“Not for me,” I say quietly. “I could write a book for you.”
Her breathing quickens. Her cheeks darken to a deeper red, and she groans, burying her face briefly in her hands. “Dhruv,” she whines. “Please put me down, I must be—”
“Careful, princess.” I lean in again, noses almost touching, forcing her to keep her eyes on mine. “Your punishment might increase.”
“Dhruv,” she whispers.
Something in her voice makes me straighten immediately. I pull back, giving her space even while holding her, because last night made one thing painfully clear—she doesn’t feel what I feel, and I refuse to cross any line she hasn’t invited me to.
“Six good things, Sitara,” I say again, softer now, forcing a smile.
She sighs dramatically. “I… I like my fingers.” I hum encouragingly.
“I like my kindness.”
“I like how creative I am,” she adds quickly, then pauses. “And my imagination.”
I tilt my head. “Counting that as one, princess.”
“That’s not fair!” she protests.
“Everything’s fair in love and war.”
She huffs. “I like my lips.”I do too,my mind supplies unhelpfully. I bite it back, because that thought is dangerous territory.
“Do I really have to say six?” she whines. “Will four not work?”
“No, Sitara,” I say gently. “It won’t.”
She sighs. “I like my patience.” She makes a face. “I definitely have a lot of that with you.”
That makes me laugh, which makes her smile despite herself.
“And?” I prompt.
“I like my humor. It makes you laugh.”
Something in my chest thumps hard at that.
I stop walking again, just for a second, and raise an eyebrow at her. “Good. Now don’t ever talk shit about yourself again. Understood?”
She mocks a salute. “Yes, Maharaj.”
I laugh, finally moving toward the common room.
The moment we enter, Maa and Yagini are already seated, mid-conversation. A small shriek escapes Sitara’s mouth.
“Put me down now,” she scolds, mortified.
I do as I’m told, carefully setting her down beside Yagini, though I frown as soon as my arms are empty, confused by her reaction. I’d brought her here because she wanted to meet them, because she’d said she missed people, missed voices around her.
“No need to be shy,” Yagini chimes, grinning. “We already know you have Dhruv wrapped around your finger.”
Sitara turns a shade of red that genuinely concerns me.
Maa laughs softly. “No need to be embarrassed, Sitara,” she says warmly. “I’m glad my son is taking care of you.”
Her gaze flicks to me, soft, thoughtful. I know what she’s thinking. She never thought I’d marry. Never thought she’d see me like this—with someone, for someone.
