All my attention is on the way her breath stutters, on how warm she feels against me, on how she smells faintly of jasmine and something sweet I can’t place. My arm is trapped between her body and the armrest, and I don’t move it—not an inch—because that would mean loosening her hold.
And I refuse to be that kind of idiot.
She gasps suddenly, burying her face into my shoulder as something horrific happens on-screen. I feel the vibration of her muffled squeak straight through my bones.
I glance down at her, lips twitching despite myself.
“Princess,” I murmur, keeping my voice low so Yagini doesn’t hear, “you know this isn’t real, right?”
She lifts her head just enough to glare at me, eyes wide, pupils blown, her grip tightening like a warning. “Do not say things like that.”
I hum, amused. “Things like what?”
“That,” she snaps softly. “That tone. Thatcalmtone. That is how people die in horror movies.”
I bite the inside of my cheek.
Yagini snorts from the other side. “He’s enjoying this way too much.”
“I absolutely am not,” I lie smoothly.
Sitara shifts, trying to pull her arm away like she’s suddenly become aware of how close she is to me. Her fingers loosen, hesitation creeping into her movements.
No.
I catch her wrist gently, firm enough to stop her, careful enough not to scare her.
“Stay,” I say, low and instinctive.
She freezes, looking up at me. For a second, neither of us moves. The glow from the screen washes her face in soft blue light, highlighting the faint blush spreading across her cheeks.
“I—” she starts, then stops.
Another shriek from the movie makes the decision for her. She yelps and clutches me again, forehead pressing into my shoulder.
I exhale, slow and controlled.
Good.
Yagini makes a dramatic gagging noise. “I’m changing places. I cannot take this. You two don’t care about my single heart at all.”
She stands up deliberately, pointing at us accusingly. “This is excessive. The hand-holding. The leaning. The whispering. I am being emotionally attacked.”
Sitara’s head snaps up. “We arenot—”
“You absolutely are,” Yagini interrupts. “And you know what? I hope the ghost gets you both.”
She storms off to the back row, muttering about betrayal and sibling cruelty.
Sitara’s ears turn pink.
She tries to sit up properly again, awkward and flustered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”
I don’t let her finish.
My arm tightens subtly around hers, not possessive, not restrictive—just enough to let her know she’s not going anywhere unlessshereally wants to.
“It’s fine,” I say quietly. “Let her complain.”
