Morning light slipped into the room in thin, unfocused lines.
Aanya opened her eyes slowly.
Not immediately awake—just… surfacing.
For a few seconds, she didn't move.
The ceiling was unfamiliar in the way all ceilings are when the brain hasn't fully decided where it is yet.
Then she blinked again.
Once.
Twice.
Her head felt heavy.
Not painful.
Just… delayed.
She pushed herself up slightly on her elbows, looking around.
Sagnik's room.
That part came quickly.
Familiar objects helped memory stitch itself back together.
Beanbag.
Table.
Books.
Ludo board still on the floor.
Then—
A pause.
She frowned faintly.
The night before didn't arrive in a clean sequence.
It came in fragments.
Coffee.
Noise.
A laugh she couldn't place properly.
A table with food.
Something warm in the air between conversations that didn't feel like conversations anymore.
She blinked again, slower this time.
"…what did I do?" she muttered to herself.
Her voice sounded normal.
That was the confusing part.
Nothing in her tone suggested anything was wrong.
But the gaps were noticeable.
She sat up properly now, pulling the blanket slightly tighter around herself without thinking.
Her eyes scanned the room again.
Looking for something that didn't exist as an answer.
Then the door creaked slightly.
Sagnik stepped in.
Already awake.
Already composed.
As if the morning had started earlier for him than it had for her.
He stopped when he saw her awake.
"Morning," he said simply.
Aanya looked at him for a second longer than necessary.
Then narrowed her eyes slightly.
"…why do I feel like I should be embarrassed?"
Sagnik paused.
Just a fraction.
Then answered carefully.
"You fell asleep here."
"That doesn't explain the embarrassment feeling."
"It's probably unrelated."
She didn't seem convinced.
Her fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the blanket.
"I remember… coffee," she said slowly.
"Okay."
"And dinner."
"Yes."
"And Ludo."
"That also happened."
A pause.
Then she looked up at him again.
"Why does it feel like there's more?"
Sagnik didn't answer immediately.
Not because he didn't know.
Because some things didn't need to be reconstructed if they were already safely over.
So he said gently:
"You were tired. You slept early."
Aanya studied him.
Not suspicious.
Just trying to align feeling with memory.
Then slowly, she nodded.
"…okay."
But the way she said it suggested she wasn't fully satisfied.
Still, she didn't push.
Instead, she looked away, rubbing her forehead lightly.
"Your room is too comfortable," she muttered.
"That's a new complaint."
"It's not a complaint."
A pause.
Then, quieter:
"It's dangerous."
Sagnik didn't respond to that.
He just stood there for a moment longer than necessary.
Then said, like it was normal:
"Get up. You have class."
Aanya groaned softly and lay back for half a second.
Then sat up again.
Still missing pieces.
Still not knowing exactly what they were.
But feeling, somewhere underneath everything else, that the night had meant more than it should have.
And not having the words to ask what exactly that meant.