After a while, Y/N grabbed her big medical book — thick, slightly worn at the edges, with notes and tabs sticking out. She hugged it to her chest and stood up.
Amma glanced up and said gently, "Beta, take him to the terrace… thoda fresh hawa."
Y/N nodded. "Theek hai, Amma."
She turned to him and tilted her head toward the stairs. "Come with me?"
He stood up, brushing invisible dust from his trousers, and followed.
They went up the narrow staircase together, the faint hum of the evening Azan echoing from a distant mosque, the sky slowly melting into a deep orange.
The terrace opened up into a wide, open space — plain, clean, with a few clotheslines on one side, and a small stool sitting near the corner. A single potted plant stood guard near the ledge.
"There," she pointed. "You can sit. I'll be right here."
He nodded and sat down quietly on the stool, hands folded.
She dropped cross-legged on the floor, just a few feet away from him, flipped open the book, and started reading.
Not acting.
Not giggling.
Not even aware he was watching.
Just… focused.
She scribbled something in her notebook, flipping back and forth between pages, her lips silently repeating complex words as she studied. The wind tousled her hair a little, and she tucked it behind her ear absently.
He watched her for a long time.
This girl…
She wasn't part of the drama.
She wasn't an actress.
She wasn't anyone the world expected him to meet.
But there she was.
In her normal house.
With her simple dupatta.
And a heavy book full of dreams.
She didn't belong to his world.
But somehow… she fit into his.
Perfectly.
He smiled to himself, quietly.
Seven days.
He had only known her for seven days.
And yet, there was a strange peace in watching her — as if he had all the time in the world to just sit there and let her exist.
He didn't say a word.
And neither did she.
But in that silence, something gentle bloomed between them.
Not loud.
Not rushed.
Just quiet understanding.
And the soft, unspoken feeling…
That maybe, just maybe… this girl, sitting with her medical books under a fading sky…
Was going to change everything.
After some time, he shifted slightly on the stool and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.
"Hey," he said softly.
Y/N looked up from her book, pencil still in hand. "Hmm?"
He hesitated, then smiled sheepishly. "Will you teach me some Urdu?"
She blinked, surprised. "You want to learn?"
He shrugged. "You've been whispering half your day in it. It sounds… nice. Soft. I want to understand you more."
Her eyes widened for a second, then she looked down shyly. "Okay…" she murmured, flipping to an empty page in her notebook. "Let's start with basics."
She wrote slowly in neat Urdu script, then pointed. "Yeh 'Assalamualaikum' hota hai. It means: peace be upon you — like hello."
He repeated carefully, "Assa-lam… walaikum?"
She nodded. "Almost. Walaikum-salaam is the reply. Like… if I say it, you say that."
He grinned. "Try me."
She smiled and said softly, "Assalamualaikum."
He sat up a little straighter. "Walaikum-salaam."
She gave him a small clap. "Perfect!"
He laughed, proud. "Okay, what next?"
She thought for a second, then wrote again. "This says… 'Tum pagal ho'."(you are mental)
He raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"
Her smile turned teasing. "You'll find out later."
He gave her a mock suspicious look. "Nope, tell me."
She tilted her head innocently. "You'll survive."
He leaned over and tried to read it himself. "Tum… pa… ga—"
"Pagal," she corrected.
He repeated it slowly. "Tum pagal ho…"
She laughed. "There, now if you want to annoy me, just say that randomly."
"Does it mean something nice?"
She smirked. "Sure… if you like being called a weirdo."
He gasped. "You tricked me!"
"Welcome to Urdu 101," she winked.
They spent a few more minutes going over common phrases — how to say thank you, how to ask someone if they've eaten, how to say "very beautiful." When he said that last one — "bohot khoobsurat" — she paused, unsure if he was practicing or teasing.
He looked straight at her, smiling. "That one… is useful."
She looked away, cheeks slightly pink. "Dinner time."
He chuckled. "Running away already?"
"From a student who calls his teacher pagal? Absolutely."
---
They came down the stairs, the sky now a deep indigo, stars beginning to shimmer faintly above the rooftops.
