Chapter 19

Morning didn’t arrive loudly.

It slipped in through the curtains, soft and golden, touching everything gently,

as if careful not to disturb what had settled overnight.

Eraya woke slowly.

Not with a jolt.

Not with fear.

But with… warmth.

For a moment, she didn’t move.

Her body felt… held.

Safe.

A feeling she had long forgotten.

Then she realized,

she was being held.

Her breath stilled as she looked up.

Zivah’s arm was wrapped around her protectively, even in sleep.

Her face rested close, her expression calm, almost as if her body had memorized the need to stay near her.

Eraya blinked softly.

And then,

the memories came back.

The thunder.

The fear.

The way her chest had tightened,

her breath breaking-

and then…

Zivah.

Holding her.

Grounding her.

Wiping her tears away like they mattered.

Like she mattered.

A small, fragile smile formed on her lips.

“…no one ever did that,” she whispered to herself.

All those nights before-

she remembered them too clearly.

Waking up with tears already dried on her face.

Her hands clutching nothing but empty air.

Trying to calm herself down alone.

Always alone.

And last night-

she wasn’t.

Her gaze softened as she looked at Zivah again.

From this close…

she looked different.

Softer.

Her features relaxed, her hair slightly messy, her breath steady.

“…you look peacefully beautiful,” Eraya murmured.

For a second, she allowed herself to just… watch.

To memorize this.

Then her eyes drifted toward the clock.

9:00 AM.

She blinked.

That was late.

She used to wake before the sun.

Every single day.

But today-

she hadn’t.

And instead of panic-

there was something else.

“…I slept,” she whispered, almost in disbelief.

Slowly, carefully, she began to unwrap herself from Zivah’s hold.

Not abruptly.

Not rushing.

Almost as if she didn’t want to break the moment.

She stepped out of bed and walked toward the washroom quietly.

Zivah stirred a few minutes later.

Her hand instinctively moved-

searching.

But the warmth was gone.

She frowned slightly, eyes still half-closed.

“…where-“

Then she sat up.

The emptiness beside her suddenly noticeable.

Her gaze shifted.

And then she saw it.

The blanket.

Small.

Soft.

Folded under the duvet.

She picked it up slightly, running her fingers over it.

The texture was delicate.

Almost artistic.

“…this is beautiful,” she murmured.

A mental note formed instantly.

Ask her about it.

She got up, freshened up, and walked into the kitchen.

Eraya was already there.

Of course she was.

Zivah leaned against the doorframe, watching her for a moment.

“…you’re okay?”

Eraya turned, nodding softly.

“…I’m fine.”

A pause.

“…and I’m sorry. For last night. It must have been inconvenient-“

Zivah’s expression changed immediately.

“…don’t.”

Eraya stilled.

Zivah stepped closer, her voice softer now.

“…don’t apologize for something like that.”

Eraya looked at her, uncertain.

Zivah continued, slower this time, more deliberate.

“…there is no right or wrong way to grieve, Eraya.

There is no correct way to process fear or pain or memories that refuse to leave you alone.”

She paused, letting her words settle.

“…and there is definitely no reason for you to feel like you are a burden because of it.”

Eraya’s fingers stilled over the counter.

Zivah took another step closer.

“…what happened last night wasn’t an inconvenience,” she added gently.

“…it was you needing someone. And you’re allowed to need someone.”

A long silence followed.

Then-

Eraya smiled.

Small.

But real.

“…thank you,” she said softly.

Zivah exhaled lightly, relieved.

“…good. Now that we’ve established that-“

She held up the blanket slightly.

“…what is this?”

Eraya’s expression shifted instantly.

Softened.

Deepened.

“…my mother made that,” she said quietly.

Zivah’s gaze gentled.

“…she did?”

Eraya nodded, her fingers brushing the edge of the blanket.

“…We were in Kashmir for vacation. She used to make things like this… said they carry warmth differently when made with hands instead of machines.”

