The Things We Don’t Say
DHRUV
“Sitara?” My voice comes out sharper than I intend, concern slicing through it before I can soften the edges. I’m still standing near the doorway when I notice her—curled in on herself, shoulders trembling, face buried in her hands like she’s trying to disappear into them.
My chest tightens instantly.
I cross the room in long strides. “Sitara,” I call again, lower this time, careful, like she might shatter if I speak too loudly. “What happened?”
She straightens immediately, like she’s been caught doing something wrong. Wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand, scrubbing at her eyes as if tears are an inconvenience she can simply erase.
That hurts more than the crying. “Hey,” I say quickly, panic creeping in despite myself. “Did someone say something to you? Did—” I stop myself from listing every possible scenario my mind is already conjuring. “You can talk to me,” I add, softer now. “Whatever it is.”
She lets out a small, breathy chuckle and finally turns around to face me. Her eyes are red. Not glassy. Not misty. Properly red, swollen around the edges, like she’s been holding back far more than she let spill. It feels like a punch straight to my gut.
“I just talked to your best friend,” she says, voice a little hoarse. “Saw him crying a bit. And then I cried a lot.”
That’s it. That’s all.
And yet, something about it makes my throat close.
Devraj.Of course. She misses him. She misses her family, the familiarity, the life she had before everything flipped upside down in the span of a few days. In this moment I want to change the rules or traditions or whatever they want to call it. I hate that she has to leave her home, her family, her whole life so she can come live with me. Men take so much pride in calling themselves stronger; if they really are, shouldn’t they take care of women? Shouldn’t they move? We so conveniently become strong without actually doing anything at all. It pisses me off so much.
I take a step closer without thinking. Then another.
“Do you want to go meet him?” I ask. The words come easily, naturally, like they’ve been waiting at the back of my mind since yesterday, mostly because they have.
Her eyes widen. “What?”
I smile, gentle, steady. “I promised you I’ll take you there whenever you want. You don’t need to cry for that.”
I don’t say the rest of it.
I don’t say,I would do anything to never see tears in your eyes again.I don’t tell her,I would rearrange kingdoms, cancelmeetings, burn bridges if it meant never seeing tears in your eyes again.
It’s too much. Too sudden. Too soon.
She stares at me for a second, then laughs softly, shaking her head. “No,” she says. “Not now. But… I’ll keep your words and ask you later?”
The way she says it—hopeful but cautious, like she’s afraid the offer might disappear if she reaches for it too fast—makes something warm and fierce settle in my chest.
“Anytime.” I nod. “You don’t even have to think twice.”
She exhales, shoulders relaxing just a little.
“Can I do something to make you feel better now?” I ask.
She hums, tapping her finger against her chin like she’s considering an important philosophical question. Then her face brightens suddenly, a proper beam this time.
“How about you get me some chocolate?”
I blink.
Then I laugh, the sound surprising even me. “That’s it? I thought you’d ask for the moon, princess.”
She lets out a small huff of laughter. “One—don’t call me princess, you know I hate that. Two—I may ask you for that later.” She smirks.
I bend down until I’m at eye level with her. I’ve noticed I like being here—close enough to see the tiny expressions she doesn’t realize she makes, the way her lashes flutter when she’s thinking, the faint crease between her brows when she’s holding something in.
