Chapter 34 Too many home
Too many home
SITARA
I cannot believe Tia is here.
No, seriously. I keep blinking at her like she might glitch out and disappear the way she does on my phone screen when the network decides to betray me mid-rant.
But she doesn’t. She’s still sitting across from me, legs tucked beneath her, hair tied in the same messy bun she’s had since school, fingers wrapped around a cup of chai like this palace drawing room is just another café we accidentally occupied.
She’s the only friend I have been capable of making in the entirety of my twenty-five years of life.
It’s been two hours.
Two whole hours of talking nonstop. About her exams. About the wedding drama. About how absurd it feels to say my husband out loud. About how her dorm food has somehow gotten worse, which we both agree should be illegal at this point.
And still—it doesn’t feel like enough.
Seeing your best friend in real life after four years does something strange to your chest. It expands and tightens at the same time. Like your heart has been holding its breath without telling you, and suddenly it remembers how to exhale.
I feel… elated. Light. Loud on the inside.
Tia didn’t even go to see her parents first.
That part makes something fierce and proud bloom in my chest.
She came here instead.
Which—knowing her parents—means everything.
I’ve never liked them. That’s the polite version.
The honest version is uglier. I hate the way they made her feel like they were doing her a favor by letting her study further.
As if her education was some luxury item she had to earn extra gratitude for.
As if being a girl automatically meant she should be thankful for scraps of freedom.
So seeing her here, choosing herself in this small but powerful way, makes me want to clap and cry at the same time.
“I still can’t believe you’re actually here,” I say for the fifth time, grinning like an idiot.
Tia rolls her eyes, lips curling. “If you say that once more, I’m charging you per sentence.”
“I missed you.”
Her teasing expression softens immediately. She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “I know.”
We fall into a comfortable silence for about twelve seconds before she breaks it, because of course she does.
“So,” she says slowly, eyes sharpening with interest, “I haven’t even met the man yet, and I already know things.”
My stomach drops.
“What things?” I ask carefully.
She leans back, crossing her arms. “For starters, you haven’t stopped smiling like a fool since I got here. Which is suspicious.”
I scoff. “I smile all the time.”
“Sitara,” she deadpans, “you smile when you’re either extremely happy or extremely uncomfortable. This is not discomfort.”
Heat crawls up my neck.
She squints at me. “Oh my God.”
I immediately shush her. “No.”
“Oh my God,” she repeats louder.
“Tia—”
“You actually like him.”
I clap a hand over her mouth before the words can echo too loudly in my own head. “Shut up,” I hiss, glancing around even though we’re alone. “Do you want me to combust?”
She pulls my hand away, eyes wide with mock horror. “You do! You actually like him!”
I drop my face into my palms. “Please stop yelling truths.”
She laughs, delighted, like she’s just solved a mystery that’s been bothering her for years. “This is huge.”
I peek at her through my fingers. “Is it?”
“Yes,” she says firmly. “Because for the longest time, you acted like romance was a scam invented to sell books.”
“I still think that.” Don’t get me wrong, I love romance, I create art around it after all, but in real life, I think it’s dead. Or, at the very least, it’s dead for me.
She tilts her head. “And yet here you are. Married. Blushing. Defending him without realizing you’re doing it.”
I straighten. “I am not blushing.”
She raises an eyebrow.
I sigh. “Fine.”
She grins. “Tell me.”
“What?”
“About him.”
My heart does a small, traitorous flip.
I hesitate. Not because I don’t want to talk about Dhruv—but because saying things out loud makes them real in a way I’m still adjusting to.
“He’s…” I begin, then stop. Restart. “He’s very kind.”
Tia’s expression shifts instantly into seriousness. She’s always been good at that—reading between lines, knowing when to joke and when to listen.
“He’s caring,” I continue softly. “Like… genuinely. Not performative. He remembers things. Small things. And he doesn’t make me feel like I have to earn space.”
She watches me closely.
“And,” I add, almost reluctantly, “he confessed his love to me.”
Her jaw drops.
“He what?”
“I know,” I rush. “I was shocked, too. I didn’t see it coming at all, you know because...” I pause, shutting my mouth immediately. She stares at me for a second, then her face darkens in a way that immediately makes me nervous.
“Because what?” she asks sharply. I blink. “Because what, Sitara?” she repeats. “Why were you shocked?”
I open my mouth. Close it.
“Because…” I trail off.
She leans forward, eyes blazing. “Because you think you’re unlovable?”
I huff a laugh, trying to deflect. “That’s dramatic.”
“No,” she snaps. “That’s accurate.”
I roll my eyes. “Tia—”
She cuts me off. “You are drop-dead gorgeous, intelligent, creative, kind, and emotionally aware. Anyone with eyes and a functioning heart would fall for you.”
I stare at her.
“You don’t get to be shocked that someone loves you,” she continues, voice fierce, “when you give people so much of yourself.”
I swallow.
She exhales, calming herself. “Sorry. I just—ugh. You drive me insane sometimes.”
I laugh weakly. “You sound like him.”
She freezes. “Wait. What?”
“Dhruv,” I say. “You react the same way he does when I try to say something bad about myself.”
Her lips curl slowly. “Oh. I like him already.”
I snort. “You haven’t even met him.”
“Don’t need to,” she says smugly. “Anyone who shuts down your self-hate immediately is on my good list.”
I hesitate, then sigh. “I think I need to start therapy again.”
Her brows knit together. “What happened?”
I tell her about Maya.
About the comments. The subtle digs. The way words burrowed into my head even when I knew better. How stupid I felt for letting them affect me so much.
Tia’s face hardens with every sentence.
“I was so dumb,” I finish quietly.
She shakes her head. “No. You were human.”
I shrug. “It’s all good. I haven’t seen her around in a while.”
Her eyes narrow. “That’s interesting.”
I wave it off. “Probably nothing.”
She doesn’t look convinced.
But before she can say more, footsteps echo in the hallway.
My heart jumps.
I glance up instinctively—too quickly, too obviously.
Tia notices immediately.
She smirks. “Oh, you’re down bad.”
I groan. “I hate you.”
She laughs. “No, you love me.”
And for the first time in a long while, surrounded by marble walls and quiet power, with my best friend sitting across from me like she belongs here too—I realize something important.
Home isn’t always a place.
Sometimes it’s the people who show up.
And right now, somehow, impossibly—I have more of them than I ever thought I would.