A pause.

“…she gave this to me and told me that whenever I feel alone, I should wrap myself in it,” Eraya continued, her voice almost a whisper.

“…that it will remind me of her.”

Zivah watched her carefully.

Because even though she was smiling,

her eyes held something else.

A quiet ache.

Grief that never had a place to go.

“…it works?” Zivah asked gently.

Eraya nodded.

“…sometimes.”

Zivah tilted her head slightly.

“…and the other times?”

Eraya looked at her.

A soft, almost hesitant answer leaving her lips,

“…I just hold onto it tighter.”

That did something to Zivah.

Something she didn’t fully express.

But she didn’t push.

Didn’t let the moment get too heavy.

Instead-

she clapped her hands lightly.

“…okay. Enough emotional talks for the morning.”

Eraya blinked, slightly confused.

Zivah smirked.

“…tell me something.”

“…what?”

“…what’s your favorite food?”

Eraya paused.

“…I don’t know.”

Zivah gasped dramatically.

“That is unacceptable. Everyone has a favorite food.”

Eraya shook her head lightly.

“…I never thought about it.”

Zivah narrowed her eyes playfully.

“…we are fixing that.”

Eraya looked at her, a hint of amusement in her expression now.

“…how?”

Zivah grinned.

“…by making you try everything.”

A small laugh escaped Eraya.

“…that sounds… overwhelming.”

Zivah shrugged.

“…I’ll be there.”

A pause.

Eraya looked at her.

Really looked.

“…okay,” she said softly.

And just like that-

morning felt lighter.

Warmer.

Like something fragile-

was finally beginning to heal.

The morning lingered gently even after breakfast,

sunlight spilling across the living room and settling over the plain white walls.

Zivah disappeared for a moment and came back dragging something behind her.

A large can.

Bright green paint.

Eraya blinked, confused.

“…what is that?”

Zivah followed her gaze, then casually pointed toward the empty white wall.

“…we’re painting it.”

Eraya looked from the wall… to the paint…
then back at Zivah.

“…we?”

Zivah nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Yes, we.”

There was hesitation in Eraya’s eyes.

“…I don’t think I should,” she said softly.

“…I might ruin it.”

Zivah stepped closer, her tone lighter but steady.

“…then we’ll fix it.”

Eraya shook her head faintly.

“…it’s your house-“

Zivah cut her off gently.

“…it’s ours.”

The word settled between them.

Soft.

But heavy with meaning.

Eraya didn’t argue again.

Zivah smiled, almost triumphantly, and grabbed a pair of gloves.

“Hands,” she said, holding them out.

Eraya hesitated for a second, then slipped her hands into them.

Zivah helped adjust the edges, her fingers brushing lightly against Eraya’s wrist.

“…there,” she murmured. “Perfect.”

She opened the paint can, dipped the brush, and demonstrated slowly.

“Not too much pressure,” she explained, gliding the brush across the wall.

“Let it flow.”

Then she handed the brush to Eraya.

“…your turn.”

Eraya stepped closer, her grip unsure at first.

She raised the brush.

Paused.

“…just try,” Zivah encouraged softly.

Eraya took a breath,

and painted.

The stroke was smooth.

Even.

Controlled.

Zivah blinked.

“…that’s… perfect.”

Eraya looked at the wall, slightly surprised herself.

“…it’s not bad,” she admitted quietly.

“Not bad?” Zivah scoffed lightly.

“That’s better than mine.”

A small smile tugged at Eraya’s lips.

They continued.

Side by side.

Slowly finding a rhythm.

Brush dipping.

Paint gliding.

Soft laughter in between.

“…I used to paint,” Eraya said after a while.

Zivah paused, turning to her.

“…used to?”

Eraya nodded, her strokes slowing slightly.

“…I liked it. It made things feel… quieter.”

“Why did you stop?” Zivah asked gently.

Eraya’s gaze lowered.

