HOW COULD I NOT?
YUVAAN
I'm three steps away from her when she asks that question, and I swear something inside me stops.
Not because I don't know the answer. Because I cannot believe she has spent even a single day thinking that question needed asking.
"What is there left in me that's worth loving?
" The words echo through the room long after she's finished speaking.
For a moment, all I can do is look at her. At the woman sitting across from me with tears slipping silently down her face, genuinely waiting for an answer. As though love is something earned. As though it could be measured against mistakes or scars or the years life has taken from a person.
Something hot and sharp rises in my chest. Not anger at her.
Never her. At everyone who let her believe this.
At every lonely year that convinced her she had to become smaller to deserve kindness.
At every person who looked at the strongest woman I've ever known and somehow made her question whether she was enough.
I drag a slow breath into my lungs before I trust myself to speak.
"What is there to love in you . . . " I repeat the question quietly, tasting the words as though maybe I've misunderstood them.
Then I look back at her. "Daisy . . . " My voice comes out rougher than I intend. " . . . do you even hear yourself?"
She flinches. Just enough for me to notice.
I hate myself for it immediately. I soften my voice, but not the truth beneath it.
She doesn't need gentle lies. She deserves the whole truth.
"You ask me how I could love you like this.
" I shake my head slowly. "And all I can think is .
. . " A helpless laugh escapes me. " . . . how could I possibly not?"
I move closer before I even realise I'm doing it.
When I reach her, I sink down onto the floor until we're facing each other properly.
My hands reach for her cheeks almost instinctively.
Then they stop. Hovering. For the first time in years .
. . I'm afraid. Not of rejection. Of the possibility that she might pull away.
My fingers tremble. Actually tremble. I almost laugh at myself.
A Maharaja who negotiates with ministers without blinking .
. . is hesitating over holding the face of the woman he's loved almost his entire life.
She notices. Instead of moving away . . .
She closes the distance herself. The contact is so small.
So ordinary. Yet I feel it everywhere. My chest tightens. My breathing catches.
I close my eyes for the briefest second, letting myself simply feel the warmth of her hands resting inside mine.
God.
I'd forgotten what this felt like.
No.
I hadn't forgotten. I'd remembered it every single day.
"I need you to understand something." My thumbs brush slowly across her cheek. "When I'm in a room with you . . . " I smile faintly. " . . . there isn't a room anymore."
She blinks at me.
"I could be sitting through the most important council meeting of my life."
"Thirty people arguing."
"Documents spread across the table."
"The future of this estate hanging on whatever decision gets made next." I let out a quiet breath. "And then you'd walk in." My eyes don't leave hers. "And every single one of them would disappear."
"I don't choose that."
"I've tried. So many times."
"I've tried to focus on anything else."
"It never works."
"You've always been . . . " I search for the right word. " . . . the first thing my heart notices."
A tear slips down her cheek. I automatically wipe it away.
She leans into my hand. My thumb brushes across warm skin.
She closes her eyes. Such a tiny movement.
Such impossible trust. I almost break. "When you're not with me .
. . " I whisper. " . . . you're still with me.
" A watery laugh escapes me. "I'll be walking through the gardens and see a flower. "
"I'll think . . . " A smile tugs helplessly at my mouth. " . . . Daisy would stop here."
"She'd kneel down."
"She'd spend five whole minutes admiring one flower while everyone else walked straight past it." She smiles through her tears. "I'll find an oddly shaped stone."
"I'll wonder whether you'd put it in your pocket because you always believed ordinary things deserved to be loved too."
"I've stepped around fallen leaves . . . " I shake my head at myself. " . . . because some ridiculous part of me thought you wouldn't like me crushing them."
She laughs. Softly. Brokenly. It is the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. "I've lived entire days . . . " I swallow hard. " . . . seeing the world through your eyes." My lips stretches into a smile. "Even when you weren't there."
"I'd think . . . " Her smile grows. " . . . Daisy would love this sunset."
"She'd laugh at that child."
"She'd stop to pet that dog."
"She'd buy those books."
"I have spent seven years . . . " My throat tightens painfully.
" . . . having conversations with you that only existed inside my own head.
" She presses her lips together. Trying not to cry.
Failing beautifully. "I waited for you." The admission leaves me almost as quietly as breathing. "I told myself I wasn't."
"I convinced myself I'd moved on. I buried myself in work. In duty. In responsibilities. I accepted every burden that came with this crown."
