Raghav had only one plan tonight:
Pajamas.
A blanket.
eat his leftover biryani in peace, and fall asleep by 11 like a responsible, emotionally-stable adult.
But no.
And a documentary about penguins who, unlike him, apparently managed stable long-term relationships.
That's it. That's all he wanted.
But the universe, in all its chaotic enthusiasm, said: No. Let's give him trauma instead.
He had just settled onto his couch perhaps 3 minutes at most, Sir David Attenborough whispering—introducing "the majestic mating rituals of Emperor penguins," when—
THUMP.
A loud one. Ceiling-shaking. Bone-rattling.
Raghav froze with a spoonful of biryani halfway to his mouth.
"…Please be furniture," he prayed.
THUMP. THUMP.
"Nope. Not furniture," he sighed, placing his bowl down with the resignation of a man who has already suffered too much.
Then it began.
"Ah--"
A soft one at first—like the ceiling was clearing its throat.
Then louder.
Then holy-shit-is-someone-being-murdered-or-married-up-there level.
Raghav paused his penguin documentary, because the background penguin noises were blending too uncomfortably with the noises upstairs.
Penguin Narrator: "And here we see the dominant male approaching—"
"Yeah, NOPE," he snapped and muted it.
The moans continued.
And then he heard another voice — deep, low, definitely male.
Raghav pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Great. They're both at it. Spectacular. Amazing. It's a circus. A festival. A full-blown cultural event. Just above my head."
He turned the volume of his documentary up to 80%.
The ceiling moaned louder.
He turned it up to 100%.
The bed upstairs creaked so violently he wondered if it was going to crash through and crush him in his sofa.
He stood up, staring at his ceiling like it personally betrayed him.
"I pay rent for THIS?!" he shouted, waving the remote like a sword.
Penguins squawked.
Upstairs, someone moaned louder — like they were in direct competition with wildlife.
He turned it up more.
Penguins: blep blep blep blep
Upstairs girl: "River—don't stop—don't you dare—Ah--Harder"
He slapped a hand over his face.
Volume to max.
Penguins: FLAP FLAP FLAP FLAP FLAP—
Upstairs man: a low, victorious-sounding groan, the kind of sound a man makes when he knows he's winning at life.
"MINE...You are all mine!"
Raghav glared at the ceiling.
"ARE YOU COMPETING WITH DOCUMENTARY BIRDS? WHO DOES THAT?!"
The penguins squawked louder.
She moaned louder.
The bed creaked louder.
He threw the remote onto the couch
and then, Raghav threw himself back on the sofa dramatically.
"BRO. PLEASE. I'M TRYING TO LEARN ABOUT PENGUINS."
The moans got louder.
The tempo picked up.
He covered his ears with both hands.
"I HAVE WORK TOMORROW. PLEASE HAVE MERCY. HUMAN RIGHTS? ANYONE?"
A particularly enthusiastic BANG shook his ceiling fan.
Raghav looked at it with dead eyes.
"If this falls and kills me, I'm haunting both of you. I swear on the Penguin Empire."
He unmuted his documentary in defeat.
Penguin Narrator: "And now we observe a rare behavior known as—"
Raghav nodded bitterly.
"Yeah, no kidding, sir. Rare behavior indeed. My upstairs neighbors are doing more mating rituals than your damn penguins."
He shoved a spoonful of biryani in his mouth and glared at the ceiling.
Another moan.
Raghav threw his head back.
"HAVE SOME SHAME. OR AT LEAST SOME PRIVACY. PICK ONE!"
He checked the time.
9:42 PM.
He exhaled, resigned.
"At this point, I just hope they finish soon. For MY sake."
A loud, breathless cry echoed.
Raghav winced.
"For the love of God, at least close a window—your passion is polluting the street, and killing singles like me!!"
He buried his face into a pillow.
"I hate romance. I hate sex. I hate everyone above me. I hate penguins. I hate everything."
"Riverr!!" "...Who owns you?!"
"That's it!"
he got up, grabbed his keys, and muttered as he half stumble by the corner of his couch,
"I'm going for a walk. And when I come back, I SWEAR if they're still going—I'm putting a rug in their Amazon cart--"
He froze.
