She nods. “Of course.” And just like that, she leaves. I don’t have to wait long. The door opens again, slower this time. And she walks in like she’s not sure she’s allowed to. Her eyes find mine immediately. There’s relief there. But it’s buried under something heavier.
Guilt.
She stops a few steps away from the bed, her hands clasped together tightly in front of her like she’s holding herself back. “I—” she starts, then stops, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry.”
There it is.
Of course.
“Ishika—”
“It’s my fault,” she says quickly, cutting me off before I can say anything. “You’re here because of me. Because of my—”
She hesitates. And I see it. That moment. That fracture. “…my father.” The word lands heavier than anything else in the room. My eyes widen before I can stop them.
“That man…” My voice is still rough, but the question pushes through anyway. “He is your father?” She nods. Her eyes shine instantly, like she’s been holding that in and it only took one question to crack it open.
And something cold settles in my chest.
Because I saw him. The way he moved. The way he fought. The way he looked at her.
And now this?
This piece fits somewhere it shouldn’t.
I don’t even know what to do with that information right now. But one thing hits me immediately. She’s been carrying this alone. I shift slightly, ignoring the pull of pain, focusing on her instead. “Come here,” I say softly.
She hesitates. Then take a step forward. Another. Until she’s close enough that I can reach her. Her hands are still clenched. Her shoulders are tight. Like she’s bracing for something. “I’m fine,” I tell her gently. “You don’t get to take credit for this.”
Her lips part, frustration flashing through her expression. “How dare you,” she snaps suddenly, anger cutting through the guilt like a blade. “How dare you do something like that?”
I blink.
Okay.
That I didn’t expect.
“You think that was heroic?” she continues, voice shaking now, not from fear—but from something deeper. “You think throwing yourself in front of a bullet is something I’ll just—what—be grateful for?”
“Ishika—”
“No,” she cuts in, shaking her head. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to decide that your life is…expendable just because you want to save me.”
Her eyes are wet now. Her breathing is uneven. “You don’t get to scare me like that,” she whispers, softer now, but it hits harder. “Don’t you remember, I have 100% control over your life and I don’t allow this.”
I look at her. At the fear still sitting behind her anger. At the way her hands tremble slightly despite how hard she’s trying to hold herself together. And I smile. Softly. Because I understand.
“I would do it again,” I say quietly. Her expression breaks.
“Aryan—”
“I will always take away any pain that dares to come your way, Sunshine.” The words come out simple. And I mean every single one of them. She stares at me like she doesn’t know whether to scream at me or—Or something else entirely.
“Stop it,” she says, but there’s no real force behind it anymore.
“Can’t,” I murmur.
And then I reach for her. It hurts. More than I let on. But I don’t stop. I pull her closer, carefully, until she’s leaning into me, her body tense for half a second—And then she breaks. Her hands grip my shirt, her face burying into my shoulder as a sob tears through her.
