Before she could respond, he pulled his hand free and stood. "I should let you rest. Dr. Sharma said—"
"Don't." The word came out more desperate than she'd intended. "Don't do this. Don't go back to being cold and distant after... after what you just did for me."
He paused at the bathroom door, his back to her. "Advika—"
"You took care of me. For three days. You barely left this room." Her voice was getting stronger, even if her body was still weak. "That means something. Tell me it means something."
"Of course it means something." He turned, frustration evident in every line of his body. "But I don't know how to—" He stopped, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know how to do this. How to be what you need."
"I need you to be honest." She struggled to sit up, her arms shaking with the effort. "I need you to stop hiding behind walls and just... just be real with me."
"You want honesty?" He moved back toward the bed, something dangerous in his eyes. "Fine. When you collapsed at dinner, when I caught you and felt how hot your skin was, I was terrified. Actually terrified. And I couldn't let anyone else touch you. Couldn't let anyone else take care of you. It had to be me."
"Why?"
"Because you're mine." The words were torn from him. "Because the thought of losing you makes me insane. Because watching you be sick, be vulnerable, be human—it reminded me that you're not just the treaty bride or the Pradhan daughter or any of the labels I've been using to keep distance between us."
Advika's heart was racing. "Then what am I?"
He sat on the edge of the bed, close enough that she could feel his body heat. His hand came up to cup her face, thumb brushing across her cheekbone.
"You're the woman who bakes at 2 AM when she can't sleep. Who stands up to my sister even when it costs her. Who risks my anger to visit her bakery because she needs to feel like herselfagain." His voice was rough with emotion. "You're brave and stubborn and talented and you drive me absolutely crazy."
"That's not an answer," she whispered, even as she leaned into his touch.
"It's the only answer I have right now." He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. "I don't know what we are, Advika. I don't know how to name this thing between us. But I know I can't keep pretending it doesn't exist."
"So what do we do?"
"I don't know." His breath was warm against her lips. "But maybe we figure it out together?"
It was the most vulnerable he'd ever been with her. The most honest. And it wasn't enough—not nearly enough—but it was something.
"Okay," she said softly. "Together."
He kissed her then—soft and gentle, so different from the desperate claiming they usually shared. It was a kiss that held promise instead of possession, tenderness instead of heat.
When he pulled back, she was smiling despite everything.
"You need to rest," he said, helping her lie back down. "Get your strength back."
"Will you stay?"
He hesitated, and for a moment, she thought he'd retreat back into himself. But then he nodded, settling back into the chair beside the bed.
"Yeah," he said, reaching for her hand again. "I'll stay."
And for the first time since their wedding, Advika fell asleep holding her husband's hand, hope blooming fragile but real in her chest.
Over the next few days, as Advika slowly recovered, something shifted between them.
Sidharth still maintained some distance—old habits were hard to break—but the walls were lower. He ate meals with her in their room, telling her about his day, actually listening when she talked about wanting to return to her bakery eventually.
"Maybe we can work something out," he said one evening, helping her to the bathroom—her legs were still shaky after days in bed. "Once security protocols are better established. A compromise."
"Really?" She looked at him, surprised.
"Really." He steadied her at the sink. "I understand it's important to you. And I've been... unreasonable about a lot of things."
