I haven’t been able to look at Dhruv normally for three days. And bynormally, I mean without my brain betraying me in the most inconvenient ways possible.
Every time he’s near, all I can think about is howwarmhe is. How his hands—huge, steady, ridiculously comforting—had covered my entire stomach like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like my body wasn’t something to flinch away from or apologize for. Like my softness didn’t need explaining.
The memory makes my heart race in a way that has nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with something far more dangerous.
He didn’t leave me alone.Not once.
For three whole days, he rearranged his schedule like it was nothing. Sat with me. Listened to me cry, complain, snap, spiral, contradict myself, and then cry again. He let me be unreasonable without ever making me feel ridiculous for it. He took the brunt of emotions he didn’t cause and held them like they belonged to him anyway.
And the worst part?
He did it like it was obvious. Like there was never any question of whether heshould.
Thinking about it makes my chest feel too full.
Which is exactly why I’m standing outside his office right now, clutching an envelope to my chest like it’s a shield.
I take a deep breath.
Okay, Sitara.
Say thank you.
Be normal.
Do not spiral.
I knock.
“Come in,” his voice calls from inside.
I open the door carefully, peeking in first like a child checking whether a room is safe. He looks up from his desk instantly, pen pausing mid-motion.
“You don’t have to knock,” are the first words out of his mouth.
I frown. “What if you’re busy?”
He leans back in his chair, studying me with that calm, assessing gaze of his. “I am never too busy for my wife, princess.”
My heart does a full somersault.Traitorous.Absolutely traitorous.
I roll my eyes quickly, because if I don’t pretend I’m unaffected, I might actually combust. “You should still say that you’re busy sometimes. That’s how important people behave.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “Good thing I don’t care about behaving like important people.”
He stands, walking around the desk, and gestures toward the sofa. “Sit.”
I do, perching on the edge like I’m afraid the cushions might swallow me whole. He sits too, close enough that I’m acutely aware of his presence without him actually touching me.
The envelope in my hands suddenly feels heavier.
His eyes drop to it immediately.
“What’s that?” he asks.
I swallow. “This is for you.”
He takes it from me slowly, brows knitting together. “For me?”