The noise upstairs cut off instantly. A thud, then nothing.
Raghav blinked at the ceiling.
"…Okay. Either they heard me, or someone just got smothered with a pillow."
But upstairs,
The heat in the room felt like it was rising off the walls — breath mixing with breath, skin still flushed from movement.
He was still inside her, bracing himself on his forearms, panting, heavy with desire darkening his grey- blue eyes those shine jade, when she tugged him down by the back of his neck, as he was ready for another, harder claim into her.
"Wait… stop...baby, stop" she whispered, voice trembling not from fear, or exhaustion but from something tender.
He stilled instantly, chest heaving.
She wrapped her arms tightly around him, pulling him against her, burying her face in his shoulder.
"Just—hold me. Please."
His breath softened. He pull back just enough to really look at her—pupils dilated, breath ragged, hands gentling on her skin as if afraid she might vanish. That fire he carried beneath his ribs still burned, but now it softened into something deeper. Something raw.
" You always do this," River said, gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face. He looked half wrecked, half in awe. "You pull me back from whatever feral state I'm in and remind me I'm a functioning adult instead of a cryptid."
Before she could laugh, he rolled onto his back, dragging her with him like she weighed nothing. She ended up sprawled over his chest, his arms cinching around her like she was some kind of emotional seatbelt he'd legally die without.
"Right here," he whispered into her hair, fingers drawing slow circles down her spine. "Right here is your spot. Not because I'm some caveman claiming territory—"
He kissed her temple, soft and nearly embarrassed.
"—but because I'm stupidly, catastrophically in love with you"
"I love you," she said, the sound low and breaking. "I love you like it's the only thing I know. it's like the only thing I crave...like I were made for you and only you define me."
His grip tightened just slightly at the sound of those words—a shudder passing through him as he pulled her even closer, as though he could fuse her into the heat of his body. For a long moment, he simply held her, one arm locked around her waist, the other tracing soothing lines along her back. The quiet between them was reverent.
"God, I don't deserve you," he whispered into her hair.
She felt the tremor move through him before he spoke—subtle, fragile, as though her touch had unstitched something he'd been holding together for too long. His fingers traveled down her spine slowly, reverently, like he was learning her by heart all over again.
"It was never about deserving," she whispered, turning toward him, her lips brushing the air between them. "It's about where the shattered pieces of me finally stopped cutting me from the inside and With you here… everything quietens- all anxiety, all struggles melt away. You're the cool shade of a neem tree in a burning world. You're the first mouthful of water after a long, long thirst."
Her voice wavered, but she didn't look away.
"With you, my heart stops trying to fit anywhere else. It just… softens. It mends. It leans into your shape like it was made for it. I was wandering for so long, love—and then I found you. And suddenly I wasn't wandering anymore."
River's breath broke on a sound too soft to be a gasp. He folded into her, burying his face in the crook of her neck as though her skin was the only prayer he had left.
"You're my home," he said, rough and low, like the truth scraped its way out of him. "The one harbor I'd bleed to reach. If you asked—hell, even if you didn't—I'd fall to my knees for you. Not out of obedience. Out of worship. 'Cause hell...and heavens have come together to bring you to me, and for this I will stay forever greatful"
The last word landed between them like a vow.
He looked like he might say more—another line that would level her completely—but his voice caught, and he laughed softly at himself, rubbing the back of his neck.
"God, I sound unhinged, don't I?"
She smiled, brushing her thumb along his cheek. "a little."
"A little? I basically declared eternal devotion. That was—" He waved a hand, searching for the word. "—a whole Shakespearean meltdown. I need a helmet before I speak again."
His mock-panic softened into something real then, something tired and warm, like the adrenaline drained out of him.
She cupped his jaw, grounding them both as She lifted his face gently. "Tell me how you've been lately? We hardly had time with each other between the fete, the projects, the seminars…"
He exhaled slowly, the strong, composed man softening further—revealing the weary edges only she ever got to see.
"Honestly?" he said, voice low and rough. "I've been empty. I stand in that classroom, teaching history to kids who don't care… and all I can think about is how your seat's empty at home."
