Tangled In Silk and Sins

Epilogue

Two Beautiful Years Later

Morning

The bedroom curtains fluttered with the salty sea breeze. The early light poured in, painting everything gold. On the king-sized bed, three figures lay close together. Ashwin on one side, Shivangi on the other, and their little daughter Avni sprawled safely between them, her chubby hands stretched out like a tiny queen ruling over her kingdom.

Her hair, soft and curly, tickled Ashwin’s chin. One leg rested lazily across her mother’s stomach. And she snored not a loud sound, but a faint little whistle that made Ashwin bite back laughter.

Shivangi stirred awake first. She blinked, her gaze softening as she saw the sight: her husband’s strong arm protectively draped around their daughter, his long lashes brushing his cheek, his breathing steady. Their daughter snuggled between them like she belonged to both halves of their soul.

Shivangi reached out, brushing a lock of hair from Ashwin’s forehead. He stirred, his hand tightening instinctively on Avni. His eyes opened, still heavy with sleep, but the first thing he saw was his wife’s face.

“Good morning, Doctor,” he whispered, voice husky.

“Good morning, Superstar,” she teased softly.

Avni stirred, smacking her lips, rolling onto her back. Both parents paused to admire her — the delicate bow of her lips, the faint dimple she had inherited from Ashwin, and her mother’s soft eyes even in sleep.

“She’s growing too fast,” Shivangi whispered, almost wistful.

Ashwin kissed the crown of his daughter’s head. “Not fast enough. I want her like this forever.” Then, leaning forward, he kissed Shivangi across their little girl, their lips brushing gently.

It wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t wild. It was a kiss full of years, promises, and mornings just like this.

When Avni rolled away, hugging her stuffed bunny, Ashwin took his chance sliding his hand over Shivangi’s waist under the blanket. She gasped softly.

“Ashwin… she’s right here,” she whispered, eyes darting to their daughter.

“She’s asleep,” he murmured, lips grazing her ear. “And I haven’t kissed my wife properly in… hours.”

He pulled her closer, lips deepening against hers. Shivangi’s hand slid up his bare chest, her nails grazing his skin. The kiss grew hungrier, breaths mingling. His palm slid lower, brushing her thigh under her saree-pleated night skirt.

But then Avni stirred. Both froze. The toddler yawned loudly, rolled over, and flopped on top of Ashwin’s chest.

“Appaaa…” she mumbled in half-sleep, hugging him tightly.

Ashwin chuckled, defeated but glowing with joy. “See? Even she knows I belong to her.”

Shivangi laughed softly, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s tiny hand.

The romance was paused. But the intimacy, the feeling of being a family, was deeper than anything else.

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Later that morning, the house was buzzing. Balloons, ribbons, and streamers were being set up for Avni’s second birthday party. Shivangi moved about in a pale pink design saree, her hair tied back in a soft bun.

She stood before the mirror, fixing a small pink bindi, when Ashwin walked in.

He froze at the door.

His wife, draped in pink , the sunlight catching the shimmer of her saree, her bangles chiming softly as she adjusted her earrings the sight stole his breath.