UNSPOKEN BONDS

19. Sanctuary Day

© archanaj1308 2026. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.

The 25th of June dawned with a quiet, purposeful stillness. For Ammu, it was a "sanctuary day"-a day designated for breathing, working, and mentally preparing for the shift in her life. In the penthouse at Parc Greenwich, the morning sun poured over her desk. She spent the first half of the day in a flow state, editing a piece on traditional Japanese textiles. The only interruptions were the soft, rhythmic sounds of the Sengkang neighborhood waking up.

Around midday, her phone chimed. It was Sam. "Are you still alive, or did the work swallow you whole?"

Ammu leaned back in her chair, a smile tugging at her lips. "Alive. Just finished the draft. How's the corporate battlefield?"

"Relentless," Sam replied, his voice a low rumble.

"Finalizing the logistics for the quarterly transition so I can disappear for the next few days. It's a mountain of paperwork, but I'm making progress."

"Don't work too hard," she said, tracing the edge of her laptop.

"I have enough motivation to finish," he murmured. "I'm looking forward to the 27th more than any boardroom deal I've ever closed."

Ammu snorted. "That is possibly the most Samarth Mehta sentence ever spoken."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It wasn't."

"It absolutely was."

Ammu swiveled slightly in her chair, smiling despite herself. "Most people compare their engagement ceremony to poetry, music, destiny..."

"I compare it to something valuable."

"You compare everything to business."

"Not everything."

A pause.

Then-

"You." The answer came so simply that it stole the next response right out of her mouth.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Finally, Ammu cleared her throat. "That was smooth."

"I know."

"You practiced that."

"I didn't."

"You absolutely practiced that."

"I've had years." A helpless laugh escaped her.

Across the city, Sam smiled to himself as he signed another document.

"What are you doing now?" he asked.

"Recovering from your terrible flirting."

"My flirting has a one hundred percent success rate."

"It does not."

"You're marrying me."

"Unfortunately, that's compelling evidence." Sam's laughter crackled through the speaker.

The sound settled somewhere warm inside her chest.

They spoke for nearly forty minutes-not about the wedding, not about the guest list, but about the mundane, sweet details of the life they were about to share. It was a tether, keeping them grounded amidst the mounting anticipation.

At one point, the conversation somehow drifted toward entirely impractical subjects.

"If we ever redesign the kitchen," Ammu said, "I want open shelves."