Chapter 27 What I should have said from the beginning
What I should have said from the beginning
DHRUV
Her lips tremble.
It’s such a small thing, barely noticeable if you aren’t looking for it—but I see it immediately. The way she presses them together, how her jaw tightens as if she’s physically holding herself together. Her eyes glisten, wet but stubborn, tears waiting at the edge like they need permission to fall.
And suddenly, all the anger drains out of me.
Not the concern. Not the fear. Just the sharp edge of it—the part that had made my voice firm, my gaze unyielding. What’s left behind is something worse.
Guilt.
She’s already in pain. Physical pain, yes—but this… this is deeper. This is the kind that settles in the bones.
I move without thinking, scooting closer to her on the bed. The mattress dips slightly under my weight. My hands hover near hers, unsure, hesitant for the first time since I walked into this room. I wait—just a second—giving her space to pull away if she wants to.
She doesn’t.
That’s all the permission I need.
I take her hands in mine, gently, like they might break if I’m careless. Her fingers are cold. Too cold. I rub my thumbs over her knuckles instinctively, grounding myself as much as her.
“Why are you apologizing, princess?” I ask. My voice comes out softer than I intend. Softer than it has any right to be after how sharp I sounded earlier.
She doesn’t look at me.
“I’m sorry you had to marry me,” she whispers.
The words are barely there—thin, exhausted, like they’ve been sitting in her chest for far too long.
Something inside me cracks.
“What?” I frown, leaning in, trying to catch her eyes. “Why would you say that?”
My mind races immediately, flipping through memories like pages I’ve read a hundred times. Did I say something wrong? Did I push too much? Did I make her feel trapped? Unwanted?
I replay everything—every smile, every laugh, every quiet moment we’ve shared. All I remember is warmth. Her warmth. The way she fills space so naturally, how she laughs with her whole face, how she makes even silence feel lighter.
“I am such an embarrassment, Dhruv.” Her voice breaks. “I always wanted good for you. I was so selfish. I should have stopped you from marrying me.”
My chest tightens painfully.
“You definitely didn’t deserve it,” she says. “You didn’t deserve… me.”
Her tears spill over then, no longer contained, sliding down her cheeks unchecked. Every word feels like someone is twisting a knife slowly into my ribs.
“I’m so… huge,” she whispers, the word loaded with shame. “And so… unworthy to be beside you.”
I don’t even realize I’ve moved until my hands are on her shoulders. Firm. Not enough to hurt—but enough to make her still.
“Sitara,” I exclaim, my voice louder now. She flinches. The sight of it makes my heart drop straight into my stomach.
I immediately soften my grip. “I’m sorry,” I say quickly, breathless. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She looks down again, her shoulders curling inward, like she’s trying to make herself smaller.
“No, Dhruv,” she says quietly. “I don’t think you understand yet. You married me out of pity. There’s nothing else that would’ve made you do it.”
Her words hit harder than any blow.
“There’s no reason why someone like you would be with someone like… me.”
“Sitara.”
My voice rises despite myself.
“Sitara,” I repeat, sharper now, because hearing her say that—about herself—feels unbearable.
“There’s an entire universe of reasons why you shouldn’t be with me, but all those reasons you stated are not it,” I say, the truth spilling out before I can stop it. “And if you think you were selfish, you’re wrong.” I take a breath, my chest heaving. “I was.”
Her head snaps up. “I married you because…” I inhale sharply, “I love you,” I finally whisper.
The words hang between us. Heavy. Unavoidable.
Her eyes widen, shock freezing her features.
“I have always loved you,” I continue, my voice rough now, raw in a way it rarely is. “I didn’t even realize when it happened. It just… did.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides.
“Watching you get married to that bastard that day was torture,” I admit, the memory still burning. “And when he didn’t show up—despite your pain—I was happy.Because if that hadn’t happened,” I say, my voice dropping as realization crashes into me, “I would never have had a chance with you.”
Silence. Thick. Deafening. Her mouth parts slightly, disbelief written all over her face. I should stop. I know I should. But I can’t let her believe the lies she’s been telling herself.
“I love you, Sitara,” I say again, steadier this time. “And you’re right about one thing—I have no reason, no right to love you.” I give a short, humorless laugh. “But I do. I always will. I can’t not love you. It’s just not in me.”
My heart is racing now, pounding so hard it almost hurts.
“It hurts, princess,” I say, my voice breaking despite my effort to stay composed. “It hurts hearing you talk about yourself like that.”
I slide off the bed and kneel in front of her without thinking, my knees pressing into the carpet.
“Please,” I say, my pride dissolving completely. “Don’t ever speak about yourself that way.”
Her sobs grow louder now, no longer restrained. She shakes, grief and fear and shame pouring out all at once.
“Come to me,” I plead softly. “If you ever feel like you’re not beautiful, if you ever feel unworthy—come to me.”
I lift my head, meeting her eyes through the tears.
“I will show you what you mean to me,” I say. “How you leave me breathless. How now that I’ve tasted a life with you, I can’t imagine one without you.” My throat tightens painfully. “But never, never say those words about yourself again. It feels like you’re killing me.”
She breaks completely then.
Her sobs tear out of her chest, loud and unfiltered, and I don’t think—I just move. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her into me, holding her tightly, desperately, like anchoring her is the only thing keeping us both afloat.
Her face presses into my shoulder, her hands clutching at my shirt.
I hold her.
I rock her gently.
And I silently promise myself—no matter how long it takes, no matter how hard it is—that I will spend the rest of my life undoing the damage the world has done to her.