I glance at him, surprised by the firmness beneath the softness.
“And honestly, even if you regret it,” he adds, a faint hint of humor returning, “I’d say it’s pretty late now.” His smile dims just a little at the edges, something thoughtful flickering in his eyes.
“I don’t regret it,” I say immediately, the words tumbling out before I can second-guess them.
Because that part is true. Completely, undeniably true.
“But…” I hesitate, fingers curling into the fabric beneath me. “I want you to promise me something. Would you?”
He studies me for a second, expression unreadable. Then he nods. “Yes. I promise.”
I laugh softly, shaking my head. “You won’t even ask what you’re promising?”
He smiles, easy and certain. “Whatever it is, I promise.”
It should annoy me—the way he agrees so readily, so confidently—but instead it feels… comforting. Like standing near something solid.
I sigh, unable to help the smile that creeps onto my face. “You’re impossible.”
“Efficient,” he corrects lightly.
I roll my eyes. “I want you to tell me if you ever decide this isn’t for you. Instead of just bottling it up and living through it.”
The air shifts. He moves, and I don’t even realize it at first—just suddenly he’s closer, close enough that our breaths mingle, close enough that my heart betrays me by skipping a beat.
I stay very still.
“So listen carefully,” he says, voice lower now, deliberate. “I will say this very slowly so your brain can make a note of it and store it very carefully.”
His eyes glint in the dim light, sharp and sincere all at once. “I, Dhruv Singhania, never do anything worth regretting,” he continues. “If I do something, I see it through.”
My breath catches.
“I agree this was sudden,” he says, gaze never leaving mine. “None of us thought this would ever happen. But it did. And yes, we may face issues—I’m not denying that.”
His voice softens, but the conviction doesn’t waver.
“But I want to work on them. I won’t give up unless you want me to.”
He lifts a finger slightly, pointing it at me, not accusatory—just certain.
“Soyoupromise me,” he says, “thatyou’lltell me if this isn’t something you want. Until then… let’s try.”
There’s something final in his tone, something grounding. Not pressure. Not expectation.
Choice.
A lump forms at the back of my throat, sudden and overwhelming. For a moment, words abandon me entirely. All I can do is nod, my vision blurring just a little, and offer him a small, honest smile.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He exhales, like he’s been holding his breath for far longer than tonight.
We lie there in silence after that—not awkward, not tense. Just quiet.
And for the first time since everything shattered and rearranged itself around me, the quiet doesn’t feel lonely.
It feels… safe.