Inside, Amma was watching the news with Abba. The younger siblings were finishing homework.
Y/N rolled up her sleeves and stepped into the kitchen. The sounds of pots clinking and masalas sizzling returned, filling the home with that warm, desi evening aroma.
He stood at the doorway for a moment, watching her work. Calm, capable, focused.
As she moved around with ease — chopping vegetables, stirring daal, checking the rice — he whispered to himself under his breath:
"…bohot khoobsurat."
Next Morning – 7:42 AM
Sunlight filtered gently through the curtains, painting lazy gold streaks across the room. The peaceful hush of early morning was only broken by the distant sounds of birds and quiet footsteps.
Y/N slowly pushed the door open with one hand, balancing a tray of breakfast in the other.
"Good morning," she whispered, smiling.
He sat up a little from his blanket on the floor mattress, hair messy, still half-asleep. But when he saw her holding a tray — warm parathas, a small bowl of chutney, and chai — his sleepy eyes widened slightly.
"You didn't have to…" he started.
"Shh," she placed the tray gently on the table beside him. "Eat first. Thank me later."
But before he could respond, a soft little voice echoed from behind her:
"Unnie?"
Y/N froze mid-turn.
He tilted his head. "Who was that?"
Before she could say anything, the same tiny voice called again:
"Unnieeeee~!"
A second later, a small pair of feet came running into the room.
A little girl — no older than three — with puffy cheeks, two crooked ponytails, and a bunny t-shirt, burst through the door and squealed:
"UNNNIIIEEEEE!"
Y/N barely had time to bend down before the little girl flung herself into her arms.
She giggled, hugging her tight as the child wrapped her tiny arms around Y/N's neck.
"There's my princess," Y/N whispered warmly. "Missed me?"
The little girl nodded into her shoulder with a loud, dramatic sniff.
He watched silently, something soft unfurling inside him. There was this strange… comfort in seeing her like this. Like the world made a little more sense.
Y/N picked the girl up easily and sat down on the bed in front of him, the little one sitting in her lap, one hand already reaching toward a paratha like she owned the world.
Y/N smiled at her and asked, "Wanna eat breakfast, my princess?"
"Yesss!!" she yelled, tiny fists pumping in the air.
He chuckled.
But then the little girl noticed him.
She pointed a small finger, eyes wide with curiosity. "Unnie… who's heee?"
Y/N turned to him with a mischievous smile. "Mr. Actor. Wanna answer her yourself?"
He leaned forward, smiling. "Hi. I'm the actor she brought home by accident."
The little girl blinked, confused. "Like... TV?"
He nodded.
Y/N added teasingly, "And now he's stuck here."
He smiled and looked at the little girl. "She's your unnie, right?"
The little girl nodded proudly.
Then he continued, glancing at Y/N, "Well… she's my little fox."
Y/N instantly choked on her chai. "Aghh—!"
The little girl tilted her head innocently.
Then, as if she'd been waiting to say it all morning, she grinned wide and said:
"Toh phir Unnie aap ki Biwi hai na?"
("Then Unnie is your wife, right?")
SILENCE.
Y/N coughed harder, nearly knocking over the tray.
He stared at the little girl, eyes wide in complete shock.
Both of them looked at each other, cheeks heating up like firecrackers.
The little girl just beamed sweetly and took a huge bite of her paratha like she'd just solved world peace.
"…Excuse me?" Y/N managed to squeak.
He looked completely frozen, his ears pink. "I—I think she misunderstood—"
"Did she?" Y/N muttered under her breath, still trying to cool down her burning face.
The little girl giggled, absolutely proud of herself.
"I saw you on roof yesterday! You smile at each other like Appa and Amma do!"
They both choked again. At the same time.
She nodded like a wise old woman, then whispered to her paratha,
"Biwi hi lagti hai mujhe."
(She looks like his wife to me.)
He blinked at Y/N.
Y/N blinked at him.
The little girl? She was now singing a nursery rhyme with her mouth full, completely unbothered.
And somewhere in the middle of that chaos — he realized:
He was falling for her.
Harder than he thought.
And maybe… just maybe… that little girl wasn't wrong.