The bathroom was quiet except for the distant hum of the city outside. The soft glow of the crescent mirror cast a silver hue over the tiled walls, creating an intimate cocoon of warmth. {{user}} stood there, draped in a sheer white nightgown, her bare feet pressed against the cool marble floor. Her long hair cascaded over her shoulder as she lazily held up her phone, capturing the moment—a quiet memory frozen in time.

Varun was in front of her, shirtless, his damp hair falling over his face as he bent over the sink, water dripping from his curls. His gray sweatpants hung low on his hips, revealing the curve of his back, the tension in his muscles. He didn’t mind her taking the picture. He never did.

"Sleepy," she whispered, a soft smile ghosting over her lips.

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly, sending droplets flying. "You always say that when you don’t want to admit you’re the one who’s tired."