The soft rustle of a page turning was the only sound in the room. Rida sat cross-legged on the bed, her saree draped casually around her, a few strands of hair tumbling over one shoulder, and glasses perched delicately on the bridge of her nose. The book lay open in her lap, and every so often she’d let out the faintest giggle—quiet, private—like she’d just read something meant only for her.

He stepped out of the bathroom, towel slung casually over one shoulder. The soft, light sound of her giggle—light, unguarded—made his steps slow for half a beat. She seemed distant, lost in her little world.