The Beautiful Awkwardness

Their eyes fluttered open at the same time.

A stillness settled over the room like dew at sunrise—soft, tentative, and weightless. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The thin veil between dreams and waking reality clung to them, disorienting and oddly serene. Time held its breath. Everything—sound, light, thought—was suspended in that fragile moment.

And then the realization dawned.

Shruti's breath caught first. Her lashes trembled as her vision sharpened, adjusting to the light filtering through the cream-colored curtains. She wasn't alone. Her cheek rested against something warm… firm… rhythmic. A heartbeat.

Arjun's chest.

Her first instinct was to freeze.

They were tangled together—close, far too close to dismiss as accidental. Her left leg lay slung gently across his, and his arm was draped protectively over her back, his hand resting along the side of her waist. His breath was still deep, still slow. But his body had gone very, *very* still.

Arjun's awareness returned like a summer storm—quiet at first, ominous, then suddenly full-force. His eyes, wide and startled, darted around the room as if trying to remember where—and how—he ended up in such an intimate entanglement. His lips parted in alarm, his throat working nervously.

"What the hell?" he mouthed silently before catching himself.

Shruti felt the shift in his muscles. Then, like a man realizing he'd stepped onto thin ice, he moved—suddenly and awkwardly.

"I—uh—I mean…" Arjun sat up halfway, trying to disentangle his arm from around her while keeping his eyes anywhere *but* on her. His ears turned a vibrant shade of red. "I'm sorry. I seriously didn't mean to… I don't know how this… happened."

Shruti remained still, utterly flustered, only then realizing that her own fingers had curled into the fabric of his shirt at some point in the night. She blinked at them, horrified. She was the one clinging.

She withdrew her hands like they'd burned her, cheeks turning a deep crimson.

"Sorry! I—I didn't even realize I—" She bit her lip, mortified. "I wasn't trying to… I mean—I just…"

"It's okay," Arjun said, more gently this time. He gave a small, sheepish smile despite the blush still dusting his face. "You didn't do anything wrong. I think I just… panicked."

A beat.

Still seated beside each other on the couch, limbs newly separated but the air still heavy with the memory of closeness, neither of them quite knew what to say next.

Shruti's eyes flitted toward him. Her thoughts raced. Embarrassment battled with curiosity, and finally, the latter won out.

"So…" she began hesitantly, her voice almost too soft to hear. "Why were you sleeping beside me?"

That froze him again.

His eyes met hers briefly, then darted to the floor. The silence felt thick enough to cut with a knife.

Arjun exhaled, slow and hesitant. "Honestly?" he said, voice barely above a murmur. "You fell asleep first. During the movie."

Shruti felt her stomach knot. Of course she had no memory of drifting off.

"I just… I don't know, you looked peaceful. So I stayed there," he continued, shifting slightly so his elbow rested against one knee. "I didn't want to wake you."

Shruti tilted her head, watching his expression with cautious wonder.

"I meant to just… look at you, for a bit," Arjun admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes still averted. "But I guess… I must have fallen asleep too."

Shruti's heart skipped a beat.

She wouldn't have expected Arjun—the sometimes awkward, always observant boy she'd only recently begun feeling truly close to—to say something so raw. So honest.

But then he frowned, glancing at her fingers still hovering near the hem of her tee.

"Do you… want me to leave?"

Shruti realized how tense she must've seemed. She hurried to shake her head, though her words stumbled over each other.

"No! I mean—no. You don't have to. You—" Her voice dropped to a shy whisper, "You didn't do anything wrong."

Another beat.

Then boldness sparked in her again, flickering past her shyness.

She looked directly at him, breath held. "Why did you want to look at my face up close?"

Arjun's reaction was priceless.

His mouth opened partway. Then closed. Then opened again. Somewhere in between, his breathing became uneven.

"Do I … really have to answer that?" he muttered awkwardly, giving her a sidelong glance. "Can we maybe pretend that part didn't happen?"

Shruti arched a brow, arms coming to cross over her chest. "Nope. Not unless you want an official pardon from this embarrassing morning."

"You… are *evil*," he said with amused disbelief.

She grinned. "I'll accept that with pride."

He let out a long, over-dramatic sigh, like a martyr heading into glorious battle.

"Fine," Arjun said, finally looking her fully in the eye. His voice dropped to something surprisingly tender. "Because I thought you looked cute."

The simplicity of it stunned her.

Shruti blinked, startled quiet. And then she smiled—slow, unsure, vulnerable.

"You did?" she asked, voice barely audible.

"I do," he corrected gently. "You looked peaceful. Like you weren't thinking about anything else. Just… being you."

Something twisted in Shruti's chest. "Thank you…" She hesitated, then added, voice even softer, "I… actually woke up first."

Arjun's brows rose. "Wait. You *were* awake?"

She gave the smallest of nods.

"For a few minutes. Before you woke up." Her voice was laced with nervous laughter. "I just… didn't want to move. I felt… warm. Comfortable. Safe."

He stared at her as if she'd leaned in and recited poetry. For a moment, neither of them breathed.

"You stayed… because it felt nice?" he echoed, dumbfounded.

She nodded again, her cheeks pink but her voice sure. "Mm-hmm."

Then, silence again. But this one was different—charged, not awkward. Electric.

"Thank you," she whispered, "for saying I looked cute."

He chuckled, recovered from his earlier fluster. "Then thank *you*… for saying I make a good pillow."

It made her laugh—bright, sudden, real.

"Guess we're even, yeah?"

"Guess so."

They sat there, smiling like half-asleep teenagers caught in the gravity of something neither of them was ready to call love—but both of them felt anyway.

Until—

**SLAM.**

A door creaked somewhere deep in the hallway.

Both turned their heads in perfect sync.

Footsteps. A yawn. Familiar shuffling.

And then—

"Ah. You're both finally up," came a deep voice.

Shruti paled.

Arjun's father entered the room, back slightly bent from sleep, stretching his arms wide. He wore his worn-out kurta and the kind of internally amused expression parents reserved for their children at their most awkward.

Arjun jolted upright like he'd been electrocuted.

Shruti sat straight as a rod, frozen in place.

Arjun's father's eyes flicked from his son to his daughter-in-law, to the blanket bunched suspiciously at their feet, then to Arjun's disheveled hair. That smirk crept in. Soft. Subtle. Devastating.

"Long nap, huh?" he said innocently, walking past them to grab his phone from the dining table.

Arjun coughed violently into his sleeve. "I—I'm gonna go freshen up," he mumbled, shooting up like a rocket. "Right now. Yes. Good morning."

Without waiting for a response, he bolted down the hallway like a rabbit chased by a lion.

Shruti blinked after him. Then turned slowly toward Arjun's father, who merely raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"I—I'll go start dinner," she squeaked, backing toward the kitchen.

"Shruti, dear," his father called gently, halting her steps just at the threshold.

She froze again, her back to him.

"Don't stress yourself, alright?" His voice was kind, lighthearted, but carried warmth. "And, um… no need to look so worried. You two are married. It's not a crime to fall asleep together."

Her shoulders stiffened, then relaxed just a little. He's not angry… or judging us…

"Okay, Dad," she said softly, almost shyly, before slipping into the kitchen, her heartbeat still thudding louder than her footsteps.

Left alone, Arjun's father chuckled to himself, shaking his head fondly. "These kids… acting like I didn't once go through the same." He sighed, stretching his arms. "Ah, young love. Or at least… young confusion."

And with that, the house fell slowly back into its own rhythm—this time, with a new heartbeat echoing in its walls. One soft. One shy. One shared.

To be continued...