Finally, he stops.
“Okay,” he says softly. “You can look now.”
The blindfold slips away.
At first, the light is soft, muted. Warm. My eyes adjust slowly, and when they do—
I freeze.
Bookshelves line the walls. Tall, sturdy, filled with manga volumes stacked carefully, romance novels with dog-eared spines, art books I recognize by heart. One entire shelf standsempty, waiting. A desk sits near the window, fitted with three tablets, a stylus resting neatly beside them. There’s illustration equipment I’ve only ever seen online—high-end, thoughtfully chosen.
I turn slowly, taking it all in.
“What…” My voice cracks. “What is this?”
Dhruv scratches the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “Your corner,” he says quietly. “I wanted you to have something that’s just yours. A space. This felt right.”
My chest tightens.
There’s a small dining table in the corner, set for two, candles unlit but waiting. It’s cozy. Intimate. Intentional.
“For days when you’re too busy,” he adds, glancing at it, “I’d still like to eat with you.”
I don’t remember deciding to move.
One moment I’m standing there, overwhelmed, and the next my arms are wrapped around his waist, my face pressed against his chest. He stiffens for half a second—surprised—then relaxes, his arms coming around me slowly, carefully.
It takes me a moment to realize what I’ve done.
I pull back abruptly, flustered. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
He smiles, eyes warm. “It’s okay.”
I breathe out shakily.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “For this. For… seeing me.”
He steps closer again, lifting my chin gently so I have to look at him. His eyes hold mine, steady and sure.
“I love you, Sitara,” he says quietly. “Always remember that.”
My heart slams against my ribs.
He leans down and presses a soft kiss to my forehead—tender, reverent.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m trying to fit into someone else’s life.
It feels like I belong.
Holding the Day Steady
DHRUV
If my wife isn’t having a good day, I feel a very irrational urge to grab the day by its collar and shake it until it apologizes and resets itself back to morning. Today is one of those days.
I hate seeing her like this.
Sitara is sitting at her desk, stylus in hand, tablet glowing softly in front of her. From the outside, she looks fine. Calm and focused. But I’ve learned her tells over the last few months—the slight stiffness in her shoulders, the way she presses her lips together like she’s holding something back, the way her eyes glaze over just a little when she’s forcing herself through something she shouldn’t be doing right now.
