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Shivangi's POV
The morning sunlight filtered in through the curtains — soft, golden, and warm — exactly how Rocky’s arm felt around my waist.
He was already awake. I could feel his fingers brushing lazy circles on my back, his breath ruffling my hair every few seconds. The idiot had refused to let go of me even in sleep, his grip tightening every time I shifted.
I opened one eye slowly. “You’re staring again.”
“Correction,” he whispered, his voice still thick with sleep, “I’m admiring my baby mama.”
I groaned, burying my face in the pillow. “Stop calling me that.”
“But you are one. A glowing, strong, slightly terrifying—”
“Rocky.”
“—baby mama,” he finished with a grin I could feel on my skin.
I sat up slowly, pressing a hand to my lower back. He sat up too, instantly alert. “You okay?”
I nodded. “Just a bit sore.”
Rocky was already off the bed. “You stay there. I’ll get everything. Don’t move.”
“I’m pregnant, not dying.”
“I’m your husband. I don’t need logic.”
He returned two minutes later like he was part of a food delivery service. Water bottle, two biscuits, a folded napkin, a heating pad and—because it’s Rocky—a banana with a smiley face drawn on it.
“What… is this?”
“Your emotional support fruit,” he said proudly, placing it next to me.
I rolled my eyes but smiled anyway.
He sat beside me and carefully placed the heating pad behind my back like he’d done it a hundred times. He’d watched too many videos, read too many articles. He knew the do’s, don’ts, maybes, and hell-no’s.
And every time I pushed him away or said I was fine, he listened quietly… and still did everything anyway.
“Your face is puffy,” he murmured, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Thanks.”
“I mean it in a ‘you’re adorable and squishy and mine’ way.”
“Rocky.”
“What?”
“Stop being disgustingly sweet. It’s making my hormones cry.”
He smiled. “You cry, I’ll cry louder.”
I sipped the water and leaned back against him. “You know, you don’t have to fuss over me all the time.”
He kissed the top of my head. “Yeah, I do.”
Silence settled for a minute.
Comfortable. Warm.
Then—
“You want me to oil your hair?” he asked seriously.
I looked up at him. “Are you being romantic or are you calling me a frizz monster?”
YOU ARE READING
HER SAFE PLACE
Romance"Don't come too close...I am not good for you" I said. . . . He leaned in leaving no space between us . . . . "Yah, you are right!! You are not good , you are the best for me" saying this he smashed his lips with mine..... . . . . Tropes -friends t...
