My chest aches as I say it. Because the truth is cruel in its simplicity.
“And then you happened.”
She shifts just enough to look up at me, her eyes searching my face. Not accusing. Not scared. Just open. God, that openness wrecks me more than any anger ever could.
“I have loved you since a long time, princess,” I murmur against her forehead as I place a kiss, “but when you were getting married, I was part relieved too…because it was a finality that I will never have you.”
She chuckles softly, “Never say never.”
I smile, despite the battle going on inside me. “I don’t trust myself sometimes,” I whisper. “I’m scared of what I carry in my blood. I’m scared that one day you’ll look at me and see him.”
Her hand comes up slowly, deliberately, pressing flat against my chest like she’s anchoring herself to my heartbeat.
“I don’t see him,” she says, steady despite the softness of her voice. “I see you.”
I swallow hard.
“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” I argue weakly, because fear doesn’t disappear just because love shows up. “Hell, even I don’t know. What if I fail you? What if one day I do something that makes you flinch? What if—”
She lifts herself just enough to interrupt me, her forehead resting against mine, her breath warm and even.
“Then we deal with it,” she says simply. “Together.”
I shake my head, panic flickering. “You shouldn’t have to—”
“I want to,” she interrupts, firmer now. “Dhruv, I am choosing you. Not the perfect version of you. Not the healed version of you. You.”
Her eyes shine, but they don’t waver.
“I don’t love you because you’re flawless,” she continues. “I love you because you try. Because you stop when you’re scared. Because you care enough to question yourself. Besides, Dhruv…” she says ever so gently, “stop living a controlled life. Be you. Live. Dhruv. Live with me. Stop fearing what will happen. It's a short life; anything can happen anytime, so stop assuming things. Let’s live for a while, okay?” Something in my chest fractures open.
“I don’t want a man who never struggles,” she adds quietly. “I want a man who chooses me even when he’s afraid. And you do. Every time.”
My throat tightens painfully.
“I can’t see tears in your eyes,” I confess, my voice breaking despite my effort to keep it steady. “I can’t. It feels like my lungs forget how to work when you cry. I don’t want to be the reason for that. Ever.”
Her hand slides up to my neck, thumb brushing my skin in a way that feels grounding, intentional.
“Then don’t leave,” she says softly. “Stay. Be better because you want to—not because you’re running from something. In my eyes, you will always be perfect, even when you close the important tabs on my laptop.”
I close my eyes.
For the first time, the fear doesn’t feel like a warning sign. It feels like a choice.
“I’ll become the best version of myself,” I murmur against her hair. “Not because I’m scared of who I was raised by—but because I want to be the man you deserve.”
She exhales, a sound that’s half relief, half emotion.
“And I won’t leave you,” I add, my arm tightening around her. “I can’t. I don’t want a life where you’re not in it.”
She presses closer, her body warm, trusting, entirely here.
“Good,” she whispers. “Because I’m not going anywhere either.”
We stay like that—curled together, breathing in sync, the past no longer looming quite as large. Not erased. Not forgotten. But no longer in control.
For the first time in my life, the future doesn’t feel like something I have to survive.
