The sun had barely risen when Yuvraj stepped into the kitchen, the smell of brewing coffee and fresh jasmine filling the air. Saranya was there, her hair loose around her shoulders, humming softly as she arranged the flowers on the counter. For a moment, he paused, wanting to savor the sight of her—the warmth in her smile, the subtle elegance in every movement.
“Good morning,” she said, glancing up. Her eyes held that familiar mix of love and patience, the kind that softened even his most hardened moods.
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