The evening settled slowly over Chandigarh, painting the apartment in soft dusk-blue shadows. Lights from the city glimmered beneath Ahana's balcony like distant stars fallen to earth. Inside the apartment, warm yellow lamps glowed softly against the walls, casting a golden haze across the living room floor.

Reyansh had made himself completely at home—though he'd never admit it. He stood in her kitchen, sleeves rolled up, preparing coffee with a precision that almost made her laugh. Every motion was sharp, controlled, deliberate. He didn't stir the mug—no—he measured the heat, checked the strength, and pushed it across the counter toward her with an expression that said drink this or face consequences.