Her lips part, just slightly. “I’ve never…” She trails off.
“Then today’s a good day to start.” I offer her my hand, steady, waiting.
For a heartbeat, she just stares at it. Then, slowly, she slips her fingers into mine.
The jolt that runs through me at the contact—I cover it with a steady expression, but inside, my chest tightens. Her hand issmaller than mine, softer, and she doesn’t grip tightly, but even this faint hold feels like trust.
I help her into the boat first, making sure she sits comfortably on the cushioned seat before I step in. The boat sways under our combined weight, and she tenses immediately, her fingers gripping the edge.
I take the oars in hand, my muscles straining with the familiar rhythm as I push us away from the dock. The boat glides forward, cutting through the water with smooth ease.
Her eyes widen as she looks around, hair lifting slightly in the breeze. There it is—the faintest flicker of wonder on her face. It’s not a full smile. Not yet. But it’s something.
I lean back against the seat, rowing steadily. “Relax. You’re safe. The boat won’t tip unless I want it to.”
She shoots me a glare at that. “You want it to?”
I smirk. “Depends. Do you swim?”
Her lips part, scandalized, and for the first time in days, I hear it—the tiniest huff of laughter leaving her throat. Quiet, almost unwilling. But it’s there.
It makes my chest feel lighter than I can admit.
“No,” she mutters, crossing her arms, though I can see the way her mouth twitches, like she’s fighting not to smile.
“Then you’re safe.” I dip the oar smoothly, sending a spray of droplets into the air. “Because I’m a very good swimmer. And I’d never let you drown.”
Her gaze flicks to mine at that. Something unreadable passes in her eyes. “You say that like you mean it.”
“I do mean it.” My voice is steady, sharper now. I set the oars down, letting the boat drift gently in the middle of the lake, the water stretching wide around us like a mirror. Then I lean forward, resting my arms on my knees, looking straight at her. “No one will ever harm you, Poorvi. Not while I breathe. Please… let me prove that to you.”
Her throat works, and she nods. Slowly. Almost reluctantly. But it’s a nod.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
The wind ruffles her hair, sending strands across her face. Without thinking, I reach across and tuck them behind her ear. She freezes at the touch, but doesn’t pull away. My fingers linger just a fraction longer than they should.
“Why are you doing this?” she asks suddenly, her voice low, uncertain. “Taking me here. Saying all this.”
“Because three days ago, I saw you fall apart in my arms. And I swore to myself I would never let that happen again.” My voice roughens, the memory flashing vivid and raw in my mind. “Because when you told me I was all you had… I realized you were all I wanted.”
Her lips part, her eyes wide.
I quickly look away, dipping the oars back into the water, rowing us forward again. Perhaps I’ve said too much. Perhaps I’ve bared more of myself than I should.
But she doesn’t argue. Doesn’t retreat. She just sits there, quiet, her fingers tracing absent patterns on the wooden edge of the boat.
The silence isn’t heavy this time. It’s softer. Like something unspoken hangs between us, fragile but alive.
I try again to lighten the air. “You know, you’re supposed to say something flattering back. That’s how these things work.”
Her brow arches, and she leans back, her voice carrying a hint of sarcasm I’ve missed. “What exactly do you want me to say? That I’ve been dreaming of boating with you my whole life?”
I grin despite myself. “It would be nice.”
She rolls her eyes, but there it is again—the faint curve of her lips. Not quite reaching her eyes, but trying.
“Fine,” she sighs, mock-dramatic. “Kunwar-sa, you row a boat very impressively. Truly, the most talented PR head and oarsman I’ve ever met.”
