They came home after having fun. The weight of the evening settled softly around them like a familiar blanket — not heavy, not suffocating, but comforting, like something that had been waiting for them all along. The apartment welcomed them with its quiet hum: the refrigerator's gentle purr, the distant sound of traffic from the street below, the soft click of the door locking behind them. It was the sound of home, or at least the sound of what had tried very hard to become home over the past few months.

Neel set the shopping bags down near the entryway, careful not to let them topple over. The bags rustled as he arranged them neatly against the wall — the burgundy dress, the shirts, the pants, the small pouch with the dried rose hidden inside Rooh's suitcase. He didn't know about the rose. He would never know. Some secrets were meant to stay secret.