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The deep rumble of the engines faded into silence as the jet's door opened, releasing a breath of frosty air into the cabin. The tarmac at Pulkovo International Airport shimmered faintly under the soft Russian daylight. Snowflakes hovered like tiny sparks in the air, dissolving on contact with warmth.
Aarav Pathak stepped out first, his tall frame cutting a confident figure against the pale horizon. He reached back instinctively, his hand finding Shradha's. She smiled as her fingers slid into his, a small act that steadied them both. Behind them, Sara and Gill followed, wrapped in heavy jackets, their laughter echoing through the still air — four young stars far from the noise of home.
"Brrr! It's freezing!" Shradha squeaked, clutching her coat. Her nose and cheeks flushed red, the cold biting but exhilarating.
Gill exhaled dramatically, his breath forming mist. "Pathak, you're filthy rich, man! A private jet, five-star everything."
Aarav smirked. "The queen—" he said, nodding at Shradha, "—deserves royal travel."
Shradha blushed and smacked his arm playfully. "Stop showing off, Aarav!"
Sara laughed. "Oh, this trip is going to be chaos. I can already tell."
They moved through the private terminal, the staff bowing politely. At the SIM counter, an attendant greeted them in Russian. Without missing a beat, Aarav replied in the same language — fluent, confident, almost native.
"Здравствуйте, мне нужно четыре сим-карты с интернетом," he said smoothly.
("Hello, I need four SIM cards with internet," he said smoothly.)
The attendant blinked, impressed, replying rapidly in Russian. Aarav nodded, his tone effortless, his accent perfect.
Gill stared. "Dude, what?"
Sara's jaw dropped. "Since when do you speak fluent Russian?"
Aarav grinned, pocketing the SIMs. "Let's just say I have my ways."
Even the attendant commented, "Вы говорите, как русский." (You speak like a Russian.)
Aarav smiled. "Спасибо." (Thank you.)
Shradha raised an eyebrow. "You're full of surprises."
He winked. "That's what keeps it interesting."
Outside, a sleek Mercedes V-Class awaited, its chrome gleaming under the thin winter sun. Two men in black suits stood by, one holding a placard that read Mr. Aarav Pathak. They bowed slightly as Aarav led the group forward, exchanging greetings in Russian once again.
Gill whispered to Sara, "I swear, if he starts negotiating oil deals in Russian, I'm out."
Sara laughed, pulling her scarf tighter. "You're just jealous."
The van glided through the wide streets of St. Petersburg, a city draped in pale elegance. Golden domes and pastel facades lined the frozen canals. The Neva River glimmered faintly beneath sheets of ice.
Shradha pressed her forehead to the window. "It's so… calm. Like time moves slower here."
Aarav glanced at her reflection in the glass. "It's beautiful," he said quietly.
She turned, smiling. "You mean the city or me?"
He chuckled. "Both."
The van rolled to a stop in front of a grand structure adorned with gold and marble — Belmond Grand Hotel Europe. A doorman in a wool coat opened the doors, bowing as they stepped out. Inside, chandeliers scattered light across velvet and mahogany. A pianist played softly in the corner, the air fragrant with roses and coffee.
At the reception, Aarav spoke briefly in Russian to confirm their booking. The receptionist's smile widened with each word. Two ornate key cards were placed on the counter.
"One for Mr. and Ms. Pathak, one for Mr. and Ms. Gill," she said.
Gill almost dropped his bag. "Couple suites?"
Aarav grinned. "Presidential ones, actually. Go big or go home."
Sara elbowed him. "Behave."
As they entered the elevator, laughter filled the mirrored space, their reflections flickering like ghosts of simpler lives. At the twelfth floor, the doors slid open, and the pairs parted ways.
Shradha gasped the moment she stepped inside. The suite was a blend of modern luxury and timeless charm — high ceilings, tall windows overlooking the Nevsky Prospekt, and a fireplace that crackled softly. "Aarav… this is unbelievable!" she breathed.
Aarav leaned against the doorframe, smiling at her wonder. "Do you like it?"
"Like it?" She twirled once, laughing. "I love it!"
Without thinking, she ran into his arms. Aarav caught her mid-laugh, lifting her and spinning her once before setting her down. Their laughter faded into something softer — eyes meeting, breaths slowing, a quiet gravity pulling them close.
