Ethan's POV
I woke before her.
Always did.
Old habits from a life that required constant vigilance.
She was still on the bed where she had slept last night.
Curled on her side.
Hair spread across the pillow.
Fingers tucked near her face like a child.
I watched her for a moment.
Just breathing her in.
Then I slipped out to arrange breakfast.
---
The kitchen in this house was ridiculous.
Restaurant grade.
Six burners.
Two ovens.
More counter space than her entire dorm room.
I cooked simply.
Idli.
Sambar.
Coconut chutney.
Things I had researched after learning what she missed from home.
Things I hoped would make her smile.
She appeared in the doorway as I was plating.
Hair messy.
Eyes still heavy with sleep.
Wearing one of my t-shirts over her dress from last night.
It swallowed her.
Fell to her thighs.
She looked soft.
Vulnerable.
Mine.
"You cook?"
"Sometimes."
"I didn't know that."
"Lots you don't know about me."
She moved closer.
Peered at the food.
"Is that—"
"Idli. Sambar. Chutney. Eat."
She looked at me.
Really looked.
Searching for something.
I didn't know what.
"Thank you."
"Sit. Eat."
---
We ate at the kitchen island.
She was quiet at first.
Wary.
Still processing everything from last night.
I kept my voice light.
Casual.
The college version of me.
The one she trusted.
"Did you sleep okay?"
"I guess."
"You were crying in your sleep again."
She paused.
Mid-bite.
"I was?"
"Tamil again. Something about your mother."
She looked down.
"Nightmares. I get them sometimes."
"What about?"
She shrugged.
"Home. Being alone. Failing. Normal things."
Nothing about last night was normal.
But I let it go.
Pushed another idli towards her.
"Eat more."
"I'm full."
"You've had two. Eat more."
She glared at me.
The familiar glare.
The one I loved.
"You're not my mother."
"Thank god for that."
She almost smiled.
Almost.
---
I kept her there for an hour.
Filling her with food.
Talking about nothing.
Classes.
Professors.
The ridiculous assignment due next week.
Normal things.
Safe things.
Things that didn't remind her of guns and blood and bodies on restaurant floors.
She relaxed gradually.
Shoulders dropping.
Voice softening.
Laughing once at something stupid I said.
It was everything.
Just sitting here.
Feeding her.
Watching her come back to herself.
I wanted to freeze this moment.
Keep her here forever.
But I had things to handle.
People to deal with.
A mess to clean from last night.
"I have to go out."
She tensed.
"Where?"
"Business. Nothing dangerous. Just meetings."
"For how long?"
"Couple hours. Maybe three."
She nodded.
Didn't argue.
Didn't ask to come.
Didn't beg me to stay.
But I saw it.
The flicker of fear in her eyes.
The fear of being alone.
The fear of me leaving and not coming back.
"I'll be back before you know it."
"Okay."
"Stay inside. Don't open doors. If anyone comes, call the number on the fridge. It goes straight to my head of security."
"Okay."
I wanted to kiss her.
Wanted to pull her close and promise her the world.
But she wasn't ready.
So I just nodded.
And left.
---
The meetings took two hours.
Forty-five minutes longer than necessary because I couldn't stop thinking about her.
Was she okay?
Was she scared?
Was she planning escape?
I cut the last meeting short.
Drove home faster than I should have.
The house was quiet when I entered.
Too quiet.
My chest tightened.
"Meera?"
No answer.
I moved through the ground floor.
Kitchen empty.
Living room empty.
Dining room empty.
Upstairs.
Guest room empty.
Bathroom empty.
My bedroom door was open.
I never left it open.
---
I stepped inside.
The room was empty.
But the bathroom door was cracked.
Light inside.
Water running.
Shower.
I relaxed slightly.
She was here.
Just showering.
I moved closer to tell her I was back.
And then I saw her.
Through the glass.
The shower in my bathroom was a cube.
Floor to ceiling glass.
Transparent.
Designed for aesthetics.
Not for privacy.
She stood on the other side.
Frozen.
Staring.
At me.
No.
At my reflection in the mirror.
I hadn't stepped into the bathroom.
But the angle.
The glass.
She could see everything.
And she was looking.
Not away.
Not covering her eyes.
Just... looking.
---
I should have moved.
Should have stepped back.
Given her privacy.
Ended whatever this was.
But I didn't.
I watched her watch me.
Through the glass.
Her eyes wide.
Dark.
Unblinking.
Travelling down my chest.
My stomach.
Lower.
Stopping where I was bare.
Where the water had done nothing to hide.
She had never seen a man like this.
I knew it.
Could see it in her face.
The shock.
The curiosity.
The heat rising in her cheeks.
Ten minutes passed.
Maybe more.
I lost count.
She just stood there.
Water running behind her.
Forgotten.
Eyes fixed on parts of me no one had ever shown her.
And then she looked up.
Caught my eyes in the mirror.
Realized I was watching her watch me.
Her face went crimson.
