Neha finally looked at him. His tie was loosened, his shirt wrinkled. He looked tired—not of her, but of the walls he had built.

She didn't turn. "You said you wanted to talk."

"One step at a time?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"Dhire dhire," he began, then paused, searching for words. "That's how it happened, isn't it? You didn't burst into my life. You just... seeped in."

Slowly, she placed her hand in his.

The rain had stopped, but the terrace still smelled of wet earth and jasmine. Neha stood by the railing, watching the last droplets fall from the clothesline. She heard his footsteps before she saw him—slow, hesitant, unlike the confident lawyer she knew in courtrooms.

They stood like that as the clouds parted, revealing a shy moon. No dramatic music swelled. No one applauded. But somewhere deep inside, the melody of dhire dhire began to play again—soft, patient, like rain finding its way through cracked earth.

"I used to think love had to be a thunderstorm," he continued, his gaze fixed on the wet city lights below. "Big gestures. Loud declarations. But with you... it was the small things. The way you'd leave a glass of water on my desk. How you hummed while chopping vegetables. How you never asked me to be perfect—just present."

His fingers closed around hers—not tight, not desperate. Just... there. Present.

He extended his hand, palm open. No ring. No grand promise. Just an offer.

He smiled—a real smile, the kind she hadn't seen in months. "One breath at a time."

He took a breath. "Not to start over. I don't want to erase what we were. I want to rebuild—brick by brick, word by word. Slowly. Dhire dhire."

He turned to face her fully. "And then, dhire dhire, I forgot to show you that you were still mine. I got busy winning cases, and lost the only case that mattered—us."

She looked at his hand—the same hand that had once held hers across a café table, nervous and hopeful. The same hand that had clenched in frustration during their last fight.

And for the first time in a long time, home didn't feel like an address. It felt like a hand holding hers. Slowly. Gently. Surely.