His hand found hers, their fingers locking tight.
"I miss waking up tangled around you. Miss stealing kisses when no one's looking. Miss the way you roll your eyes when I make dumb history jokes."
"I miss you in ways I don't have words for," she confessed, fingers curling into his shirt. "like the colors just evaporate from my world" Then she chuckled low, "There was no world...I was just floating in an expended space"
River pulled her close again, burying his face in her hair as though he needed her to breathe.
"Every night I lie awake wanting you here," he confessed quietly. "Wondering if you even think about me after you leave my classroom. Damn, you make me so needy...so greedy...so selfish for you"
His thumb brushed her lower lip, vulnerable and raw.
"I'm supposed to be in control," he whispered. "Untouchable. But with you… I'm a mess."
"We've both changed since we met," she said softly.
He let out a hum, glancing at the ceiling like he could see their whole history reflected there.
"Yeah… we have. You were this shy thing who walked with hands full of papers which were filled with poetry, with thought, with...love, avoiding my eyes, avoiding me after I used to stand in my own world after bombarded by your sweet smile. And now? You slap me in front of an entire class and expect me to act normal afterward."
A faint smile tugged at his lips before fading into something more serious.
"We're not kids pretending anymore," he murmured, thumb brushing her cheekbone. "We're living this. Secret, yeah—but real. The kind of real I wouldn't trade even if heaven itself decided to bestow me with its… I don't know, deluxe premium blessings or whatever."
She raised an eyebrow. "Who's going to bestow something like that to you?"
He barked a laugh—loud, startled, genuine.
"Darling… I have the most precious treasure in the entire world in my arms, and you're asking who's going to give me something as meager as heaven?"
She rolled her eyes, but her face warmed all the same.
"I don't know much about heaven...hell...good or evil but one thing I know of is that- With you here," she whispered, voice softening, "it's like living in Eden."
A soft, almost incredulous laugh escaped him. "Eden had a serpent, sweetheart."
She shifted closer, pressing her forehead to his. "Then I'll crush every single one before it gets anywhere near our paradise."
He went very still.
Then—slowly—his hand came up to cup the back of her neck, thumb trembling just a little.
"God," he breathed, half worship, half panic, "you say things like that and expect me to stay sane?"
"You weren't sane to begin with."
"Yeah," he agreed, pulling her flush against him, "but you make me willingly insane. There's a difference."
"You'll be the death of me," he whispered. "But if I die… let it be right here, in your arms."
she smiled and she lift her face, sweat drenched- "Id death ever walk to our bed to claim you"
"he must claim me first because without River my existence is meaningless...without you, all colour shall be no more than a blend of black and whites, i would rather be juliet that imagining a life ahead without my romoe- my lover- my one and only- my river"
He kissed her forehead.
"Then...let's die together."
"Right now?!" she asked as if she wasn't expecting him to make a suicidal statement out of the thinnest air.
"Offcouse not" he giggled brushing his fingers tracing through her jaw, "I mean metaphorically, we can't die unless I declare to this entire world that whom my heart, my body, my soul belong to."
"Yet...what if it feels so far?"
She looked up at him. "Then what do we do?"
"What we always do," he said. "We guard the small universe we've built. You chase your future. I keep you steady. We choose each other, again and again. and we wait...we wait with patience, with love, with fire that we lit everytime we are together."
The words settled between them, soft as dusk, heavy as a promise.
"And when the time is right...we will rise together like a Phoenix"
She felt it—the certainty of him, the way he always stood like a shoreline she could return to.
Heat pooled beneath her skin before she could stop it, blooming up her neck.
She blushed and pressed her face into his chest.
He laughed quietly, warmth echoing through both of them as he held her tighter.
"Cute," he murmured. "I love you speechless when you hear my war like strategies"
She wrapped her arms around him. "Come on. We have to keep moving for the Alps in the morning. It's a long trip. You need sleep too."
He grumbled softly but pulled the blanket up over both of them, tucking her into his side.
"Fine. You win," he said, kissing her temple. "But don't think altitude's gonna stop me from keeping you warm."
She snuggled closer, sleep pulling at her instantly.
