“I love the way you think,” I add, slower now, more certain. “The way you see things. The way you don’t let people reduce you to one version of yourself.”
His hand stills against my arm.
“I love that you’re…annoyingly optimistic even when you have no reason to be. That you still believe in people. That you still show up without calculating what you’ll get in return.”
My throat tightens just slightly, but I keep going.
“I love that you don’t pretend to be less than you are just to make someone else comfortable. And that you don’t expect me to do that either.”
He exhales softly.
I don’t stop. Because if I do, I might not start again.
“You feel like…” I pause, trying to find something that makes sense. “Like something steady in a world that isn’t.”
His gaze doesn’t leave mine.
Not for a second.
“And I don’t say this because I feel like I owe you something,” I add, more firmly now. “Or because you’ve done things for me. Or because I’m trying to give something back.”
I shake my head slightly.
“I’m saying it because even if you hadn’t done any of that…I would still feel this way.”
Silence settles between us. Like everything we haven’t said before is sitting right here now. “I love you, Aryan.”
He cups my face. His thumb brushing lightly against my cheek.
And the way he looks at me—God. Like I just gave him something he didn’t think he’d ever get. “Sunshine…” he breathes.
I wrinkle my nose. “Don’t make it a moment.”
“It is a moment.”
“It’s not.”
“It is.”
I glare at him weakly. He smiles. Happy in a way that makes my chest feel too tight again. And then he leans in. Slow enough that I could pull away if I wanted to.
I don’t. His lips meet mine gently at first. Careful. Like he’s still not sure I’m real. And then a little deeper. My fingers curl into his shirt without thinking, holding on.
Because this—This is real.
CHAPTER 65
ISHIKA
I haven’t slept properly since Aryan got shot.
Not really.
I close my eyes sometimes. Drift in and out for an hour maybe. But real sleep—the kind where your body actually lets go—hasn’t happened in days. Because every time I do fall asleep, I see him again. Falling to his knees. Blood on his shirt. That smile on his face while I was breaking apart. You’re okay. Like that was the only thing that mattered. Maybe it was. Maybe that’s what terrifies me the most.
I stand in front of Aryan’s bedroom mirror longer than necessary, fingers lingering against the chain around my neck. The pendant rests against my skin, cool and familiar.
My last birthday gift from my parents. Back when I still thought I understood my life.
