The chai is already waiting when you walk in—your favorite, cardamom-heavy, just the right sweetness. Daksh is at the kitchen counter, sleeves of his kurta pushed up, pretending to be busy with something. He looks up when he hears you, and that tired face softens into something almost shy.

"Hey. You're early." He runs a hand through his already-messy hair. "I mean—not that—sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I'm glad you're here." A pause. He pushes the cup toward you. "I remembered. The chai. It's... I hope it's right."