At me.
And that terrifies me far more than if he were yelling.
The room smells faintly of antiseptic and something herbal the doctor insisted would help. The curtains are drawn halfway, letting in soft evening light. It should feel comforting.
It doesn’t.
Dhruv finally breaks the silence.
“What happened?” he asks.
His voice is calm. Too calm. It’s the kind of calm that comes before a storm, the kind that makes your skin prickle because you know it’s being held back by sheer will.
I swallow.
“I was exercising,” I whisper. “And the dumbbell fell.”
The words sound small the moment they leave my mouth. Incomplete. Hollow.
He stops. Slowly, deliberately, he lifts his head and looks at me.
Our eyes meet, and something sharp cuts through me. His gaze isn’t loud. It doesn’t accuse. Itsees. Straight through every excuse, every carefully placed word.
A shiver runs down my spine.
“That’s not what I am asking,” he says quietly.
Not angrily. Not even disappointed. Certain. My fingers curl into the bedsheet.
“We both know that,” he continues. “You hate gyms. You always make fun of me for going there.”
I almost smile at that—almost. Except my throat feels too tight, and my eyes sting.
“So I’m not taking that as an answer, Sitara.”
He shifts closer on the bed, setting the bowl aside. The space between us closes, and suddenly, I’m hyperaware of everything—his warmth, his presence, the way his attention feels like weight.
“Don’t ever lie to me.” His hand comes up, not touching me, just resting beside my leg. Close enough that I feel it. “Princess.” My chest tightens at the nickname. “I can read you like an open book.”
My lower lip trembles.
I bite it. Hard. It doesn’t help.
The truth presses against my ribs, heavy and suffocating, demanding to be let out. I didn’t mean for this to happen. Ididn’t plan for it. I just—wanted to fix something. Wanted to be better.
My eyes burn.
I stare at the wall behind him, anywhere but his face. If I look at him, I’ll break completely.
“I…” My voice cracks. I clear my throat, try again. “I wanted to do good.”
The words feel pathetic even as I say them.
His brows draw together, confusion flickering across his face. “Do good?”
I nod, my grip on the bedsheet tightening.
“I wanted to… I don’t know,” I whisper. “To not be a problem. For once.”