"You know," she whispered, "sometimes I can't believe this is real."
He brushed a strand of hair from her face. "It's as real as it gets."
Her gaze softened. "You're impossible."
"Maybe," he said, his voice low, "but you're stuck with me now."
She smiled, resting her head on his chest. "I wouldn't want it any other way."
Their lips met in a slow, tender kiss — not hurried, not uncertain. When they parted, the world felt quieter, steadier.
"Let's unpack," she whispered, smiling. "Before I melt."
He laughed. "Deal. I'll order us tea."
Later, wrapped in layers of cozy winter wear, the four met again in the hotel lobby. The city outside glowed beneath a golden haze. They walked down a cobblestone street to a rustic restaurant with wooden beams and candlelight flickering through frosted windows.
Inside, warmth embraced them. The air smelled of baked bread and spices. A fire crackled in a corner hearth. They ordered traditional Russian dishes — steaming bowls of borscht, soft dumplings called pelmeni, and sweet crepes.
Gill poked suspiciously at his soup. "It's purple. I don't trust it."
Aarav smirked. "Authentic, bro. Eat it before it eats you."
Sara laughed. "Don't listen to him. It's healthy."
Between laughter, stories, and stolen glances, they became ordinary again — four young people sharing dinner far from flashing cameras.
When dessert was done, Gill stretched. "Sara and I might check out that bookstore we saw earlier."
Aarav nodded. "Go ahead. We'll take a walk."
The streets shimmered beneath streetlamps, flakes drifting lazily through the air. Aarav and Shradha walked hand in hand, boots crunching softly on snow.
"It's peaceful," Shradha murmured. "No noise, no flashbulbs."
Aarav squeezed her hand. "Feels like we finally escaped the world."
They paused near a bridge. The frozen river reflected the golden lights of the city. Shradha leaned over the railing, her eyes wide with wonder. Aarav's gaze never left her.
"I could get used to this," he said.
She smiled. "To peace?"
"To you."
The clock struck one. The snow thickened, blanketing the world in silence. Aarav crouched slightly. "Hop on."
She blinked. "What?"
"Trust me."
Laughing, she climbed onto his back. He stood easily, carrying her down the empty street. Her laughter echoed through the quiet night.
"Aarav, you'll drop me!"
"Never," he said, smiling.
They stopped now and then to take pictures — goofy selfies, snowflakes caught in their hair, smiles lit by lamplight. These weren't for the world; they were just for them.
When they returned to the suite, the city had grown still. Shradha tossed her coat aside, cheeks flushed from the cold.
"Today felt like a dream," she whispered.
Aarav cupped her face, his voice low and certain. "Then let's make tomorrow even better."
She smiled. "Goodnight, Aarav."
He kissed her forehead gently. "Goodnight, Shradha."
Outside, the snow fell endlessly, a quiet witness to two souls finding home in each other, far from fame, far from noise — just love under the Russian sky.
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Morning sunlight filtered softly through the grand windows of the Belmond Grand Hotel Europe, touching the silk curtains with golden light. The air outside was crisp, carrying the faint hum of distant traffic and church bells echoing through the city.
Aarav was already awake, standing by the window, sipping black coffee as he watched the snowflakes drift lazily past the glass. Behind him, the sound of movement made him turn — Shradha, wrapped in a blanket, her hair still tousled from sleep, stretched and yawned adorably.
"Good morning," she said with a sleepy smile.
"Morning, sleepyhead," Aarav said, setting his mug aside. "We've got a long day ahead."
She squinted playfully. "Can we skip the 'long day' part and just stay like this?"
He grinned. "Tempting, but I already made arrangements."
"Arrangements?" she asked suspiciously.
Aarav's smile turned mischievous. "You'll see."
Downstairs, Gill and Sara were waiting in the hotel's portico. The chill air made their breath fog white as they turned to see Aarav and Shradha approaching.
Gill whistled. "Finally! We thought you two were planning your next engagement already."
Shradha rolled her eyes. "Ha ha, very funny."
Then the low, throaty growl of engines filled the air. Two Mercedes-AMG G63s — glossy black, aggressive, and gleaming like polished obsidian — pulled up to the curb.
Gill's jaw dropped. "You've got to be kidding me!"
Aarav tossed him a key. "One for you, one for me."
Gill stared at the key in disbelief. "Bro, having a rich friend is the best thing ever."
