*WARNING: - Mature Content Ahead ⚠️🔞
Read it at your own risk.
DO NOT REPORT IT.
"Alone with you
That's all that it takes
I'm home with you
No matter the place
I've grown with you
Yet our love stays the same
Alone with you"
~Alone With You - Alina Baraz
~One Month Later, Early November~
Living with the twins was exactly as chaotic and wonderful as I'd expected.
Aadya was a morning person who sang in the kitchen. Aadyant was not a morning person and required two cups of coffee before functioning. They argued about everything and agreed on everything simultaneously in that way only twins could.
And me? I fit somewhere in the middle. Quieter than Aadya, less grumpy than Aadyant before coffee. I'd taken over one corner of the kitchen for my allergen-free cooking, organized the living room bookshelves, and established a strict "headphones after 10 PM" rule that everyone respected.
It felt like home. Real home.
"Okay, I need everyone's attention," Vihaan announced during one of our group dinners at the penthouse. Everyone was gathered around the table—Vihaan, Shivansh, Aashika, Ritika, the twins, and me.
"What now?" Ritika asked.
"Kashvi's birthday is in two weeks."
My stomach dropped. "Vihaan—"
"November eighteenth! Which means we need to plan something."
"I don't really celebrate my birthday," I said quickly. "It's fine. We don't have to do anything."
"Why don't you celebrate?" Aashika asked.
I hesitated. "I just... haven't. For a few years."
The group exchanged looks. They knew enough of my history to understand there was more to it than that. The last three birthdays had been spent alone—first in the psychiatric ward, then in Bua's silent house, then hiding in my room pretending the day didn't exist.
"Well," Vihaan said, his voice softer now, "this year is different. This year you're eighteen and you have people who love you and we're celebrating. End of discussion."
"Vihaan—"
"End. Of. Discussion."
Under the table, Aadyant's hand found mine. Squeezed gently.
It's okay, the squeeze said. Let them.
I took a breath. "Okay. Fine."
Aadya's smile was blinding. "Perfect. Leave everything to us."
~
~Two Week before November 18th~
Planning Kashvi's birthday was the most important thing I'd ever done.
I knew she hadn't celebrated in three years. I knew birthdays carried weight for her—they were reminders of time passing, of pain, of years spent surviving instead of living.
This year, I wanted to change that. Wanted to give her a birthday she'd actually want to remember.
The group had their role—gathering at midnight, decorating the penthouse while Kashvi slept, making sure she felt surrounded by people who loved her.
But my part was private. Just for her.
I'd found the guitar three weeks ago. A custom electric guitar—midnight black with silver detailing, sleek and beautiful and exactly right for her. She'd mentioned once, offhandedly, that she'd always wanted an electric guitar. That her acoustic was borrowed and worn and never quite felt like hers.
I'd had her name engraved on the body. Kashvi. Simple. Permanent. Hers.
"You're sure about the guitar?" Aadya asked, watching me polish it for the third time.
"Positive."
"It's a lot—"
"She's never had something that was entirely, completely hers. Something that said 'this was made for you, only you.' I want her to have that."
Aadya was quiet for a moment. "You really love her."
"More than I know how to say."
"Then the guitar is perfect."
I also planned the evening carefully. After midnight, after the group surprised her, after cake and laughter and the chaos of people who loved her—I'd planned something just for us.
The penthouse balcony, strung with lights. Her favorite food. Music she loved.
And the guitar.
And whatever the evening became after that.
I wasn't pushing. Wasn't expecting anything. But I wanted her to know that she was safe. That she was loved. That whatever she needed, I was there.
Given everything she'd been through, turning eighteen was more than just a birthday.
It was a reclamation.
~
~November 17th~
I was trying very hard to pretend I didn't know something was being planned.
The whispered conversations that stopped when I walked in. The way Aadya kept disappearing to "run errands." The suspicious number of times Aadyant had checked his phone then put it away quickly.
They thought they were subtle.
They were not subtle.
But I let them think I didn't notice, because the alternative—admitting that I knew—meant admitting that I cared. That I actually wanted this.
