An Evening of Serenity

An Evening of Serenity

After changing into my workout clothes, I wheeled out my bicycle and pedaled toward the mountain temple, where I often trained. The cool evening air rushed past me as I climbed the winding path, the distant hum of cicadas blending with the rustling leaves.

Upon reaching the temple grounds, I took a deep breath, savoring the crisp mountain air. The world was quiet here, peaceful—just me and my own thoughts.

I started with a 5-kilometer run, my footsteps echoing against the stone pavement. Then came the stretches, loosening my muscles before transitioning into my calisthenics routine—pull-ups, dips, planks, and push-ups.

By the time I completed my last set, my arms trembled from exertion, my shirt drenched in sweat. I sat down on a bench, catching my breath as I gazed at the horizon. The setting sun bathed the world in shades of crimson and gold, painting everything in an almost surreal beauty. For a moment, I simply sat there, letting the warmth of the fading light wash over me.

With the last rays of sunlight dipping below the mountains, I mounted my bicycle once more and rode home.

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After a cold, refreshing shower, I changed into my night pajamas and headed straight for the kitchen. The scent of warm spices and freshly cooked food filled the air, making my stomach rumble. Opening the fridge, I grabbed a glass and filled it with water.

"Hey! Don't drink too much water—it'll kill your appetite!"

I turned to see Vaishu, standing by the stove, her apron still on as she stirred a pot. Strands of her long, black hair had slipped loose from her ponytail, framing her soft features.

I chuckled. "Okay, okay." Taking a sip, I set the glass down and moved toward the dining table. "So, when are Dad and Mom coming back?"

She wiped her hands on a towel before joining me at the table. "They'll be home late. They're having dinner at our relatives' place."

As she spoke, she carefully placed dish after dish on the table—steaming rice, fragrant curry, sautéed vegetables, and crispy fried snacks. Finally, she took a seat beside me, the warm glow of the kitchen lights reflecting in her gentle brown eyes.

"Okay," I murmured, admiring the meal.

"Let's eat, then," she said with a soft smile, serving portions onto both our plates.

As we ate, we fell into our usual rhythm—chit-chatting about college, laughing over little things, and sharing stories about our day.

It was ordinary. Simple. Yet, there was something incredibly comforting about this moment—the warmth of home, the presence of someone who had become a part of my everyday life.