I don’t like the way he’s standing close to her, the way his mouth curves in that half-smile that’s never sincere. My fists clench at my sides. I’ve seen enough men like him—charming, polished on the outside, rotting underneath. The kind who look too long, who test boundaries not because they can’t see them but because they enjoy crossing them.
And then there’s Poorvi.
MyPoorvi.
Her glasses are slipping again, and before I can move, I see her hand rise to push them back up. Only this time, she misses, fumbling as the frame tilts awkwardly before slipping right off her face. I hear the small gasp she makes even from where I stand, the panic in it.
She bends quickly, searching, but the stone courtyard is uneven, shadows swallowing the slim metal frame. Her breaths quicken, chest rising too fast. I know this. I’ve seen the way she holds onto those glasses like they’re a lifeline. Without them, the world blurs for her.
“Easy,” Ranbir says, crouching beside her, his tone falsely gentle. “I’ll help you.”
That does it. The burn in my chest erupts, jealousy and worry twining together until I can’t tell them apart. My feet move before my mind does, long strides eating up the distance between us.
“I’ll help my wife,” I say, voice low, sharper than I intended.
Ranbir looks up at me, his smirk barely hidden. “Sure,” he drawls, rising slowly. “I was only trying to.” He doesn’t finish, doesn’t need to. The unspoken hangs between us, thick and unpleasant. He steps back, but not before casting Poorvi, a look that makes my jaw tighten.
I force myself to focus on her instead. She’s still crouched, her dupatta falling forward as she blindly pats the stones, her fingers trembling slightly.
“Poorvi,” I murmur, crouching beside her. My hands brush hers as I search. The contact is brief, accidental, but it sends something sharp and undeniable through me.
Her head lifts, unfocused eyes trying to find me. The panic in them twists my insides.
“Don’t worry,” I say softly, firmly, so she’ll believe it. “I’ll find them.”
My hand brushes the cold metal frame, half-hidden near the edge of the stone step. Relief surges through me. I pick them up carefully, holding them as though they’re made of glass.
“Here,” I whisper, straightening them before placing them gently in her hands. “It’s okay now.”
She slips them back on quickly, blinking fast, and I see the moment her world sharpens again. Her gaze lifts to mine, wide and uncertain.
For a moment, the air between us stills. She’s so close I can see the faint flush on her cheeks, the way a single loose strand of hair clings stubbornly to the corner of her mouth. My hand itches to reach out, to tuck it behind her ear, to let my fingers linger against her skin.
But she shifts back before I can move, putting a small distance between us. The loss is immediate, heavy.
“Thank you,” she mutters, almost too low for me to hear. Her tone is quick, clipped, as if she wants the words over with. Then she turns, her steps hurried, her dupatta trailing behind her as she walks away.
Away from me.
I rise slowly, watching her retreating figure, my chest tightening in a way that feels dangerously close to fear. She didn’t look at me the way she usually does. No soft nervousness, no shy warmth. Just… distance.
Something’s wrong. I can feel it.
Ranbir passes me on his way out, his smirk lingering as though he knows something I don’t. I glare at him, but he only shrugs and walks away, unhurried, leaving me with questions I can’t shake.
Why did she pull away from me?
CHAPTER 21
The Silence Between Us
VIHAAN
I don’t understand her these days.
Poorvi is right here, in the same room as me, moving about quietly, but somehow she feels… far. It’s not one thing I can point at, not something obvious, but I can feel it. In the way she avoids my gaze, in how she keeps her answers short, in the way she drifts away the moment things get a little too close.
It’s in the moments that should have been ours.
