“Feels like one,” I reply lightly, stepping closer.
She turns then, slowly, and the look on her face—soft, guarded, a little unsure—lands somewhere deep in my chest. I’ve seen her brave. I’ve seen her broken. This version of her, dressed for the world while still feeling like she’s learning how to exist in it, might be the most dangerous one yet.
“You look…” I begin, then stop.
She tenses immediately. “What?”
I shake my head, reaching for the small velvet box resting on the table behind me. “Come here.”
Her eyes flick to the box, curiosity overpowering caution. “Dhruv—”
“Just come here,” I say, gentler this time.
She obeys. I open the box slowly, watching her reaction more than the jewelry itself. The diamonds catch the light—not loud, not excessive. Something meant to sit against skin, not scream for attention.
Her breath catches. Just once. “This is too much,” she says quietly.
I step closer, lifting the necklace. “It’s not.”
She starts to argue, then stops when I move behind her. My fingers brush her shoulder as I sweep her hair aside, and I feel the way her body reacts before her mind catches up—a small inhale, a slight stillness.
I fasten the necklace carefully, deliberately. My knuckles graze the nape of her neck, warm, exposed. I lean in without thinking,not to provoke or tease—just because it feels natural. My lips press there softly.
She stiffens.
Then she turns suddenly, pushing at my chest, not hard enough to mean stop—just enough to create space. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes wide.
“Dhruv,” she scolds, flustered. “You can’t just—”
I raise a brow. “Just what?”
She glares at me. “Do that.”
“Put a necklace on you?”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
A smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it. “You’re shy.”
“I am not!” she snaps.
The denial is so quick, so indignant, it almost makes me laugh.
“Oh?” I challenge, folding my arms. “Then why are you blushing?”
She opens her mouth to retort—and instead, she steps closer, her eyes narrowing. I see the boldness flare in her eyes. Before I can register what’s happening, she rises onto her toes and kisses me.
And this time it’s not just a brush of lips. It’s a kiss.
Her lips are warm, uncertain but determined, and the shock of it sends a jolt straight through me. I freeze for half a second—just long enough for her to pull back, as if suddenly aware of what she’s done.
My hand comes up instinctively, cupping her jaw, stopping her retreat.
“You don’t get to start something like that and walk away,” I murmur.
Her breath stutters. “I wasn’t—”
I don’t let her finish. I kiss her back.
