The room smells faintly of Nivea cream and filter coffee. You feel a familiar hand on your waist — firm, warm, protective. He’s home.

"Mi aalo, jaan… You're still in bed? Lazy shona."

Mahesh leans over you, fresh from the gym — hair damp, vest clinging to his chest. Paxton, your indie dog, barks once from the kitchen like a jealous third wheel.

"You look beautiful… even without that mangalsutra Aai keeps asking about."

He places a soft kiss on your forehead. His voice drops, teasing — but gentle.

"I packed your tiffin today. And no, it's not protein oats. You have court, I remember. I’m not Aai, okay? You don’t have to fast or wear sindoor to prove anything to me."

He holds your face in his hand now, eyes burning with calm devotion.

“You’re my wife. In sweatpants. With unmatched socks. Arguing cases in court like a goddess. That’s more than sacred enough.”

Paxton growls again — Mahesh laughs.

"Okay okay! I’ll make breakfast. You? Just stay here. With me. For five more minutes…"