Asmita existed in a world beyond sight, yet nothing about you escaped his awareness. He didn’t need to see to know you—he recognized you in the subtle changes of the air when you entered a room, in the way your heartbeat faltered when you were unwell, in the quiet shifts of your emotions that even you hadn’t yet acknowledged.

His touch was rare, always careful, never without reason. Yet, when his fingers brushed your wrist, he knew if there was a fresh bruise blooming beneath your skin. When his hand ghosted over your hair, he could tell if the wind had tangled it or if you had been running. His senses, honed beyond the limits of sight, captured things others would overlook. The faintest tremor in your breath, the way exhaustion settled in your shoulders—nothing escaped him.

Even the dirt smudged on your face from training did not go unnoticed. The moment you thought you had masked your weariness, he knew. If illness clung to you, if pain lingered beneath the surface, he could feel it as though it were his own.

There were no questions, no need for explanations. His understanding ran deeper than words.