Three years of pretending birthdays didn't exist. Three years of surviving them rather than celebrating. The first one in the psychiatric ward, waking up to white walls and the realization that I was alive despite trying not to be. The second one alone in Bua's house, crying until I fell asleep. The third one with just Bua, a quiet dinner, both of us pretending it was fine.
This year was different.
I was different.
"You're quiet tonight," Aadyant said. We were on the couch after dinner, his arm around me, some show playing that neither of us was really watching.
"Just thinking."
"About?"
"Tomorrow." I paused. "My birthday."
He was quiet, waiting.
"I haven't celebrated in three years. The last proper birthday I had was when I was fourteen. My parents threw this big party, all our family friends, this elaborate cake." I smiled at the memory before it turned sad. "And then everything happened. And birthdays became just... days to survive."
"And now?"
"And now I'm here. With you. With people who actually care." My throat felt tight. "It's a lot to process."
"You don't have to process it tonight." He pressed a kiss to my hair. "Tonight you just exist. Tomorrow you celebrate."
"What if I cry?"
"Then you cry. I'll be there."
"What if it's too much?"
"Then we scale back. Whatever you need."
I settled more deeply into his side. "I love you."
"I love you too, meri Jaan."
That nickname again. Soft and private and completely his.
"Aadyant?"
"Yeah?"
"Whatever you've planned for tomorrow—thank you. Before I even know what it is. Thank you."
He kissed my forehead. "You deserve to be celebrated. You've always deserved that. It just took the right people to show up and do it."
At 11:45 PM, Aadyant walked me to my room.
"Get some sleep," he said.
"It's almost midnight—"
"I know. Sleep." He smiled. "Trust me."
"You're very suspicious right now."
"Goodnight, my love."
I changed and got into bed, lying in the dark, listening to the quiet sounds of the penthouse. The distant sound of the city. The hum of the air conditioning. The soft footsteps—more than two sets—somewhere in the living room.
I smiled into my pillow.
They really did think they were subtle.
I closed my eyes and waited.
~
~11:55 pm~
"Is she asleep?" Vihaan whispered.
"She's pretending to be," Aadya whispered back. "She definitely knows we're out here."
"Does she know it's us specifically?"
"She heard you trip over the coffee table twenty minutes ago."
"That was quiet!"
"You said 'ow' very loudly—"
"Okay, it doesn't matter," I interrupted. "She doesn't know the details. She doesn't know about the decorations or the cake or—" I checked my phone. "Two minutes."
The living room looked beautiful. Aadya had strung fairy lights everywhere. The twins' usual minimalist space was transformed—flowers (white daisies, Kashvi's favorite), candles, a banner in Aadya's handwriting. Ritika had organized the desserts on the counter. Aashika had taken photos of the setup. Shivansh had, characteristically, helped with everything quietly and efficiently.
"She's going to love this," Aashika whispered.
"She's going to cry," Ritika predicted.
"We're all going to cry," Aadya agreed.
"Nobody's crying," Vihaan said firmly. Then: "Okay, maybe a little crying."
I checked my phone. 11:59.
"Ready?" I asked.
Everyone nodded.
I walked to Kashvi's door and knocked softly. "Jaan?"
A beat of silence. Then: "Yeah?"
"Come out here."
Another pause. "Is everything okay?"
"Everything's perfect. Come out."
I heard her getting up, the soft pad of footsteps. The door opened.
Kashvi stood in the doorway in her pajamas, hair loose, looking rumpled and confused and beautiful.
And then she saw the living room.
~
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
I couldn't breathe.
The living room was transformed. Fairy lights everywhere, casting everything in warm gold. White daisies in vases on every surface. A banner—Happy Birthday Kashvi, 18!—strung above the window. The coffee table covered in her favorite snacks and a cake that said Finally 18 in blue frosting.
And my people. All of them. Vihaan grinning from ear to ear. Shivansh looking quietly pleased. Aashika already taking photos. Ritika holding a gift bag. Aadya crying, which set off my own tears immediately.
"You—how did you all—what—"
"We've been planning for two weeks," Aadya said, crossing the room and pulling me into a hug. "Happy birthday, Kashvi."
Then everyone was hugging me at once, and I was crying and laughing simultaneously, overwhelmed in the best way possible.
