The day had been perfect, a seamless blend of comfort, laughter, and intimacy. After we showered, the steam still lingering in the air, we wrapped ourselves in the softness of our robes and settled into the cozy rhythm of the day. The PlayStation 5 hummed quietly as we lost ourselves in the world of games, our competitive spirits mingling with bursts of laughter and playful teasing. The hours melted away, and before we knew it, the sun had dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of amber and violet.
Dinner was a simple affair, shared in the warm glow of the kitchen lights. We sat close, our knees brushing under the table, the kind of quiet closeness that spoke volumes without the need for words. Afterward, we retreated to the bedroom, the soft sheets calling to us like a sanctuary. This time, as we slipped into bed, something felt different—more tender, more deliberate. My hands found their way under her t-shirt, resting gently on the warmth of her skin. She nuzzled into my chest, her breath steady and comforting, as if she had found her home in the rhythm of my heartbeat.
She began to reminisce, her voice soft and melodic, weaving stories of our college days. Each memory was a thread, stitching together the tapestry of our shared past. I listened, my fingers tracing idle patterns on her back, until she paused and looked up at me with those eyes that always seemed to see straight into my soul. I smiled and said, "Babe, every day you sleep on my chest. Tonight, I want to sleep on yours." Her grin was immediate, a spark of mischief and warmth, and she adjusted her position, making room for me. I rested my head on her chest, the steady rise and fall of her breathing a lullaby that soothed me.
Then, she asked the question that caught me off guard, her voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of vulnerability. "Dev, do you like me more or Siri?" The mention of Siri brought a flood of memories rushing back—those days in college when she had been my closest confidante, the one person who had seen me at my most raw and vulnerable. Siri had been my best friend, the one who taught me that it was okay to need someone, to lean on someone emotionally. But Krithi—she was different. She was the present, the future, the one who had transformed me in ways I hadn't thought possible.
I took a deep breath, my head still resting on her chest, and replied, "See, Krithi, let me tell you something. The man you're seeing now, the one who made love to you and is lying here with you, is different from the man Siri knew. She was the one who made me realize that I'm human, that I need someone to depend on emotionally. But you—you're the one who made me whole. So, to answer your question, let's suppose my life is a book. From the day you entered it, it's not just me writing every page anymore. It's *us*, together. And Siri? She's a person without whom some pages would be left incomplete. But you—you're the story I want to keep writing."
She hummed softly, her fingers threading through my hair, and then she asked another question, her voice teasing but with an undercurrent of seriousness. "Babe, did you ever get jealous seeing me with other guys?" I nuzzled deeper into her chest, the thin fabric of her shirt the only barrier between me and the wild emotions she stirred in me. "Yes," I admitted, my voice muffled but sincere. "I used to feel jealous, especially when I saw you with your lab partner—what was his name? Ra... Ra... Rahul. Yeah, Rahul. But look at us now. You're mine." As I spoke, my hand slid to her waist, the curve of her body fitting perfectly against my palm. She was lying on my hand and the bed at the same time, a delicate balance that felt so right.
Then, as she continued to stroke my hair, I turned the tables, my voice soft but curious. "Babe, were you jealous when you heard people in college talking about me as a ladies' man?" She didn't answer immediately, and I couldn't resist pinching her waist gently, teasing her. "Answer me," I said, my tone playful but insistent. She finally relented, her voice a whisper. "Yes, I used to get furiously jealous. But finally, you're mine." Her words sent a wave of warmth through me, and a small smile tugged at my lips.
As I drifted into sleep, my head still resting on her chest, her fingers still gently stroking my hair, I felt a profound sense of peace. This was where I belonged—in her arms, in this moment, in the life we were building together. The past had shaped us, but the present was ours to cherish, and the future was ours to write, one page at a time.