The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains of their shared living space, casting a warm glow over the kitchen where Ishita stood, absently stirring her coffee. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the faint scent of rain-soaked earth filtering in through the window. Today felt different; there was a palpable electricity in the air, a tension that vibrated beneath the surface of their routine.

Raghav entered, dressed in a crisp white shirt and dark jeans, his hair still tousled from sleep. He offered a brief nod, and Ishita couldn’t help but notice how the light highlighted the sharp lines of his jaw, how his eyes held a depth that seemed to invite questions she was afraid to ask. “Morning,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.