“You stop being impossible.”
We glare at each other for a heartbeat before I look away with a huff. Looks like everyone has just one motto in life—save poor Nisha.
I turn back to him, knowing it’s futile to argue, and ask, “How are you even here? I thought you weren’t coming to the wedding.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t want me to come.”
I shake my head. “It’s not that. It’s just… you weren’t here earlier. I thought maybe you changed your mind about attending.”
“There was an urgent case that needed my attention. I rushed straight from there. Arrived barely twenty minutes ago,” he explains.
I blink. “Then how did you know I was here?”
He shrugs. “I bumped into Sunita Aunty. She said you were alone and asked me to check on you.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course she did.”
“You should know by now you’ll always get princess treatment.”
I sigh and look towards the elevator again. My pulse has steadied, and my limbs feel lighter.
“Are you sure you want to go back down?” he asks again.
I square my shoulders and rise to my feet. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
Standing tall, I look him in the eye, as if to prove, not just to him, but to myself that I can handle this. Then, without waiting for him, I turn and march towards the elevator, my steps steady and composed. He follows silently, like a shadow… whether I like it or not.
Chapter 8
Sidharth
It’s been a month since I saw Nisha fall apart in that corridor. A month since I held her in my arms and realized just how fragile she really was. Since then, I’ve tried to be there for her,triedbeing the key word. Because every time I took a step closer, she took five steps back.
I think back to the past few days—how I’d offer to take her to physiotherapy. Hell, I insisted. Told her there was no way she was taking a cab alone. But she argued, stubborn as ever, saying,“I’m fine doing this on my own,”with that rehearsed calmness that fooled everyone but me. Since then, I’ve been showing up outside her house, parked like a damn stalker. She’d glare, I’d smirk, and we’d argue all the way to the clinic. She called it controlling. I called it caring. Neither of us ever really won that fight.
A smile tugs at my lips as another incident flashes in my mind. The day she refused to take her meds, claiming they made her feel foggy. As usual, I played deaf, refusing to leave until she took them. She shot daggers at me, cursed me under her breath, but I didn’t budge. I just shrugged and said,“Hate me later. Just get better first.”
After their wedding, Reyansh and Kavya flew straight to Dubai, and since then, I’ve been keeping Kavya updated on Nisha’s recovery. But I never told her the full truth, never told her how my chest tightened every time I saw Nisha flinch at loud voices, how her silence was louder when she zoned out, and how she’d scroll through the photos of Suman and herself with a heart so visibly wrecked. And I sure as hell didn’t tell Kavya how my feelings were growing day by day into something deep, overprotective, and possessive.
Sitting in my room on the recliner, I drag a hand over my face. Damn, this woman is wrecking me. I’m a detective. I’m trained to keep my emotions at bay. But with Nisha, there’s no detachment. There’s only this war inside me—wanting to protect her and wanting to pull her into my arms and tell her I’ve got her. That she’s safe.
The buzz of my phone jerks me out of my thoughts. I blink, dragging myself back from the mess in my mind, and glance at the screen.Mom.
A sigh escapes me before I even swipe to answer.
“Hey, Ma.”
“Did you decide when you’re coming back?” she asks without acknowledging my greeting. But I’m not surprised. It’s the same every time she calls.
Not wanting to get into an argument, I stay silent and lean back in my leather recliner, my gaze wandering around the room. It’s the same apartment I’ve been living in since I moved to Mumbai. Grey walls, bare minimal furniture, and a king-sized bed dominating the room. The white curtains are drawn halfway, letting in the late afternoon light.
“Sidharth, I’m waiting for your reply,” she presses.
I run a hand through my hair. “Ma… we’ve been over this. I’m not coming back to London.”
There’s a pause before she speaks again, firmer this time. “You were her brother, Sidharth. Not her savior. Kyra made her choice.”
“Mom, can we not do this today?” I mutter, my jaw tightening at the mention of my sister’s name.
