The temple bells rang in a steady rhythm, echoing across the quiet fields of their ancestral village. The air was thick with the fragrance of incense, marigold garlands swaying gently in the evening breeze.

Veeresh stood before the Kuldevi idol, his eyes lowered, his hands folded with a rare seriousness Poornima hadn’t seen in days. He followed every ritual—pouring water over the idol, offering flowers, lighting the diya. Even though his jaw was still tight and his words had been scarce all day, there was something deeply respectful in the way he performed each step.

Poornima watched silently, her own hands joined in prayer. Kuldevi Ma… give him strength. Help him fight whatever this past is. Bring him peace… and bring us closer again.

When the puja ended, the family gathered for the prasad. The village women whispered blessings, children ran around giggling, and the night sky filled with stars—so many that Poornima had to pause and take in the beauty.

They stayed the night in the old ancestral haveli. Its thick stone walls and faint scent of sandalwood held years of stories.

Later, when everyone had retired to their rooms, Poornima noticed Veeresh wasn’t quite himself. His eyes were glazed, his steps a little unsteady—he’d been drinking. Not heavily enough to be out of control, but enough that his usual guardedness was softer, vulnerable.

When she helped him into their room, he caught her wrist gently. “Poornima…” he murmured, his voice deep but laced with emotion.

She looked at him, and for a moment, all the distance, all the sharp words of the past few days seemed to melt away. He pulled her closer—not with urgency, but with a need for comfort. His arms wrapped around her, holding her as if he feared losing her.

“I just… need you,” he whispered against her hair.

Poornima didn’t ask questions. She didn’t push. She simply let herself be held, resting her head against his chest. The night became one of quiet passion—not about desire, but about reassurance. His lips brushed her forehead, her cheeks, lingering just enough to tell her what he couldn’t say aloud.

And when they finally lay down, his arm stayed firmly around her waist, his breathing steady against her neck.

In that stillness, Poornima’s heart whispered to her—

Whatever storm his past brings, I’ll be his shelter.