I laugh. A real, full laugh. “That’s terrible flattery, Poorvi.”
“Then don’t ask me for it.”
We trade jibes back and forth for a while, the boat gliding steadily, the sun warming our skin. For brief stretches, it almost feels normal. Almost feels like she’s not carrying that shadow in her eyes.
But then I glance at her, and I see it—the way her smile falters when she thinks I’m not looking. The way her eyes dim again, staring out at the water like she’s somewhere else entirely.
It breaks me, how she’s trying so hard to hold herself together, to give me pieces of light even when she’s drowning inside.
I want to tell her it’s okay to not smile. I want to tell her she doesn’t need to perform strength for me. But instead, I just reach across and take her hand again, steady and firm.
Her fingers tremble, but they curl around mine. And for now, that’s enough.
As the boat drifts across the still waters, I know this isn’t the end of her pain. It won’t vanish in a day, or even in a hundred. But if she lets me, I will row her through every storm, every silence, every shadow.
Because she’s mine. And no one will ever take her peace from her again.
CHAPTER 39
Stirring Something New
POORVI
I shouldn’t be this nervous. It’s ridiculous, really. It’s just food—simple food—and yet, my palms are damp as I stand in front of the chopping board, slicing onions with slow, measured strokes. The knife wobbles slightly in my hand, not because it’s heavy but because my heart is pounding so loud I can hear it in my ears.
I tell myself it’s because I’m not used to cooking for someone else, not like this. Not as… thanks. Not as something tender. Not as something that feels strangely important.
Vihaan has been trying—really trying. His efforts have been clumsy sometimes, sometimes too quiet, but always steady. He didn’t leave me to drown in my thoughts. He brought me out of my room, walked with me, talked with me, even when I barely answered. Yesterday, he had taken me on that boat ride, and though my smile was weak, I know he noticed. He notices everything.
So today, this is the least I can do. A thank you. A gesture. A way of telling him without words that I see him, too.
I stir the pan, the aroma of ghee filling the kitchen. My hair keeps slipping forward, strands sticking to my face as the steam fogs my glasses, but I don’t care. I’m oddly…content.
Then I feel him.
I don’t even need to turn around to know he’s there. The weight of his gaze is unmistakable—warm, heavy, unashamed.
“You’re going to burn that if you keep staring at it like it’s a mortal enemy,” he teases, low and amused.
I gasp and turn, nearly dropping the spoon. “Vihaan! Don’t sneak up on people like that!”
He chuckles, and I can hear the grin in his voice. “I wasn’t sneaking. I’ve been standing here for the last five minutes, waiting for you to acknowledge me.”
I scowl, though my lips threaten to curl upward. “You could’ve said something instead of hovering like a ghost.”
“I did,” he says easily, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “You were just too busy glaring at the onions to notice.”
I roll my eyes, turning back to the stove. “I wasn’t glaring. I was concentrating.”
He steps closer, so close I can feel his presence at my back. “Concentrating, hmm? Does concentration always involve muttering under your breath about stubborn spices?”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. “I was not muttering.”
“You were,” he insists, his tone playfully certain. “I could write down every word. Something about ‘this masala being out to get you.’ Very fierce.”
I let out a soft groan. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”
