Chapter Three good things
Three good things
DHRUV
I wake up to movement instead of stillness. That alone is unusual.
Most mornings, I wake before her. Always have.
It’s become a quiet ritual I never planned but secretly look forward to—opening my eyes and finding Sitara still asleep, her face relaxed in a way she never allows herself when she’s awake.
I like lying there for a few minutes, not touching her, not waking her, just…
watching. Memorising. As if my mind is afraid it might forget the exact curve of her lashes or the way her mouth softens when she’s not guarding it.
Today, that ritual is missing.
I blink, eyes adjusting, and find her standing near the dresser, already dressed. Hair damp, a towel folded neatly on the chair. She’s fastening her earrings with a concentration that feels unnecessary for something so small.
Disappointment hits my chest—soft but sharp.
I sit up slowly. “What are you doing?”
She glances at me in the mirror. “You’re awake.”
“You should be resting,” I say, more firmly than I intend to. “You weren’t feeling well last night.”
She exhales through her nose, the sound tired. “I am fine now.” Then, quieter, under her breath she mutters, “I was looking horrible, so I wanted to take a shower and get dressed.”
That sentence lands wrong. I’m out of bed before I realise I’ve decided to move. The floor is cool under my feet as I cross the room in two strides and stop in front of her. She startles slightly when my hands settle on her shoulders—gentle, steady, grounding.
“Sitara,” I say, our eyes locking, my sole attention on her.
She tries to laugh it off, the sound airy and unconvincing. “What? Don’t look at me like that.”
I don’t answer. Instead, I lift my hand and use my thumb to tilt her chin up until she’s forced to meet my eyes. “You don’t ever look horrible.”
She snorts softly. “You don’t need to lie to make me feel better. Everyone looks bad when they wake up. I look like I’ve been hit by a truck most mornings.”
Something sharp twists in my chest. Not anger exactly. Something closer to fury—but cold, controlled, directed not at her, but at the world that taught her to speak about herself like this.
I tighten my grip just slightly, enough that she can’t step away, but careful—always careful—not to hurt her.
“No,” I say. “We’re not doing this.”
She blinks, confused now. “Doing what?”
I hold her gaze. “Degrading you,” I say firmly, “Say three good things about yourself.”
Her eyebrows knit together. “What?”
“You heard me.”
This is ridiculous, I know, and almost childish, but I will never let her talk about herself like that, especially now.
“You’re not getting out of here unless you do,” I continue, voice firmer now. “And don’t rush it.”
She stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “What are you—”
“If it were anyone else talking rubbish about my wife,” I interrupt calmly, “they’d be in much worse trouble than this.”
Her lips part. For a moment, she looks… stunned. Then something flickers in her eyes—uncertainty, followed by reluctant amusement.
“You’re serious,” she says slowly.
Very.
She sighs, rolling her eyes, but there’s no real resistance in her body. “Fine. Three good things.”
She thinks for a second, eyes flicking away from mine, then back.
“My eyes look pretty in sunlight,” she says cautiously.
“They look pretty all the time,” I reply immediately, without thinking. Then, catching myself, I add, “But fine. Go on.”
A corner of her mouth lifts despite herself. “I like how my cheeks are naturally rosy,” she continues. “I don’t need blush.”
I nod once. Encouraging. She hesitates at the third one. I can see it—the way her shoulders tense, the way her gaze drops to the floor like she’s searching for something that keeps slipping away.
“I like my…” She trails off, frustrated. “I don’t know.”
My jaw tightens. I don’t say anything. I just wait. Because this hurts so much, seeing her struggle to come up with even three things to like about herself when I could mention millions so easily.
Finally, she huffs. “My nose. I like my nose. It’s… cute.”
“Good,” I say softly. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Her cheeks turn pink—deeper this time. I release her shoulders, stepping back just enough to give her space, then narrow my eyes at her. “Anytime you say things like that about yourself again, you do this.”
She looks up. “Do what?”
“Say three good things about yourself.” I step closer again, invading her space just slightly. I lean down so we’re eye level. “Every time.”
Her breath hitches. “Do you get it?” I ask quietly.
She nods, eyes wide.
I tilt my head, deliberately. “Do you get it, princess?”
She inhales sharply, like the word has pulled something loose inside her. “Yes,” she whispers. “I get it.”
Satisfied, I straighten and step away. “Good girl.” Her eyes widen and a soft gasp escapes her lips. I smirk at the reaction. She’s so easy to mess with.
I turn toward the door, already reaching for my watch. “I’ll get ready and meet you for breakfast.” Although we sleep together, I do want to give her privacy, so I still use my room. Until, of course, she allows me to stay.
As I reach the door, I pause. “Sitara.”
She turns around instantly. “You look beautiful,” I add casually, like it’s an afterthought.
Her face blooms pink so fast it’s almost impressive.
That does something deeply satisfying to me. I walk out with a smirk, already planning which flower I’ll give her today, and silently promising myself that I will unteach every cruel thing the world ever told her about herself—one stubborn, steady moment at a time.