Morning sunlight filtered through the half-drawn curtains in Ron's living room.
The dust motes floated lazily in the beams of light, catching in the hush that filled the space — the kind of hush that only comes after a storm.
Jaanvi stirred first.
It was the warmth that woke her. A gentle rise and fall beneath her cheek. A steady heartbeat beneath her ear.
She blinked, and then froze.
Her body was curled into Aditya's side, her head nestled against his chest. His arm was wrapped securely around her waist — fingers loosely curled into the fabric of her hoodie, like even in sleep, he didn't want to let go.
She should've pulled back.
She should've shifted away.
She didn't.
Her breath slowed. She kept her eyes shut.
Because for some unexplainable reason, this — him — it felt safe.
It felt like a bubble, carved out of all the chaos.
And for one selfish second, she wanted to stay in it.
He shifted slightly in his sleep. His hold tightened just a bit. And then, without fully waking, he leaned down and pressed the softest kiss to the top of her head.
Her heart stuttered.
He was still asleep — his breathing even, unaware. But her eyes were open now, wide and stunned.
Her throat closed.
Because suddenly, she wasn't in Ron's living room anymore.
She was...
In the debate room, 8th grade, standing across from Aditya, spitting fire and throwing sharp words like daggers because they'd both rather win than lose to each other.
On the soccer field, freshman year, accidentally tripping over him during PE and then swearing he did it on purpose. He definitely did.
In the cafeteria, sophomore year, sitting across rival tables, daring each other to blink first as their teams laughed and exchanged snide remarks.
They were rivals.
Enemies.
Opposites.
A battlefield in motion.
So why — why — did his chest feel like the softest place she'd ever rested her head?
Her hand twitched against his hoodie.
The kiss on her head still burned, in the gentlest way possible. Like a wound she didn't know she missed until it was soothed.
She closed her eyes again.
Just for a little longer.
Just to memorize this one last feeling before the world woke up.
Because she knew the moment they sat up — the moment his eyes opened and hers met his — they'd pretend again. Pretend last night didn't happen. Pretend the kiss hadn't happened. Pretend the messages didn't rattle them both to their cores.
They'd go back to being what everyone thought they were.
But for now?
She could just feel.
Even if it was wrong.
Even if it was complicated.
Even if it was war disguised as peace.
She could still let herself exist in this breath of softness.
Just a little longer.
Sometimes, before you pull away,
you pause —
because even in the heart of rivalry,
there are moments that feel like home.
Moments you don't want to admit feel right.
Even when they absolutely, undeniably shouldn't.
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