It was the kind of morning that felt too still, too bright, too slow for someone whose entire identity had shifted the night before. The sun spilled across the polished marble floors of the Sharma residence like nothing had changed, as if the world hadn't paused for breath when Rajveer Pratap Singh called Aarav Sharma his boyfriend in front of half the college. But inside Aarav's chest, the air was brittle. Every breath he took carried with it a phantom echo of the night before: the sound of Rajveer's voice, low and unapologetic, as he'd made him his in front of the entire lawn, under the lights, under the open sky, where everything felt a little too permanent.