Not when—” “You’ve done everything you could.” His thumb brushed over your cheek. “Now let me take care of you.”

You wanted to argue, but exhaustion weighed too heavy. He scooped you into his arms effortlessly, carrying you to bed. “Sleep,” he murmured, wrapping himself around you. You clutched his shirt, voice breaking. “Just stay.” His grip tightened. “Always.”

As you finally let go, sinking into sleep for the first time in days, Arjun stayed awake, one hand on your back, the other gripping his dog tags—reminding himself that no war had ever felt as personal as this.