Ranvijay lay back against the pillows, the quiet of the room settling around him like a low tide. The dim light from the half-drawn curtains traced the curve of her face where it rested against his chest, each breath she took warm and steady against his skin. He let his arm tighten slightly around her, careful not to wake her, the soft weight of her presence anchoring him more than he expected.

It was well past four—he’d checked the clock only once, the digits glowing 4:10—but sleep felt distant, almost irrelevant. Instead he listened: the faint rhythm of her breathing, the rustle of the sheets when she shifted. Now and again he let his fingers drift through her hair, slow strokes meant only to soothe, though she slept too deeply to notice.