The following morning, sunlight streamed through the window, painting golden stripes across the rumpled bedsheets. Annika stirred first, a contented sigh escaping her lips as she snuggled closer to Shivay's still form. He was nestled against her back, one arm possessively wrapped around her waist. The events of the previous night replayed in her mind, a delicious warmth spreading through her chest.

"So, Mrs. Oberoi," he began, his voice husky with sleep, "any regrets about last night?"

Annika swatted him playfully, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "None at all, Mr. Oberoi," she countered, her voice laced with amusement.

A comfortable silence settled between them, a quiet symphony of intertwined breaths and the gentle rhythm of their entwined hearts. It was a new kind of silence, one woven with unspoken intimacy and a deeper understanding that transcended the need for words.

But the peace was broken by a low rumble that originated from Annika's stomach. A sheepish smile played on her lips as she glanced at Shivay.

His eyes softened, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "Go get yourself cleaned up, love," he said, his voice warm with affection. "I'll whip something up for breakfast."

Annika nodded gratefully. As she rose from the bed, her gaze caught Shivay's, and his eyes darkened with a flicker of desire. Realizing she was still bare, a blush flooded her cheeks.

With a playful giggle, she snatched the nearest sheet and draped it around herself before making a hasty retreat towards the bathroom. "Cheapde!" she called back playfully over her shoulder.

Shivay couldn't help but chuckle at her flustered form. "There's nothing to hide, Annika," he teased back, his voice laced with amusement. "I've already seen all of you, and it's a sight I wouldn't trade for anything."

The playful exchange brought a smile back to Annika's face as she disappeared into her room. Shivay, left alone, shook his head fondly, the memory of their passion still tingling on his skin. The anniversary had blossomed into something far more profound, and as he went about preparing breakfast, his heart brimmed with a love that promised a lifetime of shared laughter, stolen moments, and a love story written not just in dates and anniversaries, but in the depths of their souls.

Annika emerged from the bathroom, feeling refreshed and a touch more composed. Shivay's playful words still lingered in her mind, sending a warmth through her. The scent of coffee filled the air, a welcome aroma that promised a comforting start to the day.

She found him in the kitchen, his back to her as he expertly flipped pancakes. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting a golden halo around him. In that moment, a wave of love washed over her, so strong it took her breath away.

"Wow," she breathed, her voice filled with awe. "You look like you could be in a commercial for perfect husbands."

Shivay turned, a spatula in hand and a playful grin on his face. "Is that so, Mrs. Oberoi? And what exactly makes a husband 'perfect'?"

Annika walked closer, her smile widening. "Well," she began, circling him playfully, "the ability to whip up pancakes on a whim is definitely a plus. But mostly, it's the way you make me feel – loved, cherished, safe."

She stopped behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his back. Shivay chuckled, a deep rumble that sent shivers down her spine. He turned slightly, his hand finding hers and giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Those are the things I want to make you feel every day, Annika," he whispered, his voice sincere. "Not just today, not just because of last night. But for every day to come."

Annika leaned in closer, her heart overflowing with love. "I know, Shivay," she murmured. "And I want the same for you."

They stood there for a moment, lost in the quiet comfort of each other's presence. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of their love and the promise of a future they would build together.

Shivay pulled away reluctantly, his gaze meeting hers. "Pancakes getting cold, Mrs. Oberoi," he teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Annika swatted him playfully on the arm. "Alright, alright, Mr. Perfect Husband," she countered, her smile sparkling. "Lead the way to breakfast."

They sat at the table, sharing stories and laughter as they enjoyed the simple yet delicious meal.

As they finished their breakfast, a playful tension crackled in the air. Shivay reached across the table, his hand hovering near Annika's. "Mrs. Oberoi," he began, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "what do you say we celebrate our anniversary properly today?" His voice dropped to a whisper, "Perhaps with a little more time spent in bed?"

Annika playfully snatched her hand away. "Now, now, Mr. Oberoi," she teased, "while I appreciate your enthusiasm, reality calls." She glanced at the clock. "I gave Mrs. Ahuja the day off. We have a bit of a cleaning marathon to tackle first. The living room, especially, looks like a post-celebration warzone."

A hint of disappointment flickered across Shivay's face. He hadn't anticipated the allure of their passionate night lingering so potently, leaving him yearning for more time tangled in Annika's arms.  However, he quickly masked it with a sigh and a playful smile. "Right you are, Mrs. Oberoi," he conceded. "Duty calls. But perhaps after a bit of teamwork with the cleaning supplies, we can find some time for a more... personal celebration later?"

Annika's smile widened, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Sounds like a plan, Mr. Oberoi. Now, where did I put those cleaning wipes?"

With playful jabs and lighthearted competition, they tackled the living room. Annika, a seasoned warrior with a dust cloth, attacked the furniture with a vengeance. Shivay, wielding the vacuum cleaner like a knight's lance, bravely charged against dust bunnies hiding in every corner.

Their laughter echoed through the apartment as they reminisced about the chaos of the previous night – takeout containers scattered on the rug, fairy lights tangled in a loving embrace, and the forgotten champagne waiting patiently for them to celebrate properly.

As the living room slowly began to resemble its pre-celebration state, Shivay leaned back against the couch, wiping his forehead with a dramatic flourish. "Mission accomplished, Mrs. Oberoi! I must say, you're a force to be reckoned with when it comes to cleaning."

Annika, dusting a picture frame, grinned at him. "Don't get too comfortable, Mr. Oberoi. The rest of the house awaits."

Just then, a thought struck Shivay. He casually leaned closer to her, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Speaking of the rest of the house, your room..." he began, letting the sentence hang suggestively.

Annika paused, a wary eyebrow raised. "What about my room?"

"Well," he began, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, "it just seems... a bit unnecessary to have separate rooms. We're married, aren't we? Wouldn't it be even better to adjust together? To share everything, including a room?"

Annika's cheeks flushed a rosy pink. "Perhaps," she murmured.

Shivay took a deep breath. "So," he continued, his voice hopeful, "how about we move your things into my room? We can rearrange, make it ours together. What do you say?"

Annika met his eyes, a silent conversation passing between them. It was a step, a leap of faith towards a future they were both building. A slow, shy smile graced her lips. "Alright, Shivay. Let's make it ours."

The rest of the morning was filled with laughter and the soft thud of boxes being moved. They sifted through Annika's belongings, reminiscing about old photos and trinkets. As they unpacked the last box, Annika looked around the now-empty room, a bittersweet pang in her chest. But looking into Shivay's hopeful eyes, a wave of warmth washed over her.

"Ready for the next adventure, Mrs. Oberoi?" he asked, extending a hand towards her.

Annika placed her hand in his, her heart brimming with love. "More than you know, Mr. Oberoi."  Together, hand in hand, they walked into their future, a future painted in the colors of love, laughter, and a shared bedroom.

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