He watched her breathing steady, watched her melt into him like she was shaped to fit there.
"Always stealing my warmth," he whispered.
"But keep stealing it."
He pressed one last kiss to her forehead.
"Sleep well, my wildflower."
He closed his eyes.
"I'll see you at sunrise."
***
Thud-Thump-Thud
She woke up to noise.
No—it was commotion.
The kind that meant somebody was either
(a) robbing them,
(b) fighting a bear, or
(c) her husband had decided to rearrange the entire house at 5 a.m. again.
And somewhere she was certain it was going to be C again.
Her eyes cracked open and she found River already dressed like he was leading a classified mission into a hostile nation-state. Boots laced. Jacket zipped to his jaw. Hair criminally perfect in that I-woke-up-like-this-but-I-am-also-dangerously-competent way.
And he was PACKING.
With the ferocity of a man who believed God Himself was grading his efficiency.
He noticed her staring and smirked like Satan had personally trained him.
"Morning," he rumbled. "Don't look at me like that."
He tapped her nose—tap (OFFENSIVE)—then went straight back to stuffing gear at Mach-3 speed.
"You knew I wasn't joking about getting us moving early."
A thermos flew onto the bed. She was 99% asleep and 100% sure it almost hit her spleen.
"Drink up while it's hot," he said, like he wasn't a menace.
"And try not to pout when I drag you out of bed in five minutes."
"What time is it?" she croaked while rubbing her eyes which were drenched in sweet sleep.
He checked his watch dramatically, like he expected background music.
"Late enough that I should've dragged your cute ass out already."
A scarf hit her face.
"The tourists are coming. Once they hit the mountain road, we're basically hostages."
He yanked the curtains open with the force of a man unveiling a crime scene.
"Five minutes," he repeated.
Then leaned down and—OF COURSE—bit her earlobe.
"Or I carry you out half-asleep. Up to you, sweetheart."
"Oh my God," she muttered. "What a military brat I married."
He froze.
Turned.
Slowly.
He gave her the exact look men give in romance novels right before they ruin someone's life (sexually).
"Military brat?" he repeated.
His voice dropped two octaves as he stalked toward her.
He caged her in—hands braced beside her hips—like he was reenacting a fanfiction trope on purpose.
"You married a man who irons his socks," he informed her with insane confidence.
"Who packs emergency flares for romantic picnics. Who cannot rest if paprika and cayenne are touching—"
He pinched her waist, making her squeak like a rubber duck.
"So go ahead. Call me names."
He threw the scarf over her head like he was baptizing her in wool and spun toward the door.
"Just be ready when I say move."
"Agh....river..." she hissed like a child who's unwilling to dance in front of their relatives but in the end had to because their parents are giving them threat in sweet smile and killer eyes, she stumbling up like a Victorian lady—blanket sliding off her body because gravity was a traitor. She grabbed the thermos and took a sip of jasmine heaven- sweet, refreshing and warm.
"Mmm...it's...something"
He turned with a satisfying grin.
Saw her.
Saw the blanket slipping.
River.exe crashed.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "You're playing dirty at dawn?"
He stormed back over, grabbed the thermos, took a long slow unnecessary sip like a dramatic Victorian widow, and handed it back—fingers brushing hers with sinful intention.
"Drink fast, but not to fast"
His voice was dark honey and war crimes.
"Because if that blanket drops another inch… we're not reaching the Alps. Or anything north of this BED."
She blushed so hard she might've spontaneously combusted.
"Stop teasing me so early!"
"Not my fault you're illegal levels of adorable at dawn," he murmured, kissing the edge of her jaw—completely unprovoked, rude—before adding,
"But sure. I'll behave. For now."
He threw the scarf at her again and missed by three feet.
"Five minutes!" he called as she bolted to the bathroom.
River leaned against the doorframe like a man experiencing religious revelation.
"Every damn morning," he muttered. "She's gonna be the death of me… and I'll leave her everything in my will."
She shut the door just in time to hear him walking out to the car, smiling like an idiot deeply, perilously in love.
"Clock's ticking!" he yelled back—zero urgency.
Maximum affection.