"But every birthday . . . " I laugh once. " . . . I wondered where you were."
"Every festival . . . " My throat tightens."I wondered whether someone remembered to buy you your favourite sweets."
"Every time it rained . . . I hoped you weren't walking home alone.
" She breaks. A quiet sob escapes her before she can stop it.
I move closer without thinking. Our knees touch now.
"You ask me what's left in you worth loving.
" My hands tighten gently around hers. "Daisy .
. . " I shake my head. "There is nothing left. "
"Nothing was taken from you that mattered to me."
"I never loved you because you were untouched."
"I never loved you because life was easy."
"I loved that stubborn little girl who climbed trees higher than I could." A smile finds me. "I loved the teenager who stole jalebis and confessed within an hour because she felt guilty." My voice softens. "But this woman . . . " I look at her. Really look. "I love her even more."
"The woman who survived things I still can't imagine."
"The woman who raised our little girl with nothing except her own strength."
"The woman who came back to the place that once broke her heart . . . "
" . . . and somehow filled it with books."
"I don't see someone broken. I see someone impossibly brave. If anything . . . " Emotion catches in my throat. " . . . every year apart only gave me more reasons to love you."
Silence settles around us. Neither of us moves. Neither of us needs to. "I love you." The words come easier now. "I always have. I always will." I smile through eyes that are beginning to burn. "And whatever you choose . . . I will still love you."
"That was never the bargain."
"It never will be."
She doesn't answer. Not immediately. She simply looks at me.
Really looks. The way she always has. Like she's searching beneath every word for the truth underneath it.
I let her. I've got nothing left to hide.
Then . . . She moves. It's almost unbearably slow.
One hand holds mine. Her fingertips brush my cheek so lightly I barely feel them at first. My breath catches anyway.
She cups my face. The warmth of her palm spreads through me like sunlight after years of winter.
I lean into it before I can stop myself.
God . . . I've wanted this for so long.
Her thumb brushes beneath my eye. Wiping away a tear I hadn't realised had escaped. "Yuvaan . . . " She whispers my name like she's saying it for the first time. Then she closes the distance. Her lips meet mine.
Soft.
Warm.
Tentative for only the smallest heartbeat.
The moment I realise this is real . . . That she isn't pulling away .
. . Something inside me gives way completely.
A broken breath leaves my chest. My other hand rises instinctively to her face.
It trembles so badly I have to curl my fingers gently against her jaw just to steady them.
I've imagined kissing her more times than I could ever admit.
None of those memories . . . None of those dreams . . . Ever came close.
She tastes like tears. Like laughter. Like home. I kiss her carefully at first. As though she's something precious that might disappear if I hold her too tightly. She answers the kiss before my fear can return. A quiet, aching sound escapes her. It unravels me.
Seven years.
Seven birthdays.
Seven festivals.
Seven years of silence.
Every mile between Mumbai and Devgarh. Every lonely night. Every letter never written. Every feeling swallowed. Everything collapses into this one kiss. I slide my other hand carefully into her hair. My fingers bury themselves there almost reverently.
Breathing her in. Vanilla. Old paper. The faint scent of sandalwood soap.
Her. Just . . . Her.
She melts closer. Our foreheads brush. Noses bump. We both laugh softly through tears without breaking apart. The laugh turns into another kiss. Longer this time. Slower. No urgency. Only relief. The kind that settles into your bones after carrying something impossibly heavy for far too long.
When she finally pulls back, she's still so close our breaths mingle.
Her forehead rests against mine. Neither of us opens our eyes.
I don't think I could bear the distance if she moved even an inch away.
"I love you too." Her voice shakes. "A tiny, tearful laugh escapes her.
" . . . I always have." Her fingers tighten against my shirt.
"I was just too frightened . . . " She swallows.
" . . . to believe someone like you could ever love someone like me. "
My heart shatters. Not painfully. Beautifully.
I lift our joined hands and press a kiss against her knuckles. Then another against her forehead. "I've loved you," I whisper. "Every version of you."
"The little girl."
"The teenager."
"The woman sitting in front of me now." I smile against her skin. "And if I get very lucky . . . " My voice almost disappears. "I'll spend the rest of my life loving every version of you that's still waiting to come."
She cries harder at that. So do I. Neither of us bother pretending otherwise. For the first time in seven years . . . There is nothing left unsaid.