The night had settled gently.
Rithania lay beside Rithul, watching him sleep.
His tiny chest rising and falling slowly… peacefully.
She brushed his hair back softly.
"You look just like him…" she whispered.
Her fingers lingered for a moment.
And just like that—
Her mind slipped again.
To a day that had no weight.
No fear.
No emptiness.
It had been a Sunday.
No alarms.
No deadlines.
No rushing.
She had woken up late.
Stretching lazily, still wrapped in the comfort of sleep.
The house smelled different.
Warm.
Familiar.
Comforting.
She frowned slightly and got up.
Following the smell.
The kitchen.
And there he was.
Karthik.
Standing by the stove… completely focused.
"What are you doing?" she asked, leaning against the door.
He turned slightly.
"Trying not to burn breakfast."
She laughed softly.
"You? Cooking?"
"Excuse me," he said, raising an eyebrow.
"I have hidden talents."
She walked in slowly, watching him.
There was something so… calm about him.
So easy.
"What is this?" she asked, peeking into the pan.
"Something you'll complain about," he replied casually.
"I don't complain."
He turned to look at her.
Silence.
Then—
They both smiled.
She moved closer, standing beside him.
Too close.
"You're in my way," he said.
"You're in my kitchen," she shot back.
"Oh, is it yours?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll leave."
He made a move to step away.
She instantly grabbed his hand.
"Wait."
A small pause.
"I didn't mean it," she added, softer this time.
He looked at her hand holding his.
Then back at her.
"I know."
The moment lingered.
Quiet.
Comfortable.
He gently pulled her closer instead.
"Since you're here," he said,
"you might as well help."
"I don't want to."
"Lazy."
"Happy."
He smiled.
"Sit," he said, guiding her to the chair.
She watched him move around the kitchen.
Like he belonged there.
Like he belonged… with her.
A few minutes later, he placed the plate in front of her.
She looked at it.
Suspiciously.
"What is this?"
"Breakfast."
"It looks… risky."
"Try it first."
She took a small bite.
Paused.
Then slowly—
Her expression changed.
"It's good," she admitted reluctantly.
"Of course it is."
She rolled her eyes.
"You know…" she said after a moment,
"you don't have to do all this."
He leaned against the counter, watching her.
"I know."
That answer again.
Simple.
Certain.
"Then why do you?" she asked.
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he walked toward her.
Slowly.
Then bent slightly—
Resting his chin gently on her head.
"Because I want to," he said quietly.
Her eyes softened.
"You don't have to try so hard, Rithania," he continued.
She stilled.
"I see you," he said.
"The way you worry… the way you push yourself…"
Her grip tightened slightly on the spoon.
"You don't have to do that with me."
A pause.
"You can just be."
Her eyes filled slowly.
"And I'll take care of the rest."
The words wrapped around her like warmth.
Like safety.
Like something she didn't have to question.
She leaned into him slightly.
Without thinking.
And he stayed.
The memory faded slowly.
Rithania blinked.
The present returned.
The quiet room.
The dim light.
The emptiness beside her.
Her hand moved unconsciously—
To the empty space next to her.
Cold.
She closed her eyes.
He had promised nothing grand.
No big words.
No dramatic vows.
Just—
"I'll be there."
And somehow…
That had meant everything.
But now—
There was no warmth.
No presence.
Only memories.
She turned slightly, pulling Rithul closer to her.
Because this—
This was her now.
Not the woman who was cared for.
But the woman who had to care.
And still…
Somewhere deep inside—
That love remained.
Not loud.
Not demanding.
Just…
Quiet.