The next morning came too early for Virat.

He woke before dawn—sky still ink-dark outside the windows—careful not to disturb Ishani. She lay curled on her side, sky-blue saree tangled around her legs, face half-buried in the pillow, lips slightly parted in sleep. The bite mark he’d left on her neck the night before peeked just above the edge of her small mangalsutra—faint red against her skin, a secret claim only he knew was there.