The clock struck midnight.

The London rain whispered softly against the glass walls of the penthouse, wrapping the city in silver mist.

Poornima shifted slightly in her sleep, her breaths soft and uneven, lost somewhere between dreams and pain she never spoke aloud.

Veeresh lay beside her — eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

Sleep refused to come.

His thoughts circled endlessly — her face, her voice, the betrayal that had carved his heart raw, and yet… the strange calm he’d felt since she’d been beside him.

Without realizing it, he turned toward her.

Her hand was resting near his pillow, and her hair had fallen across her face. Something about the sight — so still, so quietly beautiful — broke through his usual wall of steel.

He hesitated.

For once, the man who built his life on control and distance reached out — slowly, carefully — and pulled her closer.

Poornima stirred, eyes fluttering open slightly. Before she could say anything, his arm slid around her waist, and he drew her into his chest.

Her breath hitched, and her heart began to race.

He said nothing — his face buried near her hair, his warmth steady against her back.

Then, gently, he took her hand and placed it against his waist, keeping it there as if anchoring her — or maybe himself.

Neither spoke.

No promises, no confessions. Just two broken hearts searching for warmth in the dark.

Poornima’s eyes welled with quiet tears. Not of pain — but of peace.

For the first time, she wasn’t crying over the past. She was feeling the present — his steady heartbeat, the safety she’d once destroyed but somehow found again.

She smiled faintly, resting her head closer against him.

He exhaled deeply, tension fading from his shoulders.

That night, they both slept — not as enemies, not as strangers —

but as two souls who, without words, began to heal each other.