Silence stretches between us.
“I thought if I tried harder,” I continue, the words tumbling out now, messy and unfiltered, “if I fixed myself a little—then maybe things would be easier. For everyone.”
My throat closes.
“I didn’t mean to get hurt,” I add quickly, panic seeping in. “I wasn’t being reckless. I swear. I just—slipped.” I laugh weakly, the sound hollow. “I always do, don’t I?”
Dhruv doesn’t respond. That’s worse. I risk a glance at him, just for a second, and regret it immediately. He’s looking at me like I’ve punched something vital out of him. Not anger. Pain. And guilt crashes into me, hot and heavy.
“I’m so sorry,” I blurt out, the words rushing to escape before I can stop them. “I wanted to do good and ended up becoming a problem for everyone.”
My vision blurs.
“I’m so sorry, Dhruv.”
The sob I’ve been holding back claws its way up my throat. I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood, desperate to keep it contained.
I fail.
My shoulders shake.
“I didn’t mean to,” I whisper, barely audible. “I didn’t mean to be this… this mess.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, tears spilling despite my efforts. “I just wanted to be better.”
The room feels too small. Too full of everything I’ve been trying not to feel.
I wait for him to say something. Anything.
But all I hear is my own uneven breathing and the soft, awful sound of my heart breaking open.
And that’s where I stay—curled inward, embarrassed, ashamed, aching—waiting for the weight of my words to settle.
What I should have said from the beginning
DHRUV
Her lips tremble.
It’s such a small thing, barely noticeable if you aren’t looking for it—but I see it immediately. The way she presses them together, how her jaw tightens as if she’s physically holding herself together. Her eyes glisten, wet but stubborn, tears waiting at the edge like they need permission to fall.
And suddenly, all the anger drains out of me.
Not the concern. Not the fear. Just the sharp edge of it—the part that had made my voice firm, my gaze unyielding. What’s left behind is something worse.
Guilt.
She’s already in pain. Physical pain, yes—but this… this is deeper. This is the kind that settles in the bones.
I move without thinking, scooting closer to her on the bed. The mattress dips slightly under my weight. My hands hover nearhers, unsure, hesitant for the first time since I walked into this room. I wait—just a second—giving her space to pull away if she wants to.
She doesn’t.
That’s all the permission I need.
I take her hands in mine, gently, like they might break if I’m careless. Her fingers are cold. Too cold. I rub my thumbs over her knuckles instinctively, grounding myself as much as her.
“Why are you apologizing, princess?” I ask. My voice comes out softer than I intend. Softer than it has any right to be after how sharp I sounded earlier.
