AUTHORS NOTE:

Hey readers! I know I disappeared for a while. That was needed. But hey I did not abandon the story so it's all good right? I will release the chapters slowly but surely. 

Thanks for your patience🤗
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3The clang of vessels and the comforting smell of roasted cashews filled the corridor. Aarna adjusted the flame on her stove, stirring gently. She wasn't exactly an expert at making halwa—but she was determined to get it right this time.

A voice from behind startled her.

"Smells like something's burning... is it the halwa or your patience?"

She turned to see Roopa at the door, arms folded, trying—and failing—to hide a smile.

Aarna laughed, a real one, not forced or tight like the ones she had worn for weeks. "It's called browning the semolina, Aunty. And yes, I may have browned it a little aggressively."

Roopa walked in and took the ladle from her. "Give it here. Let's save what's left."

They moved around the kitchen like they always used to—like no time had passed. Roopa sprinkled in the sugar and cardamom, humming an old Lata Mangeshkar tune under her breath.

"You've changed," she said after a moment, not looking at Aarna.

Aarna smiled faintly. "So have you."

"Good changes, though."

They finished the halwa and carried two bowls out to the balcony. The sky above Bangalore was streaked in soft pinks and greys. It had just rained, and the air felt cleaner, like it, too, was rinsing off its old weight.

Across the hallway, Rudran had just ended a virtual session with his postgraduate psychology students. His notes still lay scattered on the table—terms like 'emotional suppression', 'boundary formation', and 'attachment styles' scribbled with red ink. But his eyes drifted to the open window, to the soft laughter that carried across it.

He stood up and walked over.

Aarna looked up as he leaned against the opposite balcony rail, holding his own bowl of halwa.

"Yours looks too perfect," she called out.

"That's because Amma made it," he replied with mock arrogance.

Roopa, sitting beside Aarna, chuckled. "And here I thought I was done cooking for my kids."

Aarna glanced sideways. "We can switch bowls, you know. Mine might surprise you."

He made a show of considering it. "I'm willing to risk mild food poisoning."

Aarna threw a cushion at him, which missed and landed on the plant pot below.

Roopa watched them both, her heart full in a quiet, unexplainable way. These weren't just reconciliations—they were small homes rebuilding themselves within each other.

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Later that evening, Rudran and Aarna walked around their apartment complex and decided to hang out at her flat. The air between them buzzed—not with uncertainty, but with a new rhythm. One that wasn't hurried anymore.

They paused near her workspace, where two monitors glowed beside a half-drunk coffee mug. Lines of code blinked lazily on screen—something about a backend API. Sticky notes covered the board above, reminders like "Fix login redirect bug!! 😤" and "Deploy patch before Friday call."

Rudran leaned closer. "Your battlefield looks very... efficient."

Aarna rolled her eyes playfully. "Says the man whose whiteboard still has 'emotional boundaries 101' written in three colors."

"Touché," he said, then picked up a tiny plush penguin on her desk. "Also, you didn't tell me your code team had a mascot."

"That's Penguin Rao. He's the emotional support during production releases."

He laughed, placing it back. "Smart. Better than talking to my own ceiling."

Just then, a Slack notification popped up. Her team lead, Anand, had left a message: "Great fix today, Aarna. Couldn't have done it without you. Appreciate the late hours :)"

Rudran saw her smile a little.

"Anand appreciates you, huh?" he teased, crossing his arms.

Aarna gave him a sidelong glance. "It's professional. Don't go turning into jealous-Joe now."

"I'm not jealous," he said quickly. "Just... observant. Very observant."

"Mhm." She stretched, brushing past him to pick up her phone. "You're cute when you sulk, by the way."

"I do not sulk."

She didn't reply. Just smiled.

They ended up on the couch, a quiet playlist humming in the background. Aarna tucked her legs under her, sipping from a fresh mug of chai. Rudran sat close, shoulder grazing hers.

"You know," she said, "if someone had told me a year ago that the psychology professor next door would someday become the reason I'm coding through the night with a stupid grin—I would've laughed."

Rudran tilted his head. "I would've probably psychoanalyzed your sarcasm."

They both laughed.

Silence returned, but this one felt different. Safe. Like breathing room between verses of the same song.

He reached out, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "You still scare me a little, Aarna."

She blinked, surprised. "Why?"

"Because you're everything I didn't plan for. And the only thing I don't want to lose again."

Her voice was barely a whisper. "Then don't."

He leaned in, slow and certain. Their lips met—not hesitant this time, but calm. Confident. The kind of kiss that doesn't need to prove anything.

Later, they sat with their foreheads resting together, sharing the same breath.

Aarna whispered, "You're still very bad at halwa jokes."

He smiled against her skin. "Luckily, you're good at rescuing burnt desserts... and difficult men."

Outside, the Bangalore skyline blinked lazily, and inside, a quiet beginning unfolded again—layered with affection, mild jealousy, and the beautiful mess of their every day.
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😊