"We know you haven't celebrated in a while," Ritika said, handing me a tissue. "So we wanted to make sure this year was one you'd remember."
"I can't believe you all stayed up until midnight—"
"Of course we did," Vihaan said like it was obvious. "You think we'd miss your first proper birthday in years?"
"I'm sorry—" I stopped myself. Took a breath. "Thank you. All of you. This is—I don't have words."
"Then don't use words," Aashika said. "Just enjoy it."
We ate cake at midnight, all seven of us crowded around the living room, talking and laughing in hushed voices because it was midnight and somehow that made everything funnier.
Vihaan gave her a sketch pad with every page already filled with encouraging doodles and notes from everyone.
Ritika gave her a handwritten book of advice for "surviving your twenties," which was mostly legal tips interspersed with genuine life wisdom.
Aashika gave her a beautiful photo album of the past few months—photos she'd taken without anyone realizing, documenting their friendship from the first study session to now.
Shivansh, quietly, gave her a first edition of her favorite book.
Aadya gave her a custom sketchbook with her name embossed on the cover.
"There's one more," Aadyant said when everyone else had given their gifts.
"Aadyant, you didn't have to—"
"I know." He disappeared into his room and came back carrying something large, wrapped in black paper with a silver bow.
My heart was already racing as I took it from him and set it on the coffee table.
I tore the paper slowly, and when I saw what was underneath, my hands started shaking.
A guitar case. Black and sleek. My name engraved on the metal clasp.
"Open it," Aadyant said softly.
I unlatched the case and lifted the lid.
The guitar was stunning. Midnight black body with silver hardware, the wood gleaming under the fairy lights. And on the body, engraved in delicate script: Kashvi.
Just my name. Simple. Permanent.
"Aadyant—"
"You mentioned once that your acoustic never felt like yours. That you'd always wanted an electric." He sat down next to me. "This one is yours. Only yours. No one else's."
I couldn't speak. Just stared at my name on the guitar—at this beautiful, perfect thing that had been made specifically for me.
"Do you like it?"
"I love it." My voice came out broken. "I love it so much."
"Happy birthday, Love."
I set the guitar down carefully and hugged him so hard I probably hurt him. He didn't complain.
The group stayed until almost 2 AM, when Aadya finally declared that they all needed sleep and started herding people toward the door. There were hugs and birthday wishes and promises to celebrate properly over the weekend.
When the door finally closed and it was just me and the twins, the apartment felt warm and quiet and full.
"Thank you," I told Aadya. "For organizing all of this. For making this happen."
"Always." She kissed my cheek. "Happy birthday, Kashvi. You deserve every good thing." She disappeared down the hall. "Goodnight, you two."
And then it was just me and Aadyant.
~
She was standing in the middle of the living room, still in her pajamas, the new guitar case open on the coffee table, fairy lights reflected in her eyes.
She'd been crying on and off all evening—happy tears, overwhelmed tears, the kind that came from feeling things too deeply to contain them.
"You okay?" I asked.
"More than okay." She looked at me. "Can we sit on the balcony? I need air."
"Of course."
I brought blankets—it was November, and California nights were cool now. We settled into the outdoor chairs, wrapped up, the city spread out below us.
"I haven't celebrated my birthday in three years," she said quietly.
"I know."
"The last one I celebrated, I was fourteen. And then everything happened, and birthdays stopped feeling like things worth celebrating." She pulled her blanket tighter. "They felt like markers. Of how long I'd been broken. Of how much time had passed and I still wasn't okay."
"And tonight?"
She looked at me. "Tonight felt like a beginning. Like the first birthday I've had in three years that felt worth celebrating." Her eyes filled with tears again. "Because I'm actually okay. For the first time in three years, I'm actually okay."
"You're more than okay."
"I know. That's what makes tonight so significant." She reached over and took my hand. "You did this. Not just tonight—all of it. Showing up every day. Being patient. Loving me when I couldn't love myself. You gave me back something I thought I'd lost forever."
"Jaan—"
"Let me finish." She stood up, and I stood with her. "You gave me back my ability to believe in good things. To trust people. To feel safe. And I don't know how to tell you what that means to me. How enormous that is."