Shradha laughed. "Gill, you'd say the same if he just bought you lunch."
Sara shook her head. "Boys and their toys."
Shradha added, "Correction — expensive toys."
Aarav smirked. "These aren't toys, they're wheels for the day. Come on, we've got palaces to see."
As they slid into their seats, the engines purred to life, a deep vibration filling the air. The cars glided smoothly through St. Petersburg's broad boulevards, snow swirling gently around them.
Shradha leaned back, a hand resting on Aarav's arm. "You know, you're spoiling us."
He smiled sideways. "I'd call it investing in happiness."
She laughed. "You sound like a billionaire philosopher."
"Maybe I am," he said, eyes twinkling.
Forty minutes later, the cars rolled through grand gates into the Peterhof Palace, a marvel of gold spires and frozen fountains glinting under the morning sun. The gardens stretched endlessly — even in winter, their symmetry was breathtaking.
Shradha gasped. "It's like a fairytale."
Aarav offered his arm. "Then allow me to be your tour guide, Princess."
She slipped her hand into his. "Lead the way, Mr. Guide."
They wandered through the Lower Gardens, their footsteps crunching softly on the snow-dusted paths. Statues of Greek gods stood frozen mid-motion, fountains asleep beneath ice. The air smelled faintly of pine and salt from the nearby Gulf of Finland.
Gill and Sara trailed behind, occasionally running ahead for photos. Sara laughed as Gill attempted a snow angel and failed spectacularly.
Shradha couldn't stop smiling. "They're adorable."
Aarav nodded, watching them fondly. "They remind me of us — just louder."
She chuckled. "You think we're quiet?"
He leaned closer, whispering, "Not when you're around."
She blushed, elbowing him gently. "Behave."
At the palace café, they stopped for a simple vegetarian lunch — warm bread, hearty soups, and crisp salads. Steam rose from their bowls as they sat by the window overlooking the frozen fountains.
Shradha took a bite of bread and sighed. "I could live like this."
Aarav smiled. "You mean traveling, or with me?"
She looked up, eyes sparkling. "Both."
Back in the city by early afternoon, they arrived at the Hermitage Museum — an ocean of art and history. Its mint-green façade stretched across the riverbank like a jewel in the snow.
Inside, time seemed to slow. Grand staircases led into endless halls painted with frescoes and lined with marble. Tourists moved in quiet awe as the four friends explored.
Shradha stood in front of Rembrandt's The Return of the Prodigal Son, her eyes reflecting the painting's warmth. "It's beautiful," she whispered.
Aarav joined her side, studying her more than the art. "It is," he said softly.
Gill snapped a quick photo of them, whispering to Sara, "Look at them — classic movie couple shot."
Sara smirked. "Just don't ruin it by talking."
They spent two hours wandering — da Vinci, Michelangelo, Raphael — each room a universe. When they finally stepped out, the sky had dimmed to amber, and the air smelled faintly of snow.
As the sun dipped low, the Palace Square came alive with golden light. The Church on Spilled Blood rose in the distance — its domes painted in jewel tones, reflecting in the shallow puddles of melted snow.
Shradha slipped her gloved hand into Aarav's. "It feels like we're walking inside a painting."
Aarav smiled. "And you're the only color that matters."
She rolled her eyes. "Cheesy. But I'll allow it."
They strolled quietly, the hum of the city fading behind them. Street musicians played soft violin melodies; the air smelled of roasted nuts and coffee.
Gill and Sara caught up briefly, snapping group selfies before running off toward a nearby souvenir shop.
Shradha leaned against Aarav. "They're like kids."
"Good," he said. "It keeps things light."
For a moment, they stood in silence, the world shrinking to just the two of them. Snow drifted lazily between the lights, landing softly in Shradha's hair. Aarav reached up and brushed it away.
She looked up at him. "You keep doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Making me fall for you all over again."
He smiled, his thumb grazing her cheek. "That's the plan."
The restaurant was small and cozy, tucked in a quiet corner of the city. The smell of Indian spices hit them the moment they walked in — familiar, comforting, a piece of home halfway across the world.
They ordered simple Indian thalis, served with warm rotis and dal. Gill looked at the plate like it was treasure. "Finally! Real food."
Sara laughed. "You lasted one day on Russian soup. I'm proud of you."
