The morning light bled through the sheer curtains, painting golden streaks across the bed. The world outside had begun its routine—birds humming their soft melodies, the distant murmur of life awakening. But inside the room, time was still. Frozen. Suspended between the echoes of last night and the hush of the present. 

Ananya stirred, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she slowly drifted into consciousness. The warmth cocooning her was unfamiliar, yet comforting. It was a presence—gentle, soft, clinging.