Years had softened the house, but not them.

The courtyard echoed with laughter now—grown voices, confident steps, dreams that had taken flight. Yet in the middle of it all, Veeresh and Poornima remained unchanged in the ways that mattered.

Veeresh still walked up behind her when she least expected it.

Still pinched her waist lightly—just enough to make her gasp and glare.

“Veeresh,” she warned, pretending annoyance.

He only grinned, proud and unapologetic. “Still mine.”

He still held her hand while walking through the village, thumb brushing her knuckles like muscle memory. Still kissed her temple when she spoke passionately about something. Still leaned down to whisper nonsense just to see her roll her eyes.

And Poornima—

She still smiled the same way.

Still scolded him softly.

Still let him win arguments she could easily destroy.

At night, when the house slept, they took the bike out.

No destination.

No agenda.

Just wind, quiet roads, and her hands wrapped around his waist while he drove slower than needed—because he liked knowing she was there.

They spoke of their children then.

Not with worry anymore—but pride.

“Look at them, Veer,” she whispered once, resting her head against his back.

“We did good.”

Veeresh didn’t reply.

He reached back, squeezed her hand tighter.

Yes. They did.