She glances at me, uncertain. “But—”
“I don’t mind,” I add, softer.
She exhales, a little breathy, and after a second of hesitation, settles back against me. Not as tightly as before. More cautiously. Like she’s testing the ground.
I keep my body relaxed, my presence steady. I don’t want to spook her. I don’t want her to think she needs to pull away to protect me from… whatever this is.
On screen, something crawls out of somewhere it absolutely shouldn’t.
Sitara squeaks again, fingers digging into my arm.
I smile.
Not wide. Not obvious.
Just enough.
I don’t tease her this time. I don’t comment. I don’t move.
I just stay.
And for the rest of the movie, with ghosts and shadows and jump scares I barely register, she stays, too.
Warm. Real. And definitely here.
And for once, I let myself think—Just this once—That maybe it’s okay to want this.
Quiet Cuts
SITARA
The terrace is my favorite place in this palace.
It shouldn’t be. There are grander balconies, wider courtyards, rooms with ceilings painted by artists whose names people still remember centuries later. But this terrace—quiet, slightly removed, wrapped in open sky—lets me breathe in a way the rest of the palace doesn’t.
The air is cool tonight. Not cold, just enough to raise goosebumps on my arms as I walk barefoot across the stone floor. The city lights glow faintly in the distance, blurred by a thin veil of mist. Somewhere below, I can hear soft laughter from the staff quarters, utensils clinking, life continuing without knowing how heavy my chest feels.
I rest my hands on the railing and inhale slowly.
In.
Out.
I tell myself I came here to clear my head. To calm down after the movie night. To stop replaying the way Dhruv’s arm felt solid and warm beneath my fingers, the way he didn’t pull away when I clung to him, the way he didn’t make me feel foolish or dramatic or too much.
But that’s not the whole truth. The truth is—I’m restless.
Too many feelings have been piling up inside me these past weeks. Gratitude. Fear. A strange, frightening tenderness. A growing awareness of myself around Dhruv that I don’t quite know how to name yet. And beneath it all, something older. Something I thought I had buried deeper than this.
I hear soft footsteps behind me.
I don’t turn immediately. I already know who it is.
“Rani sa?” Maya’s voice is gentle, almost careful. “Do you need anything?”
I straighten slightly. “No,” I say, keeping my tone polite. Neutral. “I was just walking.”
She hums softly, like she’s acknowledging my answer but not really accepting it. I feel her presence a few steps behind me, close enough that my shoulders tense without my permission.