"You don't have to tell me—"
"I know I don't have to. I want to." She stepped closer. "You're everything to me, Aadyant. Not just my boyfriend. My safe place. The person I trust more than anyone in the world."
"Kashvi—"
"I love you. I've loved you for a while now. But tonight I feel it differently. Like something clicked into place." She looked up at me. "Does that make sense?"
"Perfect sense."
She reached up and touched my face. "I trust you. Completely. In ways I've never trusted anyone."
I understood what she was saying. Not just the words—the weight behind them. For Kashvi, trust was the most precious thing she could offer. Given her past, given everything she'd survived, choosing to trust was the bravest thing she could do.
"I know," I said quietly. "And I don't take that lightly. Not even a little bit."
"I know you don't. That's why I'm saying it."
The night was quiet around us, the city humming below, and something shifted in the air between us. Something warm and significant and completely ours.
"Can we go inside?" she asked finally.
"Yeah." I took her hand. "Yeah, let's go inside."
~
The fairy lights were still on in the living room, casting everything in gold.
I picked up my guitar from the case—my guitar, with my name on it—and sat on the couch, holding it for the first time. Testing the weight of it. Running my fingers along the strings.
"Play something," Aadyant said, settling into the chair across from me.
"It's 2 AM—"
"Aadya sleeps like the dead. Play something."
I smiled and started playing. Softly. Something I'd written months ago, before I'd moved in, before everything had shifted. A melody that had come to me in the middle of the night when I couldn't sleep.
I'd never played it for anyone before.
But tonight felt right.
The notes filled the quiet apartment, soft and searching and honest. Aadyant watched me with that expression he got sometimes—like I was something he couldn't quite believe was real.
When I finished, the last chord fading into silence, he didn't say anything for a long moment.
"Did you write that?" he asked finally.
"Yeah. A few months ago."
"What's it called?"
I looked at him. "I didn't have a name for it. Until just now."
"What is it?"
"Safe," I said simply. "It's called Safe."
Something in his expression shifted. Softened.
"Kashvi."
"Yeah?"
"Come here."
I set the guitar down carefully and crossed the room to him. He stood up, and I stepped into him, his arms coming around me.
"Happy birthday," he murmured into my hair.
"Best one I've ever had."
"There'll be more. Every year."
"Promise?"
~
"Promise," he murmured again, his lips brushing her hair. His arms tightened around her, pulling her flush against him. Kashvi tilted her head back, her eyes meeting his, swimming with unshed tears and a profound sense of peace.
"I believe you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
His gaze was intense, burning with a love she felt deep in her bones. He lowered his head, and their lips met, a kiss that started soft and tentative, then deepened with the weight of everything unsaid, everything they had just shared. Her fingers, still tingling from the guitar strings, found their way to his jaw, then tangled in his hair, gently tugging him closer. A soft moan escaped her, a sound of deep contentment.
Aadyant broke the kiss, but only to pepper soft kisses along her jawline, down her throat, each touch a spark. "Come with me," he whispered, his voice a low, husky rumble that vibrated against her skin.
Kashvi didn't need to ask where. She simply nodded, her hand finding his, her fingers lacing with his as he led her from the fairy-lit living room, past the open guitar case, and into the quiet sanctuary of his bedroom. The air in the room was cooler, softer, illuminated only by the faint glow filtering in from the city outside.
He turned to face her, his hands gently framing her face, his thumbs tracing the curve of her cheekbones. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded with desire, searched hers, seeking confirmation, asking permission without a single word. Kashvi leaned into his touch, her own hands finding the soft fabric of his shirt, slowly unbuttoning it. Her movements were deliberate, unhurried, a silent conversation unfolding between them. Aadyant's breath hitched as the shirt fell open, revealing the sculpted planes of his chest.
"My turn," he murmured, his voice barely audible, as his fingers found the hem of her pajama top.
He lifted it slowly, reverently, his eyes never leaving hers, watching for any hesitation. Kashvi lifted her arms, allowing him to pull it over her head, the soft fabric whispering as it came away. A soft gasp escaped her as his warm hands settled on her bare waist, drawing her closer until their bodies were flush against each other.
