Every old instinct rises at once. Protect. Retreat. Push first. I straighten my spine. “I want you to stay away from me.” The words come out clean and sharp. For a second, relief floods me. There you are. The cold, controlled, untouchable Ishika everyone knows. Because this will end. Evergreen will finish. The project will close. He’ll return to his shining life, to women who belong in rooms like these, to people who know how to love without flinching.
And I—I will be left cleaning up a mess I should never have allowed. He goes very still. Only for a heartbeat. But I catch the flicker of hurt before he hides it. Then his lips curl up in a soft, infuriating smile.
“Fight me all you want, Sunshine.” His hand slides to the nape of my neck, warm and firm, tipping my face up just enough that avoiding him becomes impossible. “I’m not staying away from you.” My breath catches so sharply it aches.
He steps closer. Close enough that the city disappears. Close enough that heat replaces wind. Close enough that one lean forward would become a mistake I’d crave forever. “You’re afraid of being alone.” His voice is low now. Roughened. I look at the knot of his tie because I cannot survive his eyes. The tie I fixed with trembling fingers earlier tonight.
“And I don’t blame you for that,” he says. My throat tightens. “You learned how to survive with no one beside you. You learned to carry everything yourself because no one else did.”
Each word lands too precisely. “That kind of loneliness doesn’t vanish because someone tells you to let it go.”
My eyes sting. I blink hard. “But surviving alone and living alone are not the same thing.” His fingers brush the inside of my wrist. Barely there. Enough space to move away. I don’t. I cannot. I like this too much to move away.
“You don’t know how to lean on anyone,” he says quietly. “So don’t. Not yet.” His gaze drops to my mouth. Returns to my eyes. “Don’t trust the world. Don’t trust promises. Don’t trust forever.” My pulse stumbles. “Just give me one chance.”
No one has ever asked for my trust gently. People usually demand it. Assume it. Take offense when it isn’t offered. He asks like he knows it costs blood. “Let me be someone you trust.”
The balcony feels smaller now. Warmer. Dangerous in the quietest possible way.
“I’m not—” My voice breaks. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I know exactly what I’m asking.”
“No.” I step back until the wall meets my spine. A thin laugh escapes me. Bitter. “You think this is simple. You think I can just let you in.” He says nothing. That silence hurts more than argument. “I’m not easy,” I whisper. “I’m not whole. I come with too much.”
His jaw tightens. Like he wants to fight whoever taught me that sentence. Then he says softly, “Then let me see the too much.” I stare at him. “Let me stand beside the parts of you that shake. Let me stay through the days you go silent. Let me learn your sharp edges instead of pretending they aren’t there.”
My chest hurts so badly I press a hand to it. “You’ll get tired.”
“Maybe.” He shrugs once. Honest. Unafraid. “But I won’t leave because it’s difficult.”
“You say that now.”
“Then I’ll say it tomorrow too.” He takes another step. “And the day after that.” His hand rises, fingers brushing my jaw with such tenderness it nearly undoes me. “I’ll say it every damn day until you stop looking at yourself like something people have to tolerate.”
My breath catches hard. “You don’t have to be whole for me to stand beside you,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to be easy. You don’t have to know how to need someone.” His thumb skims the corner of my mouth. A shiver races through me. “You just have to let me try.”
Then he leans in. Every instinct I own screams. Run. Protect yourself. Leave first.
But another part of me—very small, starving, so exhausted from being brave alone—tilts toward him instead. My eyes close. Hisbreath mingles with mine. One more inch. One more inch and I would know what it feels like to be kissed like I mattered. I want it. God, I want it so badly my bones feel hollow with it. And that is exactly when panic strikes. Because wanting becomes needing. Needing becomes dependence. Dependence becomes empty hands. I turn my face at the last second and press my palm to his chest. “I can’t.”
The words come out broken. He goes still. But he does not step away. I keep my hand there because if I move it, I might drag him closer. “You can,” he says quietly.
“No.” I force myself to look at him. “I won’t survive it if I start wanting this.”
Something fierce flashes across his face. Not anger at me. At whoever made me believe love only ends in loss. “Then I’ll stand here,” he whispers, his hand resting at the small of my back, “At whatever distance you can handle.”
His other hand covers mine over his heart. Warmth beneath skin. Steady thudding beneath my palm. “Near. Far. Across the room.” My breath trembles. “But I’m not disappearing because you’re scared.”
“You can fight me if you need to,” he says. “Ignore me. Slam doors in my face. Pretend you don’t feel this.” His thumb presses once against my knuckles. “I’ll still be here.”
“That’s unfair to you.” A faint smile touches his mouth.
“Not as unfair as the thought that no one ever told you the truth—that you deserve a love so steady it never makes you question your worth, someone who looks at you and makes you believe you’re beautiful without trying, someone who can handle your sharp mouth and your stubborn pride and still stay.” Hechuckles and I manage to roll my eyes through the tears forming in them, “You’re difficult sometimes, rude when you’re scared, impossible when you’re hurting—but you’re also the kindest person I know, the one who gives pieces of herself even when she has nothing left. And someone should have told you a long time ago that women like you are not meant to be abandoned…they’re meant to be cherished.” Then he bends and kisses the corner of my forehead. Not my mouth. Not the place that would ruin me fastest. Just there.
“So, sunshine,” He softens his voice, as he looks in my eyes and I suddenly feel breathless, “Get used to it,” he murmurs.
And the worst part—the most dangerous part—is that some reckless, starving piece of me already wants to.
