The house still smelled of fresh paint and the faint trace of Naina’s perfume when Reyansh carried the last of his boxes inside. He had sold the penthouse the week after the wedding, and now every inch of the modest three-bedroom apartment belonged to the three of them. Naina had insisted it made sense. “Why keep two places when we’re a family?” she’d said, and Reyansh had agreed without argument. The front gate remained unlocked that evening; Naina had forgotten to latch it after the movers left, and no one thought to check.

Naina’s bedroom—now theirs—sat at the end of the short hallway. The door stood slightly ajar, the way she always left it when she expected him. Reyansh stepped inside, loosening his tie. Naina was already on the bed, robe open, nothing underneath. She smiled up at him, the same warm, trusting smile she had worn at the altar three days earlier.