Shradha and Aarav sat side by side, sharing bites, teasing each other about spice tolerance. At one point, Aarav wiped a bit of curry from her lip, and she froze, smiling shyly before swatting his hand away.
When dinner ended, the group walked back through the quiet streets. The snow had stopped, leaving the air crisp and clear.
Back at the hotel, Gill and Sara disappeared to their suite. Aarav and Shradha returned to theirs, the day's memories glowing in their minds.
Shradha kicked off her boots, curling up on the couch. "Today was perfect."
Aarav sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist. "You make perfect look easy."
She laughed softly, resting her head against him. "Do you ever stop saying sweet things?"
"Not when they're true."
They sat in comfortable silence, watching the snow begin again outside their window. The city lights shimmered like reflections on water.
Shradha turned to him, her eyes soft. "You know, I used to think happiness was fleeting. But now…"
He tilted his head. "Now?"
She smiled. "Now I know it can stay — if you hold onto it."
Aarav kissed her forehead gently. "Then I'll never let go."
Outside, St. Petersburg slept under a blanket of snow, and inside the suite, two hearts found peace — not in the grand palaces or fine dinners, but in the quiet certainty of love shared and understood.
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The rhythm of travel had begun to feel like a pulse running through their veins — steady, warm, alive. Each day brought a new corner of Russia to explore, a new memory to tuck quietly into their shared story. The suite at the Belmond Grand Hotel Europe woke slowly under the gold wash of morning light. Snow outside melted into soft streaks on the windowpanes, the city whispering faintly in the distance.
Aarav stirred first, drawn to the window as the sun climbed higher over St. Petersburg. His breath clouded the glass as he stood there with a mug of steaming coffee, wearing a quiet smile that spoke of both gratitude and anticipation. Behind him, the sheets shifted, a sleepy groan followed — Shradha, half tangled in the blanket, the morning light brushing her cheek.
He turned. For a moment, the world shrank to that sight — her face framed by messy hair, soft and real. It hit him with a tenderness he couldn't quite name. He walked over, brushing a stray lock from her forehead.
"Wake up, sleeping beauty," he murmured.
Her voice was muffled against the pillow. "Let me guess — another surprise planned?"
He grinned. "You're learning fast."
She opened one eye. "If it doesn't involve chocolate, I'm not getting up."
He laughed. "I think I can manage that. But first, breakfast. Then adventure."
Shradha sat up, hair tousled, stretching like a cat. "Adventure, huh? You're lucky you're cute."
"Noted," he said with a wink.
Downstairs, Gill and Sara were already waiting.
As they pulled away from the hotel, the streets of St. Petersburg slid by — quiet canals, pastel buildings, domes reflecting morning light. But today wasn't for the city. Today was for the sea.
At the pier, a sleek hydrofoil waited, its white hull gleaming under the sky. They decided to take the water route to Kronstadt Island. The sea air was sharp and cold; gulls wheeled above, their cries swallowed by the hum of the engines. Shradha pressed close to Aarav at the railing, her cheeks pink from the wind.
"This," she said, eyes sparkling, "is unreal."
He looked down at her. "You're telling me."
The island emerged like a watercolor painting — quaint streets, pastel buildings capped with frost, and at its heart, the Naval Cathedral of St. Nicholas, its golden dome blazing against the gray-blue sky.
Inside, silence wrapped them. The echo of footsteps and faint whispers filled the vast hall. Shradha's gaze roamed over the mosaics, the golden light shimmering across her face. Aarav didn't look at the ceiling — he looked at her.
Outside, they found a vendor selling hot cocoa. The man winked at Aarav as he handed them two steaming cups. Shradha's delighted laugh at the first sip was music itself.
They sat on a bench facing the frozen bay, their fingers brushing every now and then. "You always bring me places where words feel too small," she whispered.
"Good," he said softly. "Then we can just sit in silence."
The drive back took them along the Western High-Speed Diameter, an expressway sweeping along the coast like a silver ribbon. The sea mirrored the fading sun, molten gold slipping into the horizon. Shradha rested her head on Aarav's shoulder as music hummed low in the background.
"Feels like a movie," she murmured.
He kissed her hair. "We're writing our own, remember?"
Gill's voice crackled through the intercom of the second car. "Hey lovebirds, focus! We're stopping at the next viewpoint."
