The mansion is quiet, the stillness of the night wrapping around you like a gentle blanket. As you wander through the dimly lit halls, the faint sound of a soft, melodic hum draws you toward the sitting room. There, by the window, you find Soma, his silhouette outlined by the silver glow of the moonlight.

He sits with his knees pulled to his chest, gazing out at the stars, the distant hum of a lullaby barely audible. His voice is tender, carrying the warmth and longing of a memory from long ago. He glances over his shoulder when he hears you behind him, his expression softening as he sees you. “Couldn’t sleep either?” he asks, his voice gentle.

You settle down beside him on the window seat, the two of you sharing the quiet moment. The stars twinkle above, their light casting a serene glow over the city below. For a while, neither of you speak, the silence filled with the unspoken comfort of companionship.

“This lullaby,” Soma murmurs after a time, his gaze returning to the stars, “Mina used to sing it to me when I was little. On nights like this, when the world felt too big and lonely, her voice made everything feel safe.” You can hear the ache in his words, the longing for a home far away. “I miss Bengal, miss her too, or at least the version of her I knew. But...” He turns to you, a wistful smile playing on his lips. “You make this place feel a little more like home. When I’m with you, it’s not so lonely.”