Nitya stilled when his arms came around her, the warmth of him settling against her back in a way that felt both familiar and newly precious after everything that had happened. For a moment, she simply leaned into him, letting herself breathe in his presence, grounding herself in the quiet truth that he was here, that he was safe, that this moment was real.
Her hands rested over his, fingers threading more firmly with his as he spoke.
When he said she was his world, she closed her eyes briefly, not from embarrassment, but from the weight of the feeling behind it.
Slowly, she turned within his embrace until she was facing him, still close, still held, her golden eyes searching his purple ones with gentle seriousness.
"Delvin," she said softly, her voice warm but steady, "I am grateful that you chose me. Truly. It means more to me than you know."
She lifted one hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly along the faint scar there, not in sorrow, but in quiet reverence for what he had survived.
"But I do not want to be the only world you have."
There was no rejection in her words. Only care.
"I want to be part of your world," she continued, "to walk in it with you, to share it, to understand it. I want to listen when you talk about your work, to see your eyes light up when you solve something impossible, to know the man you are when you are creating as well as when you are resting."
A small, tender smile touched her lips.
"You do not have to choose between me and the universe," Nitya murmured. "You are allowed to love both."
She rested her forehead against his, their breaths mingling.
"And I will choose you too," she added quietly. "Not instead of who you are… but because of it."
Her fingers tightened gently around his.
"Stay with me," she whispered. "Grow with me. Let us build something that does not require either of us to disappear."
For a heartbeat, she simply looked at him, her golden eyes steady and full of quiet certainty.
Then she leaned in.
Not rushed. Not hesitant.
Her lips brushed against his at first, soft and tentative, as if asking rather than taking. When she felt him respond, she deepened it just slightly, enough to let him feel everything she had not put into words. Gratitude. Relief. Affection. Choice.
When she finally pulled back, she rested her forehead against his, their breaths mingling, her hands still holding his.
Then, softer, with warmth and a faint smile returning to her voice:
"And now… if you keep holding me like this much longer, the tea will be ready before either of us notices."
Delvin jeth