The stop at Strelna Palace gave them a panorama of elegance — snow-clad gardens, soft waves lapping below. They took photos: one of all four, then a few stolen ones of just Aarav and Shradha, her laughter caught mid-turn.
Lunch was light, at a cozy café overlooking the water — tomato soup, fresh bread, and warm tea. Gill insisted on trying every pastry. Sara took pictures; Shradha teased Aarav about his Russian pronunciation while he ordered.
The evening folded into gentle quiet. Back at the hotel, they packed for the next day's train journey. Aarav helped Shradha fold her scarves as she hummed softly, a tune that blended with the hum of the heater. He watched her and thought — this, right here, was his world.
Morning snow glazed the streets white. They returned the cars and boarded the Sapsan High-Speed Train, its interior sleek and warm. The journey ahead — nearly four hours — promised new scenery and a quiet window into each other's thoughts.
Through the large windows, Russia scrolled by — forests laced with frost, rivers frozen into veins of glass, cottages with chimney smoke curling like secrets. Inside their booth, a small table held neatly arranged trays of vegetarian lunch: buttered rolls, rice, vegetables, and fruit.
Shradha scrolled through her phone. "Mumma's been texting all morning," she said, smiling. "They're obsessed with our photos."
"Call them," Aarav suggested.
She did. Her parents' faces appeared on screen — Anjali's wide grin, Sachin's composed warmth behind it. "Shradha beta!" Anjali exclaimed. "You both look so happy!"
"We are," Shradha said softly. "Look — snow outside!" She turned the camera, laughter bubbling.
Sachin nodded approvingly. "Moscow next, huh? Enjoy it. And Aarav," he added, voice mild but proud, "take care of her."
"Always, sir... D..ad," Aarav replied. "Always."
They chatted about the trip — Gill's antics, Sara's camera obsession, the food — until Anjali, in mock severity, said, "And no romantic photos for social media!"
Everyone laughed. When the call ended, Shradha leaned her head on Aarav's shoulder, quiet now.
"My parents really like you," she said.
He smiled. "Guess I'm irresistible."
She nudged him. "Modest, too."
He wrapped his arm around her as the train hummed on, the rhythm syncing with their heartbeat.
They reached Moscow's Leningradsky Station by afternoon. The skyline rose like a story rewritten — stately towers beside modern glass. Waiting for them was a sleek Aurus Komendant, black and elegant. Gill whistled again. "Pathak, you and your taste!"
The city unfolded — wide avenues, red-brick grandeur, the faint echo of old songs. They checked into the Hotel Metropol, where chandeliers gleamed like captured starlight. The air inside carried whispers of history.
That night, they drove through Red Square, the Kremlin's walls lit amber against a dark sky. Shradha pressed against the car window, eyes wide. "It's like a painting come to life," she whispered.
Dinner was at Sattva Café, the aroma of paneer masala mingling with quiet conversation. The four friends laughed over Gill's attempt to order in broken Russian, then walked under fairy-lit streets. The night air was sharp, filled with promise.
The morning sun struck the spires of the Kremlin, and the group walked through its arches with a reverence that came naturally. Inside, marble halls gleamed, and the weight of centuries pressed softly on their footsteps.
Shradha paused before a glass case displaying royal carriages, her reflection hovering over gold. "It's strange," she whispered. "They all lived such grand lives, but I wonder if they were happy."
Aarav slipped his fingers through hers. "Maybe happiness looks like this — not palaces, just walking together."
She smiled. "Maybe."
They wandered through VDNKh Park, the frozen fountains glistening like crystal towers. At the Cosmonautics Museum, Gill posed in an astronaut helmet while Sara captured a dozen pictures. Laughter echoed through the exhibit.
Later, they found themselves in Patriarch Ponds, then Old Arbat Street, where artists painted winter scenes, and music spilled from tiny cafés. Shradha bought a handmade charm — a silver snowflake — and slipped it into Aarav's hand. "So you remember this trip," she said.
"I could never forget," he answered.
Lunch was simple — bread, cheese, and tea shared on a park bench. The cold nipped at their fingers, but warmth came from closeness. Aarav traced slow circles on her palm, grounding her.
"Are you scared?" he asked.
"A little," she admitted. "What if life moves too fast after this?"
He looked at her, steady and sure. "Then we move together. That's all that matters."
