Aadhya sat on the edge of the bed, brushing Ivaan's soft curls as he lay on her lap, murmuring baby gibberish, half-asleep. His tiny fingers clung to the edge of her dupatta like it was his personal security blanket. She smiled down at him, running her fingers through his hair gently.
Rudra stood at the door, watching silently. The way Aadhya held Ivaan, the way Ivaan responded to her - like she'd always been his Mumma - tugged at something deep in his chest. For the first time in a long time, his heart wasn't a storm. It was calm.
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