“…there wasn’t space for it anymore.”

Zivah didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then-
she suddenly put her brush down.

“Wait here.”

Before Eraya could ask anything,

Zivah disappeared into the other room.

She came back with a small box.

Paints.

Brushes.

“…paint,” Zivah said simply, placing them in Eraya’s hands.

Eraya blinked. “…what?”

Zivah pointed toward the wall.

“…not just color it. Make it yours.”

Eraya hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around the brush.

“…what if I ruin it?”

Zivah stepped closer, her voice softer now.

“…then we’ll have a ruined wall that you made. And I’ll still like it.”

That made something in Eraya shift.

Slowly,

she dipped the brush into black paint.

And began.

Gentle strokes.

Careful lines.

A pattern started forming.

Floral.

Delicate.

Alive.

Zivah watched in silence.

Completely still.

“…this is beautiful,” she whispered.

Eraya didn’t stop.

Didn’t rush.

And when she stepped back,

the wall wasn’t just painted anymore.

It had life.

Zivah turned to her, eyes wide with genuine awe.

“…you did this?”

Eraya gave a small nod.

Zivah smiled, bright, proud.

“…then you’re doing all the walls.”

Eraya blinked, startled.

“…all?”

“…yes.”

“But what if it looks bad on the others?”

she asked softly.

Zivah shrugged lightly.

“…doesn’t matter.”

A pause.

“…it’s your house too.”

Eraya stilled.

That word again.

Your.

Slowly,

a real, unguarded smile formed on her face.

“…okay,” she said.

And for the first time,

she didn’t feel like she was stepping into someone else’s space.

She felt like she was building her own.

The rest of the afternoon slipped by almost unnoticed.

There was no rush anymore.

No tension sitting in the corners of the room.

Only color.

Movement.

And something soft growing quietly between them.

Eraya stood in front of the wall,

her fingers now steady with familiarity as she painted delicate vines curling around the floral patterns she had already created.

The green base had dried into something soothing, almost alive, and the darker strokes she added now gave it depth,
like the walls were breathing.

Zivah leaned against the opposite side, arms crossed, watching.

Not just the wall.

But her.

“…you know,” Zivah spoke lazily, tilting her head,

“this is actually unfair.”

Eraya paused mid-stroke, glancing back.

“…what is?”

Zivah pushed herself off the wall and walked closer, inspecting the details dramatically.

“…all this time, you were just casually hiding this level of talent?”

Eraya blinked. “…I wasn’t hiding it.”

“Oh?” Zivah raised a brow.

“Then what do you call this? Because I call it criminally underrated painter behavior.”

A small laugh escaped Eraya.

“…that sounds like something you just made up.”

Zivah grinned.

“Of course I did. But that doesn’t make it wrong.”

Eraya shook her head softly, but her smile lingered.

They worked in silence again after that.

Comfortable silence.

The kind that didn’t need to be filled.

Until,

Zivah spoke again.

Quieter this time.

“…thank you.”

Eraya turned slightly. “…for what?”

Zivah gestured around the room.

“…for this.”

Then softer,

“…for today.”

Eraya looked at the walls again.

At her hands.

At the colors.

“…I haven’t done this in years,” she admitted.

Zivah nodded slowly.

“…then I’m glad you did it here.”

Something warm settled in Eraya’s chest.

By the time they were done, both of them
were exhausted.

Paint on their hands.

A little on their clothes.

But the room,

it looked alive.

A place Zivah had always wanted it to be but just hadn’t found her person who would make it.

Eraya sank down onto the couch, letting out a small breath.

“…I’m tired.”

Zivah laughed, dropping beside her.

“…you painted half the house, of course you’re tired.”

Eraya smiled faintly.

But there was something else there too.

Happiness.

Unfiltered.

Quiet.

But real.

“…thank you,” she said.

Zivah glanced at her.

Then nudged her shoulder lightly.

“…stop thanking me.”

