The house, once alive with laughter and the soft murmur of conversations, was now empty, save for a few lingering servants cleaning up after the evening's guests. The rich scent of incense and the fading sounds of footsteps created an almost peaceful stillness in the air. Meera stood near the window, gazing out into the night, her fingers tracing the edge of the cool glass.
The guests had left hours ago, and she had been alone in the house since then. She didn’t mind. The noise, the conversations, the constant eyes on her—it had all been a bit too much. She wasn’t used to being in a world so unfamiliar, yet here she was, standing at the edge of it, trying to find her place.
But she was adjusting. She would adjust.
The thought of her family back home, so far away from this opulence, lingered in her mind for a brief moment. They were proud of her, of course, but she wondered if they missed her. Would they understand the life she had chosen? She wasn’t sure. It wasn’t about missing her old life; it was about something else—a small part of her that still longed for the simplicity she had left behind.
She didn’t have time to linger on such thoughts for long. The sound of footsteps approaching broke through her quiet reverie. She recognized them immediately. Kabir.
He appeared in the doorway, his presence imposing as always. His sharp suit, impeccable posture, and the usual coldness in his expression made him seem like a man who never let anything disrupt his calm. But tonight, there was something more subtle in his gaze as he watched her.
“I thought you’d be asleep by now,” he said, his voice as cool and measured as ever, but there was a slight change, a flicker of something soft in the way he spoke.
Meera turned slowly, her hand dropping from the window sill. She met his eyes, but this time, there was a slight weariness in her own. It wasn’t weakness—no, it was simply the quiet of the night settling in. A small tug of sadness she couldn’t quite shake off.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she replied, her voice still steady, but the hint of fatigue in her tone was unmistakable.
Kabir’s eyes narrowed as he stepped into the room. He could see it in her face—she wasn’t as composed as she usually was. There was something more beneath the surface. He didn’t know what it was, but it wasn’t his usual cool, distant Meera. For a brief second, the ever-present mask he wore seemed to falter, a flicker of concern crossing his features before he masked it once again.
“The day must have drained you,” Kabir said, though his voice wasn’t as detached as it often was. His words weren’t a critique, but more of an observation—something more human than his usual coldness.
Meera didn’t answer right away. She took a step toward the low table, her fingers grazing over the porcelain cups. She felt his eyes on her, but she kept her gaze lowered, not wanting to reveal too much. Yet there was something she couldn’t help but feel. Something in the air that felt like a shift, subtle but real.
“Maybe,” Meera finally said, her voice softer. She lifted her gaze to meet his again. “But I’ll be fine. This is just... all new.”
Kabir didn’t respond immediately. He watched her, his eyes trying to pierce through the layers she wore so effortlessly. For a moment, he seemed to be caught off-guard. He had expected her to brush it off as she always did—stoic, composed, unaffected. But she wasn’t completely unaffected tonight. He could see the small sadness in her eyes, the way she held herself just a little more tightly, like she was protecting something deep inside.
He took a step closer, his presence seeming to fill the room. There was something about the way she stood there, her shoulders tense, her hand still resting lightly on the table. It drew him in—this woman who wasn’t afraid to feel things, who wasn’t afraid to admit that things were hard sometimes.
“You don’t have to pretend, Meera,” he said softly, his voice quieter now, almost gentle. It wasn’t a question. It was more like an offering, a space where she could let go of the walls she had built around herself.
Meera looked at him, surprised by the softness in his voice. Kabir was never like this. He was always distant, always pushing people away. But tonight, there was something different. She didn’t know what it was, but there was a hint of understanding in his eyes that made her pause.
“I’m not pretending,” she replied, her voice steady again, but there was a brief vulnerability in her tone. “I’m just... trying to find my balance here.”
For a moment, Kabir’s expression softened. He didn’t say anything, but his gaze lingered on her a little longer, his sharp eyes taking in the way she was standing, the way she had grown accustomed to his world in such a short time. There was a slight tilt to his lips, almost imperceptible, before he turned away.
“You will,” he said simply, his usual cold demeanor creeping back into his voice. But there was still something gentler about his words this time. “It just takes time.”
Meera nodded, watching him as he moved toward the door. “I’ll be ready when the time comes,” she replied, her voice confident again.
Kabir paused, his hand on the door handle. For a second, he seemed to hesitate, something flickering in his eyes before he left the room without another word. Meera stood there for a moment longer, the weight of the evening settling over her once more. But she didn’t feel as sad anymore. The quiet conversation with Kabir had shifted something in her. There was a tiny crack in his armor—a softness he never showed.
And perhaps, just perhaps, that softness was the begin
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