Evening melted into night. They ended their day at Namaste India, the restaurant fragrant with cumin and comfort. Between bites of dal and soft rotis, they spoke of future dreams — cricket, medicine, maybe a house near the sea.
On the balcony later, under the Moscow stars, they called home again. Anjali's laughter filled the call; Priya teased them for their glowing cheeks. "Promise me," she said, "you'll rest tomorrow. No rushing."
"Promise," Aarav said with a grin. "Hum sambhal lenge." (We'll take care.)
Shradha leaned into him as the city lights blinked below. "You know what I've realized?" she whispered.
"What?"
"That love doesn't always need noise or grand gestures. Sometimes it's just… this."
He looked down at her and smiled. "Then this is everything."
As Moscow slept beneath its veil of snow, two hearts rested quietly, full of tomorrow's promise and today's peace — the kind that only comes when love finds its rhythm.
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The golden light of Moscow dawn spilled through the curtains, falling softly over the marble floor of their suite in the Hotel Metropol. Outside, the world shimmered under the lightest dusting of snow. The sound of church bells drifted through the air, faint but distinct — a melody that reminded Aarav that this city, old and eternal, was still very much alive.
He turned from the window, coffee cup in hand, and smiled at the sight of Shradha asleep, her face buried in the pillow, one arm extended toward the side where he had been. The warmth in his chest was almost unbearable — a mix of love and awe at how effortlessly she had become his calm, his chaos, and everything between.
"Wake up, sleeping queen," he whispered.
Her eyes fluttered open. "Five more minutes."
He grinned. "You said that yesterday."
"Yeah, but I actually meant it today."
He set his cup down and leaned over, brushing his lips gently against her forehead. "We've got Moscow waiting."
That earned a sleepy smile. "Fine. But only if breakfast involves pancakes and you not rushing me."
He chuckled. "Deal."
Breakfast at the hotel was lavish — the scent of fresh bread, rich coffee, and butter melting over pancakes. Shradha, dressed in a cream sweater and jeans, playfully complained that Aarav's perfectly sliced fruit plate looked more like an art project than a meal. Sara and Gill joined soon, trading jokes over tea and toast.
By late morning, they stood before the majestic Kremlin, the fortress walls glowing under the pale sun. The group's pre-booked passes allowed them to slip easily inside, away from the long lines of tourists. Every stone seemed to whisper stories of centuries gone by.
Inside the Armory Museum, golden crowns, jeweled scepters, and ornate carriages gleamed under the lights. Shradha stopped at a diamond-encrusted tiara and whispered, "Can you imagine wearing something like that?"
Aarav smiled softly. "You already wear something rarer."
She looked at him quizzically. "What's that?"
"My heart."
She laughed, blushing, and lightly hit his shoulder. "Hopeless."
They left the museum and stepped into the vast Red Square, cobblestones glistening faintly under the weak winter sun. The domes of St. Basil's Cathedral burst in color before them — emerald, crimson, gold. Shradha stood in awe, spinning slowly as Aarav captured her on video, her laughter echoing off the old stones.
Gill and Sara, not to be outdone, staged a mock dance routine near Lenin's Mausoleum, earning amused glances from locals. "Historic entertainment," Gill declared, and everyone burst into laughter.
Their next stop was the GUM Mall, a cathedral of luxury lined with fairy lights. Shradha's eyes widened as she moved from boutique to boutique — Chanel, Dior, Burberry. Aarav trailed behind, half-smiling, watching her marvel at the displays. "You'll ruin me one day," he teased.
She spun around, holding a scarf to her neck. "Worth it?"
He smiled, genuine and sure. "Every bit."
By early afternoon, they headed to Zaryadye Park, the cold wind brushing against their cheeks. Standing on the floating bridge overlooking the frozen Moscow River, Shradha whispered, "This city feels like it remembers everything."
Aarav tightened his arm around her. "Maybe that's why it feels like home."
The Cathedral of Christ the Savior was next — majestic and serene. They stood before its golden domes, heads tilted back in awe. Inside, candlelight flickered against intricate frescoes. Shradha slipped her gloved hand into his. "It feels… sacred," she murmured.
He nodded. "It is."
Lunch at Jagannath Veg Café followed — a cozy, colorful haven filled with the aroma of cumin and curry. Over dal, rice, and samosas, they laughed about cultural surprises — like how Moscow had better Indian food than some places in India.
