The email arrived just before night fully settled over London.
Aarya stared at the screen for a long moment before opening it, as if she already knew what it contained. When she finally read the words—Divorce finalized—she felt no sharp emotion, no sudden relief. Only a quiet certainty.
It was over.
She placed the phone down gently, as if setting something fragile aside, and walked toward the window. The city lights blurred slightly as her eyes softened.
Devraj noticed the change immediately.
"It's done," she said without turning around.
He came to stand beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. "You're free now."
"Yes," she replied. "Completely."
The silence between them wasn't awkward. It was full—heavy with things they had both been circling but never touching directly.
"I've been thinking," Aarya said slowly. "About what comes next."
Devraj waited.
"I can marry now," she continued. "Legally. Properly."
He turned to face her fully, his expression unreadable but attentive.
"My child needs a name," she said, her voice softer. "A position. Protection that doesn't depend on explanations or pity. I won't let my child be questioned—not even once."
Her hand rested instinctively over her stomach.
Devraj's gaze followed the movement, then lifted back to her face.
"And you?" he asked quietly. "What do you need?"
The question unsettled her more than she expected.
She inhaled slowly. "I need safety. I need honesty. And I need… something real."
He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel his warmth, his presence grounding her.
"If I marry you," Devraj said, his voice low but steady, "I won't accept a hollow
arrangement. I don't need perfection—but I need a wife. A real one. Someone who chooses me, not just the protection I offer."
Her cheeks warmed instantly.
She looked away for a second, then back at him, eyes clear.
"I don't know how to love without fear," she admitted. "But I want to learn."
Something softened in his expression.
"That's all I'm asking."
His hand lifted slowly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. When his fingers touched her skin, Aarya felt the contact everywhere—gentle, deliberate, asking permission without words.
She leaned into his touch.
Their first kiss was quiet and tender, more breath than pressure. Aarya felt something inside her loosen, a tightness she hadn't known she was still carrying.
She kissed him back—tentatively at first, then with growing certainty.
Devraj's arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her closer, not claiming but holding. The kiss deepened, warm and lingering, filled with unspoken promise rather than urgency.
When they pulled apart, their foreheads rested together.
"I didn't think it would feel like this," she whispered.
"Like what?"
"Safe," she replied. "And wanted."
He kissed her again—slowly, deliberately—this time lingering at the corner of her lips, along her cheek, her temple. Each kiss felt like reassurance, like patience.
Aarya laughed softly, a sound that surprised even her.
"What?" he asked.
"I forgot that love could be gentle," she said.
Later, they sat together on the sofa, her legs curled toward him, his arm resting comfortably around her shoulders. She traced slow patterns on his hand, grounding herself in the reality of him.
This wasn't obsession.
This wasn't desperation.
This was choice.
For the first time in two lifetimes, Aarya allowed herself to believe that love did not have to hurt to be real.
And in the quiet of the London night, she let herself stay.