Morning slipped softly into Airan Villa, touching every corridor, every carved railing, and every quiet corner with pale gold light. It arrived not with noise, but with grace—like a gentle guest who knew the house well. Shadows retreated slowly from the marble floors, and the first warmth of dawn settled over the villa like a blessing. Outside, the world was stirring awake, but inside, the morning still moved in whispers.

In Yuvaan and Takshvi’s room, the day entered even more carefully, as though it understood that something sacred still rested there. The room held the hush of deep sleep, of dreams not yet fully faded, of two lives intertwined in peaceful stillness. The air itself seemed softer here, touched by comfort and memory.