“Good,” I mutter.
“But,” he adds, turning slightly toward the small bar at the side of the cabin, “I’m also not going to pretend nothing happened.”
He pauses, glancing back at me over his shoulder. “You started something, princess.”
My stomach flips.
Before I can respond, he walks away, pouring himself a drink with infuriating calm. I stare after him, heart racing, mind buzzing, body humming like it’s been tuned to a frequency I didn’t know existed.
I exhale slowly, pressing my palm against my chest.
Get it together.
I force my eyes back to the tablet, even though the words blur. I’m halfway through convincing myself that I can survive this flight without further emotional damage when he returns.
I feel him before I see him.
He stops beside my seat again. This time, he doesn’t lean in. He just stands there, close enough that his presence is undeniable.
“Sitara.”
I don’t look up. “What.”
He chuckles softly. “You really do that when you’re overwhelmed.”
“Do what.”
“Pretend you’re busy.”
I finally glance up, prepared to argue—and freeze.
He’s closer than I expected. Too close. He reaches out, slow and deliberate, giving me more than enough time to pull away. I don’t. His fingers brush my cheek, knuckles grazing skin in a touch so light it barely counts. My breath stutters anyway.
“Breathe,” he murmurs.
I inhale. Then—before my brain can catch up—he leans down and presses a kiss to my cheek. Not rushed or playful. It’s warm. Lingering.
When he pulls back, my entire body feels like it’s buzzing. “There,” he says quietly. “Now we’re even.” I stare at him, stunned.
He smiles gently and turns back toward the bar as if he hasn’t just unraveled me with a single, stupidly gentle kiss.
I sink back into my seat, breath shallow, heart pounding.
See?
Left breathless.
Again.
Jodhpur diaries
SITARA
By the time we reach Jodhpur, my nerves have settled into something softer—still fluttery, still alert, but no longer sharp enough to hurt.
The royal palace rises out of the city like it’s always been there, like Jodhpur grew around it instead of the other way around. Warm sandstone glowing in the late afternoon sun, carved jharokhas catching light and shadow, flags stirring lazily in the breeze. I’ve been here before, once with Bhai-sa. He had a meeting, and I wanted to explore. Since I didn’t really get out of my house much, Bhai-sa agreed.
Dhruv steps out of the car first, as always, hand already extended before I even think about asking. I place my palm in his, and the familiar steadiness of him grounds me instantly. He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t pull—just holds, like this is the most natural thing in the world.
