Waking up next to Mehul was something I should have been prepared for.
But I wasn't.
Because when I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw?
Him.
Curled up against me. Warm. Relaxed. Completely at peace.
And my heart?
It stood absolutely no chance.
Mehul wasn't awake yet.
His breathing? Soft. Steady.
His face? Completely relaxed.
No teasing smirk.
No sharp gaze watching my every move.
Just him.
For the first time, I could really look.
The way his lashes rested against his cheeks.
The way his fingers were still tangled in my shirt.
The way his breathing hitched slightly when I brushed my fingers through his hair.
I swallowed hard.
Because this was real.
And the scariest part?
I never wanted it to stop.
Mehul was still asleep when I slid out of bed.
I stretched, cracked my neck, and thought:
"I should cook him breakfast."
…Terrible idea.
Because ten minutes later—
Smoke.
Everywhere.
The toast? Burnt to an unrecognizable crisp.
The eggs? More charcoal than food.
The pan? Definitely beyond saving.
And just as I was about to salvage what was left of my dignity—
A voice behind me:
"Are you trying to kill me first thing in the morning?"
I froze.
Turned around slowly.
And there he was.
Mehul.
Standing in the doorway.
Hair a complete mess.
Draped in my oversized hoodie.
Arms crossed, smirking like he owned my soul.
And I?
I was officially done for.
Mehul strolled forward, leaning against the counter.
His eyes scanned the crime scene before him.
Burnt toast.
Ruined eggs.
A very guilty-looking me.
Then—he smirked.
"So… this was supposed to be edible?"
I scowled. "Shut up."
He hummed. "Interesting technique. Almost set off the smoke alarm."
I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. "I was trying to be romantic."
Mehul raised an eyebrow. "By poisoning me?"
I grabbed a piece of burnt toast and threw it at him.
He dodged. Still smirking.
And I?
I was never living this down.
I sighed. "Okay, fine. I suck at cooking."
Mehul hummed. "I could've told you that."
I rolled my eyes. "Great. So what now?"
Mehul tilted his head slightly.
Then—he stepped closer.
Close enough that I could feel the warmth of him.
Close enough that his fingers brushed against mine.
And then—he murmured:
"You could make it up to me."
I forgot how to breathe.
Because that voice.
That tone.
That look in his eyes.
Brain? Gone.
Heartbeat? Ruined.
Sanity? Nonexistent.
Mehul's fingers curled around my wrist, tugging me just a little closer.
And then—he smirked.
"But first, let's get some actual food. Before you commit another crime in my kitchen."
…Oh my god.
I loved him A LOT.