The silence between them stretched like a live wire, electric and unyielding, until Rohan's voice echoed from the kitchen, breaking the spell. "Aarav, I need your help with that project—it's in the study," he called, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling just out of sight. Aarav pulled back, his jaw tightening as he muttered a gruff acknowledgment, stepping away from Meera with a force of will that felt like tearing himself from gravity. A few days later, he found himself back at the house, ostensibly to sort through some work documents with Rohan, his mind still replaying that charged encounter. The familiar hum of the household enveloped him—the faint clatter of dishes, the distant rustle of leaves outside—but as he walked down the hallway toward the study, a softer sound caught his ear. From Meera's slightly ajar door, he heard breathless whispers, the kind that made his steps falter: soft, rhythmic sighs laced with his name, "Aarav," uttered in a way that sent a jolt straight to his core.