Adah's POV

Morning arrived like a soft confession against my skin.

I woke before him, which is rare. Usually Arjun is the one who claims the dawn, but today I wanted to watch him sleep, to admire the quiet triumph of a man who has finally understood his woman. I have trained him well. Not to apologise with empty words, but to repair, to adjust, to evolve. Yesterday’s misunderstanding could have lingered like a stubborn stain. It didn’t. He cleaned it before it could settle in my heart. No residue. No unspoken ache. Just clarity.

When I slipped out of bed, I did not expect to return to a tray waiting like a royal decree. Bed coffee, perfectly balanced, perfectly stirred, the way I like it. Not too strong, not too sweet. Roses arranged with such deliberate care that I almost laughed. He stood there pretending composure, but his eyes betrayed him. They were searching my face for approval.

"Princess treatment, Mr. Malhotra?"

He only bowed dramatically and corrected, "Queen Treatment, my love" and he was just getting started.

A bubble bath followed. He had scattered petals in the tub as if we were starring in some overly romantic film, but somehow with him it did not feel theatrical. It felt earned. He waited outside while I soaked, claiming he had “plans in execution mode.” When I stepped out wrapped in a towel, I found gifts on the bed. Small things. Thoughtful things. Things that whispered, I listen to you.

And then breakfast.

My favourite pasta. Cooked exactly the way I like it. Extra cheese, a hint of chilli, perfectly creamy but not heavy. Not just for me. For the entire family. Because loving me, in his mind, means loving our world too.

I watched him move around the kitchen, sleeves rolled, focus sharp. There is something devastatingly attractive about a man who corrects himself without being forced. Who learns your silences. Who notices when your laughter dims half a shade and does not rest until it returns.

I had to go home for rituals. He did not hesitate. He came with me. Sat through everything patiently. Participated with sincerity. Ensured I ate properly, hovering with a plate like I might vanish if underfed. I teased him for it, but secretly, I liked being guarded that way.

He became the son, my parents never had. He cooked with my mother and joined my father in pulling my leg. This was something I have been praying not to happen entire life. Him joining my sister and brother-in-law to tease me. Yet, I loved every moment of it. Especially when he got scared when I got angry on him for joining their team instead of protecting me.

Night unfolded differently.

He took me to the terrace where he had built a tiny kingdom for us. Cushions layered into a nest, fairy lights draped overhead, candles protected inside glass jars so the wind could not steal them. It looked like a secret fort children would build, except this one held two adults with dangerously wandering thoughts.

We watched The Kissing Booth together, though I’m not sure how much attention either of us paid to the screen. We were busy in our game with our own hand. I was bundled around him like a small baby whom he kept pampering with kisses here and there.

I just sat back and smelled his divine fragrance.

He had cooked paneer and rice for me. Skipped the roti entirely because I demand it hot off the stove and apparently transporting a stove to the terrace was where even his devotion drew a logistical line.

I laughed when he explained it, offended in the most dramatic way possible. That look on his face, leaves me wonder how did he command everyone to do as he says with this adorability. It is only me who looks at his face in this way. He never stop giving me butterflies.

He fed me from his own hands. Slowly. Watching every bite like it meant something sacred.

That is when I teased him.

“Aaj tum jaise kar rhe ho, lagta h bakre ko khilaya pilaya jaa rha h usse halal karne se pehle.”

He didn’t miss a beat. His eyes darkened just enough to make my pulse misbehave.

“Ha. Aur jaise ye bakra mujhse halal hone ka intezaar nahi kar rhi hai. Baby, tum ab bas intezaar karo. Kal tumhara main woh haal karunga na… tum mana karogi phir bhi main nahi rukne waala.”

I arched a brow. “Kal toh hamari flight hai na. Raat tak pahuchenge. The minute we start from home, I won’t leave you for a second? Haan? You think waha pahuchne tak tum mujhe itna desperate bana doge ki villa baad mein dekhungi, pehle tumhe beg karungi?”

His grin widened. He leaned closer, voice lowering into that dangerous register that feels like velvet dragged over fire.

“Exactly.”

I shook my head, pretending indifference. “Din bhar ki travel ke baad, main sirf sone mein interested hongi. Bhool gaye kya? Neendh parmo dharma hai mere liye.”

He laughed softly, then brushed his thumb against my lower lip, wiping a trace of rice that wasn’t even there.

“Tumhare ‘I am just a baby’ excuses nahi chalenge, jaaneman. Jo mujhe chahiye, woh main leke rahunga.”

There was no threat in his tone. Only certainty. The kind built on consent, on knowing me well enough to read the yes beneath my sarcasm.

And the truth?

The more he pampers me, the more he nurtures me, the more he becomes this attentive, deliberate man… the more I want to test exactly how far his patience stretches before it snaps into hunger.

Tomorrow we travel.

But tonight, under fairy lights and a sky pretending not to watch us, I felt something deeper than desire.

I felt claimed.

Not owned.

Chosen.

And that difference is everything.

I wonder what he plans to do tomorrow. He is too big for me anyways. How am I gonna take him?

What thoughts you had before being claimed by your partner? Was it easy or painful for the first time?