There are battles you prepare for.
There are battles you survive by instinct.
And then—
There are conversations with Mira after your mother unofficially supports her as a future daughter-in-law.
Those?
Those required divine intervention.
Unfortunately, divine intervention was busy.
Probably laughing.
Aarav stood on the balcony under the warm Delhi evening sky, trying very hard to behave like a normal human being.
This was difficult.
Mostly because Mira was standing next to him.
Arms crossed.
Dark hair moving softly in the wind.
Looking like elegance and emotional danger had formed a strategic alliance.
She had just admitted she liked his family.
Which, translated from the Mira language, was basically a marriage proposal.
Aarav was aware of this.
Unfortunately.
Very unfortunately.
Inside the house, chaos continued.
His sister was probably updating spreadsheets.
Rohan was likely selling commentary rights.
His mother was definitely planning weddings in secret.
And here—
There was silence.
The dangerous kind.
Mira looked at the city lights below.
"For the record," she said, "if your mother tries to feed me six parathas again, I may start a war."
Aarav smiled.
"She'll win."
"I know. That's what concerns me."
Fair.
Very fair.
A pause.
Then—
because apparently survival instincts had left the building—
He said:
"She likes you."
Silence.
Mira turned slowly.
Like a villain hearing the hero make a bad decision.
"…Excuse me?"
Aarav considered jumping off the balcony.
Unfortunately, it was only the second floor.
Not enough.
He chose honesty.
A terrible habit.
"My mother."
He pointed weakly toward the kitchen battlefield.
"She likes you."
Mira stared.
For three full seconds.
Then—
"She likes feeding people. That is not the same."
Cowardly defence.
Weak.
Understandable.
Aarav folded his arms.
"She literally announced it like a political endorsement."
Mira looked away.
Which meant emotional damage had been dealt.
Good.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
She spoke more quietly this time.
"I am not… good at that."
"At what?"
She made a vague hand gesture toward the house.
"The family thing."
That sentence was softer than she probably intended.
A crack in the armour.
Rare.
Important.
Aarav leaned against the railing.
"You think I am?"
She gave him a look.
"No. You're barely functional."
True.
Painfully true.
He accepted that.
But he continued.
"My family is loud. Annoying. They ask illegal questions."
A pause.
"But if they like you, it means they already made space for you."
Mira was quiet.
The kind of quiet that mattered.
She looked down at her hands.
"In my timeline, attachment was inefficient."
Her voice had lost its sharp edges.
"People survived by leaving first."
Another pause.
"Staying for someone was considered a weakness."
That hurt.
Because some futures didn't lose love dramatically.
They just optimised it away.
Aarav answered softly.
"That sounds lonely."
She laughed once.
Without humour.
"It was."
Silence.
Warm.
Heavy.
Human.
Then Mira looked at him.
Really looked.
And asked the dangerous question.
"Why do you keep making space for us?"
No jokes.
No sarcasm.
Just truth.
The real answer sat between them.
He could have made it easy.
Could have said duty.
Responsibility.
Saving timelines.
But that would be a lie.
And both of them were tired of lies.
So Aarav said the worst possible thing.
Because it was honest.
"Because I want you here."
Silence.
Total.
Violent.
The universe itself leaned in.
From inside the house—
Rohan's voice faintly echoed:
"OH MY GOD, DID HE JUST—"
Then someone hit him.
Probably deserved.
Back on the balcony—
Mira had stopped moving.
Stopped breathing.
Possibly stopped existing.
Her violet eyes were fixed on him.
Aarav, realising he had accidentally stepped into confession territory, immediately attempted a strategic retreat.
"I mean—not like—well, yes like that, but also not in a dramatic—I mean—"
Excellent.
A masterclass in failure.
Mira held up one hand.
He stopped.
Because sometimes survival meant silence.
She took one slow step closer.
Too close.
Dangerously close.
Her voice, when it came, was low.
Careful.
"You should know…"
A pause.
"…I hate unclear people."
Aarav swallowed.
Reasonable.
Very reasonable.
Mira continued.
"So if you are saying something…"
Her eyes held his.
"…say it properly."
No escape.
No diplomacy.
Only truth.
Somewhere inside the house, his ancestors were probably watching.
Judging.
Rohan was definitely recording spiritually.
His mother likely sensed romance from three rooms away.
And still—
Aarav looked at Mira and chose honesty.
Again.
Because apparently he enjoyed suffering.
"I like having you here."
A breath.
"I like that you argue with me."
Another.
"I like that you pretend not to care when you obviously do."
Mira opened her mouth.
Closed it.
A rare miracle.
He continued.
"And when I imagine the future…"
His voice softened.
"…you're in it."
There.
Done.
Social death is complete.
Beautiful.
Horrifying.
Real.
For one terrifying second—
Nothing happened.
Then Mira exhaled slowly.
Like someone deciding whether to forgive gravity.
She looked away first.
Which somehow felt like victory.
Or incoming disaster.
Possibly both.
Her voice was quieter now.
Almost unfairly honest.
"You are an idiot."
Aarav nodded.
"Yes."
Another pause.
Then—
"…good."
He blinked.
"What?"
She met his eyes again.
No armour.
No sarcasm.
Just Mira.
And that was somehow more dangerous than everything else.
She stepped even closer.
And said:
"Because I was starting to think I was the only one."
Silence.
Heart-stopping silence.
From inside the house—
A plate dropped.
Rohan, probably.
His sister, definitely.
His mother is spiritually aware.
None of that mattered.
Because Mira—
Mira had just admitted it.
Not dramatically.
Not poetically.
Honestly.
Which was so much worse.
And better.
Aarav smiled.
Small.
Real.
"Mira…"
She pointed immediately.
"Do not ruin this moment by becoming poetic."
Fair.
Extremely fair.
So instead—
He laughed.
And she did too.
Soft.
Rare.
And somewhere between that laughter and the dangerous silence that followed—
Something changed.
Not officially.
Not loudly.
But enough.
Enough to matter.
Enough to begin.
And inside the house—
His mother probably smiled without asking why.
Because some women simply knew.