Let it soak me. Let it wash us both. Because right now, all I want her to know—Is that she is safe. She is wanted. She is mine. And I am hers.
CHAPTER 37
You Are Home Now
POORVI
I lie beneath the heavy quilt, though I don’t feel its weight. My body is still trembling, faintly, the kind of trembling you don’t notice until you try to be still. My hair is damp, plastered against my cheek, the scent of soap lingering faintly in the air. The room is dim, a single oil lamp burning near the corner table, casting a muted glow across the walls.
I should be asleep. I’ve closed my eyes, I’ve slowed my breathing, I’ve done everything I used to do as a child when sleep wouldn’t come. But my chest is too tight, my mind refuses to rest. Every time I almost slip under, a sound echoes in my head—his voice, Ranbir’s mocking voice.Your wife seduces me and you punch me?And the shame coils again, pressing me down, reminding me of how close I came to breaking.
But then there is something else—a counterweight to that shame. The quiet, steady rhythm of fingers stroking my hair. Vihaan sits at my bedside, half-leaning over, his large hand smoothing over my head in slow, patient motions. Each stroke pushes me closer to calm, though never enough to tip me into sleep.
I don’t open my eyes. I don’t want to see the worry etched on his face again—it’s burned into me already from the bathroom. He looked at me like I’d been shattered and he was afraid to pick up the pieces in case he cut himself. And yet he picked me up anyway.
My lips part before I can stop myself. My voice is soft, almost drowned by the silence. “Vihaan…”
His hand stills in my hair. “Hmm?”
“Will you… sleep here?” I whisper, my throat dry. I swallow before finishing. “…next to me?”
The quiet stretches. I know he heard me. My chest aches with the stillness, with the way his breath falters for just a second.
Then his voice, low and careful. “Are you sure, meri jaan?”
The words catch at my heart. He isn’t refusing. He’s giving me the choice, reminding me this is mine to decide. My eyes are still closed, but I nod, my lashes damp against my skin. “Yes.”
There’s a pause. The sound of his boots being set aside, the rustle of fabric as he shifts. The mattress dips under his weight, a reminder of his size, his strength, his presence. I exhale slowly, but it feels like I’ve been holding that breath since the library.
He lies down beside me, his warmth spreading almost immediately. But he keeps a distance—a careful inch, maybe more. I can sense it, the restraint in his body, the way he positions himself as though any closer might break something fragile.
I turn my head, eyes still shut, and whisper again. “Can you… hold me?”
The silence after is heavier. I almost regret it, the words spilling out like a plea. “I’m sorry,” I rush, my voice cracking. “I’m asking for so much.”
The bed shifts. And then his arm slides around me, firm but hesitant, until I’m gathered against his chest.
My breath stutters. The world narrows to the sound of his heartbeat, strong and steady beneath my ear. I press closer without meaning to, my hands clutching at his shirt, the fabric damp in one corner where my hair still drips. His warmth seeps through, into my bones, thawing something frozen.
He exhales, a sound more like surrender than relief. His chin rests lightly against the crown of my head.
For a while, neither of us speaks. It’s just the sound of water dripping faintly from my hair onto the pillow, the soft hiss of the lamp flame, and his heartbeat—a rhythm I begin to match with my own.
When he does speak, his voice is low, like he’s afraid to disturb the quiet. “Poorvi… you don’t have to apologize. Don’t ever apologize for asking something you want.”
I bite my lip, my throat tight. “But I… I feel like I keep asking you to fix me. To hold me together when I’m falling apart.”
His arms tighten around me, pulling me just a little closer. “And what if I want to?” His voice sharpens with quiet conviction. “What if holding you together is the only thing I’ve ever want to do?”
Tears press hot against my closed lids. I don’t let them fall. Instead, I press my face deeper into his chest, inhaling the faint scent of sandalwood and smoke clinging to him. He smells likesafety. Like someone who won’t let go, no matter how hard I push or break.
“I was so scared,” I whisper, the words muffled against him. “For a moment… I thought you might believe him. That you’d look at me and—” My voice fails, cracks too sharp to finish.
A broken laugh escapes me, humorless and jagged. “It’s so funny, isn’t it? That more than his touch, your disapproval scared me.”
My throat burns. I swallow hard, but the lump only swells. “You… you are the only one I’ve had after my mother died,” I whisper, finally forcing my eyes open, though I don’t look at him. I stare at the buttons on his shirt instead, blinking rapidly to stop the tears pooling again. “I… I have no one else, Vihaan.”
His arms tighten, like my words wound him, but I keep going.
