“My family never saw me,” I breathe out, the confession sharp, bitter. “I was always the mistake. The illegitimate princess. The one they tolerated but never embraced. I learned to live in corners, to speak softly, to never expect anything… because expectations were always punished. I thought that was normal. I thought that was just my fate.”
A tear slips free despite my efforts, hot against my cheek. “And then I came here. And you—” my voice catches, trembling, “you looked at me. You spoke to me like I mattered. You were kind. Too kind. And I didn’t know what to do with that. You started to feel like… like home.”
I let out a shaky breath. “But the truth is, I don’t even know what home is. I’ve never had one. I’ve never had a person who was mine. But when I think of you… when I imagine you not looking at me, or worse, hating me—” My body jolts with theforce of the thought. “I can’t. I can’t imagine it. I don’t want to lose you, Vihaan. I can’t lose you.”
Finally, I tilt my chin, my tear-brimmed eyes locking with his. “I want a place to call home. I want a person to be…”
His thumb brushes my cheek, catching the tear before it falls. His voice is low, steady, and certain. “Yours,” he finishes for me. “You want a person to be yours.”
My breath hitches. “Yes.”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “Then hear me, meri jaan. You already have that person. I am yours. I’ve been yours from the moment we were bound together.” His forehead lowers to mine, the warmth of his breath brushing my lips as he whispers, “I am your husband. And I will never let you forget it.”
“You remember what I told you on our first night together?” He asks slowly, his lips curling up in a soft smile, “I told you I couldn’t expect you to feel at home suddenly, but this is your home now. And you can take your time to realize that.” I nod, suddenly feeling breathless, “It still stands, meri jaan. Take your time, but you are home now, Poorvi.” He grins at me. I nod, but the knot in my chest refuses to unravel. My hands tighten in his shirt as though to anchor myself, afraid he’ll slip away if I let go.
He notices. He notices everything. His voice softens, breaking just a little. “Sleep, meri jaan. I’m right here. I’m not leaving you tonight. Or ever.”
I close my eyes again, my lashes damp, my breath shaky. But this time, it feels different. His words echo in the silence, wrapping around me like the quilt never could.
I burrow closer, my body curving against his, my forehead pressed to the warm hollow of his throat. His arm adjusts instantly, as though it was meant to hold me like this all along. The heat of his chest against my cheek lulls me, the rise and fall of his breathing guiding mine.
Slowly, the storm in my head quiets. The voice that mocked me fades, drowned out by the steady, patient beat beneath my ear.
I feel small in his arms, but not weak. I feel fragile, but not broken. I feel… safe.
The last thing I’m aware of before sleep finally claims me is his hand stroking through my hair again, his lips brushing the top of my damp head, and the whispered promise that follows—so faint, I might think it a dream.
“You’re mine, Poorvi. And I’ll never let anyone take that from you.”
And for the first time since the darkness began, I believe him.
CHAPTER 38
Across the still waters
VIHAAN
It’s been three days.
Three days since I saw her on that library floor, eyes red and terrified, begging me to believe her. Three days since I heard her voice tremble with the words—I have no one else, Vihaan.
I haven’t stopped hearing them. Haven’t stopped replaying them in my mind.
She sleeps now with her back pressed against me, as if needing the reassurance that I’m here, but when she wakes, her eyes look… vacant. Like she’s searching for herself and finding only fragments.
And yet… she no longer pushes me away. That’s the one difference. Before all of this, every time I came near, she stiffened like she owed me nothing, like she wanted to protect her own independence from my shadow. But now… she lets me sit with her. Lets me touch her hand, pat her head. Lets me stay.
She hasn’t said much since that night. And I, for once in my life, find myself without words, too. Because what words can stitch together something broken inside?
I decide, this morning, that silence can’t be the only thing I give her.
So I tell her we’re going out. Just us. No palace walls, no watchful eyes. I don’t give her details, because if I do, she might refuse. She watches me in that quiet way of hers, a little uncertain, but she doesn’t protest when I help her into the car.
The palace lake spreads wide when we arrive, glittering under the sun like a sheet of molten glass. The boating dock is nearly empty, just a few attendants waiting for us. The oars gleam, the wooden boats freshly polished, rocking gently against the rippling water.
Her brows furrow. “Boating?”
“Yes,” I say simply, hiding the nerves in my chest with a practiced ease. I am not usually nervous. I’m used to commanding crowds, rooms, negotiations. But with her, everything feels fragile, every word something I might break if I don’t handle it carefully.
