She’s definitely not in the mood to work.
And yet, she’s doing it anyway.
Because guilt is her default response to rest.
Because she thinks stopping means she’s failing someone.
I sigh quietly, leaning against the doorframe, watching her for a few seconds longer than necessary. I know it might be herhormones acting up—PCOD days hit her harder sometimes—and I know it’ll ease soon. But knowing that doesn’t make it easier to watch. It doesn’t make me hate these moments any less.
I cross the room silently and stop just behind her.
“Sitara,” I whisper against her ear.
She flinches—not startled, just… fragile. She turns her head to look at me, and the second I see her eyes glistening, my brows knit together instinctively.
“What’s wrong, princess?” I ask softly.
She tries to speak. Fails. Her lips tremble, and then suddenly her arms are around my neck, her forehead pressing into my shoulder like she’s been holding herself together with tape and it finally snapped.
For half a second, I stand there awkwardly, surprised—not because she’s touching me, but because I hate that she reached this point without letting me know sooner. Then my body catches up with my heart, and my hands come up automatically, one patting her head, the other resting against her back.
She cries quietly. The kind of crying that sounds apologetic even in silence. “I’m so sorry,” she mutters between breaths. “I’m so over-sensitive. I cry for everything.”
That’s when something inside me snaps—not in anger, but in urgency. I gently pull back, forcing space between us, and immediately kneel in front of her so we’re eye level. She looks startled for a second, tears still clinging to her lashes.
“Hey,” I say, firm but gentle. I take her face in my hands before she can retreat into herself again. “Being sensitive isn’t a bad thing, princess.”
She blinks at me.
“Feeling things deeply is never a flaw, Sitara,” I continue, my thumb brushing her cheek as I wipe away a tear. “It’s your strength. It means things matter to you. It means you care. And caring this much? That’s not something to apologize for.”
Her breathing stutters.
“You don’t have to be strong with me,” I add quietly. “I’m here. Always.”
Her lips curve into a small, shaky smile. “How do you always know what to say?”
I shrug lightly, trying to keep it simple even though my chest feels tight. “That’s because I know you.”
She exhales, wiping her face with the back of her hand. Then, before I realize what she’s doing, she leans forward and presses a soft kiss to my forehead.
“Thanks for being my rock, Dhruv,” she whispers against my skin.
My heart absolutely loses its mind. She pulls back and sits up straight like nothing monumental just happened, while I’m left kneeling there trying very hard not to combust.
“You’re blushing,” she giggles.
I narrow my eyes at her. “You have no idea how special that moment was to me.” Her smile falters just slightly, eyes softening. “How precious you are to me, princess,” I add, finally standing up.
Her cheeks flush instantly. I lean down again, unable to help myself. “For someone who draws romance for a living, you really can’t handle even one romantic moment.”
She inhales sharply as our noses brush, eyes widening. Before she can argue, before she can overthink it, I murmur, “I love you, Sitara.”
She freezes for half a second. Then she smiles—warm, sincere, unguarded. “I like you too, Dhruv,” she whispers. And a warmth spreads in my chest.
“Let’s go eat something?” I ask, my voice firm despite the happiness blooming in my chest.
She smiles and nods, getting up, taking my hand in hers and I smile as I intertwine our fingers.
