Layers of Us

Chapter 80: The Heart's Home

The warm sunlight filtered through the glass windows of Tripura's penthouse, casting soft golden hues over the wooden floors and gentle furnishings. The atmosphere was serene, calming-offering the kind of peace only a home could.

Tripura unlocked the main door, balancing Bhoomika's duffel bag in one hand. She nudged the door open with her elbow and motioned for Bhoomika to step inside.

"Careful," she said, casting a glance back at her. "One step at a time."

"Tipsy," Bhoomika groaned with mock exasperation, dragging her feet exaggeratedly. "You're treating me like a porcelain doll. I'm just recovering, not broken."

Tripura shot her a side look, hiding her smile. "Well, you do act like one sometimes. Fragile and dramatic."

Bhoomika gasped, a hand to her chest. "Rude! This is how you welcome your favorite human?"

Tripura arched a brow as she placed the bag down and flicked on the hallway light. "Favorite human? Since when?"

"Since forever," Bhoomika said matter-of-factly, already making herself comfortable by kicking off her shoes and bouncing lightly on the plush sofa. "Also, I know this is your penthouse and all, but it totally feels like mine now. So just a heads-up, I might rearrange the bookshelf."

Tripura folded her arms and smirked. "You do that and I'm putting you on cooking duty for the rest of your stay."

"Ha! Joke's on you. I make amazing coffee."

From that moment on, Bhoomika settled in with the ease of someone who truly belonged. She followed Tripura around like a second shadow, hugging her at the most random times, flopping across her lap while Tripura tried to read, and sneaking into her bed late at night just to curl up beside her.

"Tipsy," Bhoomika would mumble into her shoulder during those quiet nights. "You smell like comfort and nightmares chased away."

Tripura never responded with words. She would simply pull her closer, a soft hand running through Bhoomika's hair until they both drifted into peaceful sleep.

Every day brought new mischief. Tripura would wake up early only to find Bhoomika attempting to chop vegetables in the kitchen.

"Bhoomi," she warned, standing at the doorway. "You better not be holding that knife."

"I am. And look, all ten fingers still intact," Bhoomika quipped, flashing her hands proudly. "You always do the cooking. Let me help."

Tripura sighed but walked over, taking the knife gently from her. "Help by sitting on the counter and telling me your unnecessary gossip."

"Done dana done," Bhoomika said, hopping up. "So, did I tell you about that nurse who winked at me during discharge?"

They would eat together, sing along to old Hindi songs while cleaning, and spend evenings sitting by the window, sipping hot drinks.

The days had grown warmer, and with every passing day, Bhoomika became more of a snuggle-monkey than ever before. Her recovery had been smooth, and with her health slowly stabilizing, her energy returned tenfold-much to Tripura's amusement and occasional exasperation.

Tripura could barely sit for five minutes on the couch without Bhoomika sneaking up beside her and curling up like a baby, her head resting firmly against Tripura's chest.

"You're literally glued to me these days," Tripura muttered one evening, trying to flip a page in her book without disturbing the sleepy head lying on her shoulder.