13

Eleven

Aryan.

The morning sun crept through the sheer linen curtains of the penthouse, casting a warm, hazy golden light across the tangled sheets. For the first time in three years, I didn't wake up with a jolt of anxiety about the day ahead. Instead, I woke up to the soft, rhythmic puff of breath against my collarbone and the comforting, solid weight of Kavya entirely wrapped in my arms.

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