“…why?”

“…because I didn’t do anything worth thanking for.”

Eraya shook her head.

“…you did.”

Zivah didn’t argue this time.

She just looked at her.

Softly.

The doorbell rang.

“Saved by the bell,” Zivah muttered, standing up.

The moment she opened the door,

Shivani rushed in like a storm.

“ERAYA-“

Before Zivah could even react, Shivani had already wrapped her arms around Eraya.

Zivah froze.

Then narrowed her eyes.

“…seriously?”

Anamika walked in behind, laughing.

“…I told you this would happen.”

Zivah shut the door, crossing her arms dramatically.

“…wow. Amazing. I see how it is.”

Shivani didn’t even look at her.

“…I missed you,” she told Eraya dramatically.

Zivah gasped.

“Excuse me? I exist.”

Anamika chuckled, leaning against the wall.

“…apparently not anymore. You’ve been replaced.”

Zivah pointed accusingly.

“…she has a new best friend. I’ve been abandoned.”

Eraya looked between them, a little overwhelmed,

but smiling.

Then-

Anamika’s gaze shifted.

“…wait.”

Shivani followed her line of sight.

Both of them froze.

“…what,” Anamika whispered,
“…is this?”

Their eyes scanned the walls.

The patterns.

The details.

Shivani stepped closer slowly.

“…this looks like something out of a gallery…”

Zivah smirked proudly.

“…the artist is right there.”

She pointed at Eraya.

Both of them turned instantly.

“…you did this?” Shivani asked, stunned.

Eraya nodded hesitantly.

Shivani’s expression lit up completely.

“…this is beautiful. Like-genuinely beautiful. Not just ‘oh that’s nice’ beautiful, I mean real beautiful.”

Anamika nodded immediately.

“…it feels alive. I don’t even know how to explain it properly.”

Eraya’s cheeks flushed.

“…thank you.”

Zivah watched her quietly.

A small smile tugging at her lips.

They all settled onto the couch.

Shivani instantly choosing the spot beside Eraya.

Zivah narrowed her eyes again.

“…unbelievable.”

Anamika sat beside her, whispering,

“jealous?”

“…no,” Zivah muttered, “…yes.”

Shivani, completely unaware, stretched comfortably.

“…you know, yesterday night the thunderstorm was insane. I actually loved it-“
Eraya stilled.

It was subtle.

But visible.

She stood up suddenly.

“…I’ll check the food.”

Shivani blinked.

“…what?”

Eraya had already walked into the kitchen.

A silence settled.

Shivani turned to Zivah.

“…what just happened?”

Zivah sighed softly.

“…she’s scared of thunderstorms.

Yesterday she had nightmares because of it.”

Shivani’s expression shifted immediately.

“…oh.”

When Eraya came back,

Shivani sat up straighter.

“… You know actually I hate thunderstorms,” she said suddenly.

Eraya blinked.

“…you don’t have to hate them.”

Shivani shook her head stubbornly.

“…if they scare you, then I hate them.”

Eraya stared at her.

Then,

a small chuckle escaped.

“…that’s not how it works.”

“…that’s exactly how it works,”

Shivani replied.

Zivah and Anamika exchanged a look.

“…she’s impossible,” Anamika whispered.

“…I know,” Zivah muttered.

But she was smiling.

Dinner was ready soon after.

Zivah pulled out a chair beside her.

Eraya hesitated only for a second,
then sat.

Anamika took a bite and groaned dramatically.

“…okay this is illegal. You cannot cook this good and stay silent about it.”

Shivani nodded.

“…I agree. I feel betrayed.”

Eraya laughed softly.

“…it’s just food.”

Zivah shook her head.

“…no. It’s your food.”

The table filled with laughter.

Light teasing.

Soft conversations.

And somewhere between all of it,

something settled.

Not loud.

Not overwhelming.

But steady.

Like they were all,

slowly becoming something to each other.
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