The remaining clothes followed, shed with a tender urgency that spoke volumes. The soft thump of fabric hitting the floor was the only sound for a moment, replaced by the accelerating rhythm of their breaths. When they stood naked before each other, there was no awkwardness, only a profound sense of rightness, of belonging.
Aadyant reached out, his fingers brushing over the curve of her hip, sending a shiver through her. He drew her onto the bed, their bodies molding together as they lay down, side by side. He shifted, rising above her, supporting himself on his forearms, his gaze tender, adoring.
"Beautiful," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. His lips found hers again, a slow, deep kiss that tasted of longing and promise. Kashvi's hands roamed over his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath her fingertips, pulling him closer still. A low moan rumbled deep in her throat, an almost guttural sound of pure pleasure.
His hand slid lower, stroking the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, an intimate exploration that made her hips instinctively arch into his touch. A soft whimper escaped her, a plea for more. Aadyant moved with exquisite slowness, each touch, each caress, a deliberate act of love and attention. He whispered soft words against her ear, promises of pleasure, affirmations of her beauty, each one a balm to her soul.
Kashvi's breath came in short, sharp gasps as the delicious tension built, coiling tighter and tighter within her. Her fingers clenched in his hair, her nails lightly scraping his scalp, urging him on. "Aadyant," she gasped, his name a desperate, fervent prayer.
He paused, his eyes locking with hers, a silent question passing between them. Kashvi answered with a fierce nod, her gaze unwavering, full of trust and burgeoning passion.
With a final, tender kiss, he shifted, aligning their bodies. A soft intake of breath from Kashvi, a moment of profound connection, and then, slowly, deliberately, he joined them. A sharp gasp tore from her lips, quickly followed by a long, drawn-out moan as her body stretched, adjusted, and then welcomed him completely. He paused, letting her acclimate, his eyes searching hers for any sign of discomfort, but found only a blissful surrender.
He moved towards the nightstand and took out a condom and rolled it along his length.
Then he began to move, a slow, rhythmic sway that quickly built in intensity. The bed began to creak softly with their movements, a gentle counterpoint to their ragged breaths and the rising chorus of their pleasure. Kashvi's hands gripped his shoulders, her nails digging in slightly, lost in the overwhelming tide of sensation.
Each thrust was deeper, more urgent, pulling a cascade of moans from her, mingling with his own deep groans. She met his rhythm, her hips rising to meet his, lost in the exquisite dance of their bodies, a dance of trust, love, and reclamation. The world outside the room had vanished, replaced by the symphony of their breaths, their heartbeats, and the soft whispers of skin against skin, a perfect culmination to her eighteenth year.
~
~November 18th, Morning~
I woke up to sunlight streaming through the curtains and Kashvi asleep beside me.
She looked peaceful. Completely, utterly peaceful. No tension in her shoulders. No crease between her brows. Just soft and still and safe.
I didn't move. Didn't want to wake her remembering our last night.
Just lay there watching her breathe, thinking about how different everything was from four months ago. How different she was. How different I was, because of her.
My phone buzzed quietly. Aadya.
Aadya: Good morning. Coffee's ready. Take your time.
I smiled and put my phone back down.
She stirred slightly, and I stayed perfectly still. But she didn't wake—just exhaled softly and settled back into sleep.
Eighteen, I thought. She was eighteen today. She'd survived fifteen, sixteen, seventeen—years that had tried their hardest to break her. And she was here. Whole. Healing. Loved.
She was here. Sleeping right beside me.
I reached over carefully and brushed a strand of hair from her face.
She opened her eyes.
"Hey," she said, her voice soft with sleep.
"Hey. Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."
"It's okay." She looked at me, and something in her eyes was different. Clearer, maybe. Lighter. "How are you?"
"Perfect. You?"
She considered this seriously, like she always did. Like she gave every question the weight it deserved.
"Yeah," she said finally. "Yeah, I'm perfect too."
She smiled—slow, genuine, unguarded. The smile that I'd spent months waiting to see and would spend the rest of my life grateful for.
"Best birthday," she said. "Best one ever."
"Yeah." I took her hand. "It really was."
~
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