Her voice wasn’t sharp. Wasn’t defensive. There was no edge to it. Just…honesty. And Ishika doesn’t give that easily.
I keep my eyes on the road, but my grip on the steering wheel tightens just slightly. Not enough for her to notice. Just enough for me to feel it.
“You don’t have to apologize for protecting yourself,” I say finally, my voice quieter than it was a minute ago.
She doesn’t respond immediately. I can feel her looking at me now, properly this time—not the guarded glances she throws when she thinks I’m not paying attention, but something steadier.
“That’s not what I’m doing all the time,” she says after a moment.
“No,” I agree softly. “Not all the time.”
There’s a pause, “I feel…” Her voice breaks a bit and I glance at her quickly, “I feel I have become a very harsh version of myself…having to always only depend on myself has made me so…unbearable I feel and I am sorry you have to deal with it.”
She shifts slightly in her seat, tucking one leg beneath her, turning toward me in a way that tells me she’s not done talking. That alone is enough to pull my attention. Because Ishika choseto stay in a conversation like this instead of shutting it down? That’s not small.
“How?” she asks.
I glance at her briefly. “How what?”
“How do you…” she trails off, searching for the words, and I slow the car slightly without thinking, like giving her more time will somehow help her find them.
“How do you still want to be around me?” she finishes, more firmly this time. “After all of this.”
I don’t interrupt. I let her say it the way she needs to. “After the way I talk to you,” she continues, her fingers twisting together in her lap now, restless in a way that doesn’t match her usual stillness. “After how I pushed you away. After I—”
She stops herself. Her jaw tightens slightly.
“Why?” she asks again, quieter now. “Why do you want this?”
There it is. Not a deflection. Not a sharp remark meant to create distance. A real question.
And underneath it—Something softer. Something that feels a lot like fear. And I hate it. I hate how completely she survives in fear mode, how it’s the emotion that rides all her decisions, all her opinions, all of her. I absolutely hate this world for leaving her clueless about her parents and that stupid boyfriend of hers, I hate him more…I am grateful to him for leaving her in the most selfish way because I would have never stood a chance otherwise but the damage it did to her…is unfair.
I pull the car to the side of the road before answering. Because this isn’t something I want to say while half my attention issomewhere else. The engine hums softly as I shift into park. For a second, neither of us moves. Then I turn toward her fully. She’s already looking at me. There’s no challenge in her eyes. Just…uncertainty. And something that looks dangerously close to hope.
I lean back slightly in my seat, letting out a slow breath before I speak. “Because I see you.”
The words come out simple. Uncomplicated. Her brows pull together slightly, like she doesn’t understand what that means. So I continue. “I see the part of you that walks into a room and already knows how to hold everything together,” I say, my voice steady. “The part that doesn’t wait for anyone else to fix things. The part that’s been doing it alone for so long, it doesn’t even feel strange anymore.”
She goes still. “I see the way you act like you don’t need anything,” I add, softer now, “even when you clearly do.”
Her throat moves slightly as she swallows. “And I see the moments you don’t think anyone’s looking,” I continue. “When you forget to eat because you’re too focused. When you get lost in your work. When you stop pacing for a second and just…stand there like you’re carrying more than you should have to.”
Her gaze drops briefly to her hands. I let the silence sit for a second before I speak again. “You think you’re being mean to me,” I say quietly. “But most of the time, you’re just…scared.”
Her head snaps up at that. She looks so startled. “And I get it,” I add quickly, not giving her time to shut down. “I really do.”
She searches my face, like she’s trying to figure out if I’m simplifying her. If I’m misunderstanding. I don’t look away. “I don’t take it personally,” I say. “Not the way you think I do.”
“Then how do you take it?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper now.
I hold her gaze. “As proof that you’re still here.” Her breath catches slightly. “You could have walked away a dozen times by now,” I continue. “You didn’t.”
Her lips part like she wants to argue that. She doesn’t. “You talk to me,” I say. “You fight me. You push back. You don’t ignore me.”
A small, almost helpless huff of breath leaves her. “That’s not exactly a compliment.”
“It is to me.” She blinks. Confused. I lean forward slightly, resting my forearms on the steering wheel, still turned toward her. “Indifference is easy, Sunshine,” I say gently. “If you didn’t feel anything, you wouldn’t bother reacting at all.”
