The hospital garden existed as a quiet contradiction to everything inside the building. Where corridors smelled faintly of antiseptic and urgency, the garden smelled of damp soil and jasmine.
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•✿•✿• ᴀɢᴀʀ ʏᴇʜ ᴜsᴋᴏ ʙʜɪ ʜᴜᴀ ʜᴀɪ ᴘʜɪʀ ʙʜɪ ᴍᴜᴊʜᴋᴏ ᴢʏᴀᴅᴀ ʜᴜᴀ ɪsʜǫ ᴡᴀʟᴀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ... •✿•✿•
Niyati’s leaning against the railing, talking the way she does when she doesn’t want to think too hard. Yuvraj’s closer than necessary, listening instead of interrupting, which already makes her uneasy. She glances at him, catches that quiet focus in his eyes, and laughs to cover it. The words slip out easily, practiced and safe. “Careful,” she says lightly. “People might think you like me.” She expects the usual tease, the familiar deflection. Instead, he turns toward her, expression calm but serious, as if the joke never existed at all. “Let them.”
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