She spun away.
Grabbed a towel.
Pressed it to her chest like armor.
I turned slowly.
Faced the glass directly.
Let her see all of me.
If she was going to look.
She would look properly.
---
I stepped into the bedroom.
Water dripping.
Towel held loosely.
Not covering much.
She stood near the door.
Pressed against the wall.
Towel clutched like a shield.
Eyes everywhere but me.
"You're back."
"I'm back."
"I was just—the shower—I didn't know—"
"Meera."
She stopped.
Looked at me.
Really looked.
Her eyes dropped.
Just for a second.
Then snapped back up.
Red deepened.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—I was looking for you and I heard water and I thought—I don't know what I thought."
"You looked."
She swallowed.
"Yes."
"For ten minutes."
Her mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
"You knew?"
"I was in the mirror."
"Oh god."
She pressed her hands to her face.
The towel slipped.
Exposing her shoulder.
The curve of her neck.
I wanted to bite it.
"Meera."
"No. Don't. I can't—this is so embarrassing—"
"It's not embarrassing."
"Yes it is. I'm a good girl. I don't—I've never—" She gestured vaguely. "Seen that. Before. Ever."
"Never?"
"I'm Indian. From Chennai. We don't—" She stopped. Swallowed. "We don't see things like that until marriage. If then."
Something dark stirred in me.
Something possessive.
Primal.
She had never seen a man before.
Any man.
And I was the first.
Me.
Her eyes on my body.
Her first time.
Mine.
---
I moved closer.
Slow.
Careful.
Letting her adjust.
Letting her choose.
She didn't run.
"You're the first?"
"Yes."
"To see you?"
"To see any man. Like that."
I stopped inches away.
Close enough to touch.
Close enough that she could see the evidence of what her looking did to me.
"Did you like what you saw?"
"Ethan—"
"Answer me."
She looked at my chest.
Couldn't meet my eyes.
"I don't—I can't—"
"Yes you can. Did you like it?"
A tiny nod.
Barely visible.
Something broke open in my chest.
"You did?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
She looked up.
Confused.
"What?"
"Why did you like it? Tell me."
"I don't know. I just—" She swallowed. "It was you. All of you. I've never—no one has ever—" She stopped. "It felt like I was seeing something I wasn't supposed to. But I couldn't look away."
"And now?"
"Now what?"
"Now that you've seen. What do you feel?"
She was quiet for a long moment.
Then softly.
"Curious."
"About?"
"What it would be like. To touch. To—" She stopped. Looked away. "This is wrong. I shouldn't be saying these things."
"Why?"
"Because I'm not that girl."
"You're whatever girl you want to be."
She shook her head.
"No. I'm the girl who follows rules. Who respects traditions. Who doesn't—" She gestured between us. "Who doesn't stand here talking about touching men she's not married to."
I could have pushed.
Could have used this moment.
Could have taken what I wanted.
But she was trembling.
Not from cold.
From fear of herself.
Of what she felt.
So I stepped back.
Gave her space.
"Then don't talk about it. Just know that what you feel isn't wrong. It's human. It's natural. And when you're ready—if you're ever ready—I'll be here."
She stared at me.
Confused again.
"You're not angry?"
"Why would I be angry?"
"Because I looked. Because I—" She couldn't finish.
I smiled.
Soft.
Gentle.
The college boy she trusted.
"I liked that you looked, little star. I liked it very much."
She didn't understand.
Couldn't understand.
The power she held over me.
The way her eyes on my body made me feel like the luckiest man alive.
She thought she had done something wrong.
When really, she had given me something I didn't know I needed.
Proof that she wanted me too.
Even if she didn't know it yet.
---
I dressed slowly.
Let her watch if she wanted.
She didn't look away.
When I was done, I moved to the door.
Stopped beside her.
Close enough to feel her warmth.
"Meera."
She looked up.
"You're not a bad girl for wanting things. You're not dirty for being curious. You're not breaking rules by feeling what you feel."
"But my parents—"
"Aren't here. Your culture—" I paused. Chose words carefully. "Your culture taught you to be afraid of yourself. But there's nothing to fear. Not here. Not with me."
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"You promise?"
"I promise."
She wiped it quickly.
Ashamed of tears.
As always.
"I need—I need time."
"Take it."
"I don't know how long."
"Take all you need."
She nodded.
Moved past me.
Stopped at the door.
"Ethan."
"Yes?"
"For what it's worth... I did like it. What I saw."
I smiled.
Warm.
Real.
"Good."
She left.
And I stood there.
Heart pounding.
Wanting her more than I had ever wanted anything.
She liked what she saw.
She was curious.
She wanted to touch.
It was more than I hoped for.
More than I deserved.
I would wait.
I would be patient.
I would earn every inch of her trust.
And when she was ready, when she finally came to me willingly, I would show her everything.
All the things her culture told her to fear.
All the things her body was made to feel.
All the ways I could love her.
Forever.
If she let me.