"Mom would love this," Shradha said, smiling.
Aarav reached across the table, touching her hand. "We'll tell her tonight."
As dusk settled, they drove to Sparrow Hills, the city stretching beneath them like a jeweled map. The golden light faded into pink, then purple. Shradha's hair danced in the wind as she leaned over the railing. "It's breathtaking," she said softly.
"Not as much as you," he whispered.
She turned, half smiling, half blushing. "Smooth talker."
Gill and Sara joined, snapping group selfies, their laughter punctuating the quiet evening. When they finally left for dinner at Sattva Café, the warmth of sattvic food and candlelight wrapped around them.
Back at the hotel, they video-called home. Anjali's delighted face filled the screen. "Shradha beta! You look so happy! Aarav, are you taking care of my daughter?"
"Always, Mom," he replied instinctively. The word Mom came naturally now. Anjali's expression softened.
Sachin appeared behind her. "You both make us proud. Keep smiling like this."
After goodnights and laughter, Aarav turned to Shradha. "Your parents don't treat me like an outsider anymore."
She smiled softly. "That's because you're family now."
The next morning began with calm. Their car wove through Moscow's streets toward ISKCON Moscow, where bells chimed and chants filled the air. Inside the Sri Sri Dayal Nitai Shachisuta Mandir, soft light bathed golden deities in warmth.
Shradha's eyes closed in prayer, her fingers intertwined with Aarav's. The noise of the world faded, replaced by quiet reverence. When she opened her eyes again, he was still looking at her — not as a lover, but as someone grateful to have found grace through another soul.
After the aarti, they shared breakfast at Govinda's — warm puris, paneer curry, and sweet halwa. Gill and Sara stumbled in late, still yawning. "You two are becoming saints," Gill teased, earning laughter from the priests.
Later, in the temple library, Shradha picked up a Bhagavad-Gita. She opened to a verse and read softly, "Love rooted in selflessness knows no end." Aarav brushed her hair back and smiled. "That's you."
They spent the afternoon at Kolomenskoye Park, walking through snow-covered meadows and ancient wooden palaces. The air smelled of pine and quiet earth. Shradha threw a handful of snow at him. "You're too serious today."
He bent down, gathering snow. "Big mistake."
Minutes later, laughter echoed across the park as they waged a full snow battle. She squealed when he caught her mid-run, spinning her once before setting her down. "Don't ever change," he whispered.
"Not planning to," she said, breathless. "You're stuck with me."
Dinner was back at Govinda's, where the same priest smiled in recognition. Shradha shared photos with her parents, and Priya teased, "Our Moscow bahu looks divine."
"Mom!" Shradha groaned, hiding her face as Aarav laughed beside her.
The final morning came gently, the snow falling in soft, unhurried flakes. The world outside looked like a watercolor — pale blues, golds, and silvers blending into serenity. Before leaving, they visited ISKCON one last time, offering quiet gratitude. The chants rose around them, and Aarav felt an unexpected lump in his throat.
"Promise me," Shradha said, her voice barely audible, "when life gets crazy again, we'll come back here."
He nodded. "Promise."
They spent an hour at Arbat Street, shopping for souvenirs — wooden dolls, hand-painted icons, and intricate jewelry boxes. Shradha tried on scarves and hats, laughing when Aarav pretended to rate each one like a fashion judge. "Ten out of ten — for making my heart stop," he said at one point, earning an eye roll and a blush.
At Jagannath Café, they ate their final Moscow lunch. Between bites, they shared quiet smiles, the kind that said thank you without words. The air hummed with contentment and the bittersweet ache of goodbye.
On the drive to the airport, Sara and Gill napped in the back while Aarav and Shradha sat in silence, hands intertwined. "You think everything will change when we're back?" she asked.
He looked out at the fading skyline. "Maybe. But us — we'll stay the same."
Her voice softened. "Good. Because this is my favorite version of us."
At Sheremetyevo Airport, the loudspeaker called for boarding. Shradha rested her head on Aarav's shoulder. "Ready to go home?" he whispered.
She smiled, eyes closed. "Home is wherever you are."
As their plane lifted into the sunrise, clouds blushing pink and gold, the past week unfolded in their minds — palaces, prayers, laughter, snow, and a love that grew quietly stronger with every mile.
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Author's Note: - 5300+ Words (My biggest Chapter)
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