Morning in London arrived softly.
Aarya woke to pale light slipping through the curtains and the quiet certainty that
she was no longer alone in the world. Devraj lay beside her, already awake, his
arm resting lightly on the pillow near her shoulder, as if he had learned her
boundaries without being taught.
For a moment, she stayed still.
She placed her hand over her stomach, her breath slowing.
You're here, she thought. And this time, I won't let the world touch you.
Devraj noticed the gesture but didn't interrupt it. When she finally looked at him, he
spoke gently.
"Good morning, wife."
The word didn't feel heavy. It didn't feel like ownership. It felt… earned.
Later, after breakfast, the three of them sat together in the sunlit living room—Aarya
curled into one corner of the sofa, Riya cross-legged opposite her, Devraj leaning back with quiet ease.
"This is where life starts," Riya said, looking around. "Not just the marriage.Everything after."
Aarya nodded. "I want to build something here. Slowly. Properly."
Devraj turned toward her. "We're not in a hurry."
She hesitated, then spoke. "There's something we need to decide. About my father."
Riya straightened immediately.
"Ihaven't told him yet," Aarya continued. "About the marriage. Or… the child."
Devraj didn't flinch.
"If we wait," Aarya said carefully, "if he finds out later—when the timing makes
sense—he will believe the truth. That the child is ours. That this is my life
now."
Riya nodded. "Your father trusts you. But timing matters."
Devraj considered it, then said simply, "We'll tell him when you're ready. I'll stand
in front of him myself if needed."
Aarya exhaled, relief softening her shoulders.
"There's one more thing," she said quietly.
Both of them turned to her.
"In five years," Aarya continued, "I want to visit an orphanage. Not just visit. I want
to adopt a child."
Riya blinked. "You've never mentioned—"
"Arjun," Aarya said, the name settling heavily between them.
Devraj waited.
"He was my son," she said softly. "Not by blood. But by choice. I raised him. Loved
him. I lost him when I lost everything else."
Her fingers tightened against the fabric of the cushion. "I can't forget him. Even
in this life."
Devraj reached out, covering her hand. "Then we won't forget him."
She looked at him, searching for doubt. She found none.
"When the time comes," he said, "we'll go together."
Aarya smiled, a fragile thing—but real.
That afternoon, she stood by the window again, watching the city move below. London
didn't know her history. It didn't know her sins or her grief.
Here, she was just a woman starting over—with a child growing quietly inside her, a
husband who stood beside her, and a future she was no longer afraid to plan.
For the first time, she wasn't surviving.
She was building.