EVERYTHING I AM NOT
ANAMIKA
I stand so quickly the sofa creaks beneath me, almost startling myself.
My fingers drift to my lips before I can stop them, as though touching them might somehow prove that what just happened was real—that I really kissed him, that he kissed me back, that seven years of silence had somehow ended in the span of a few breathtaking seconds.
I pace. One end of the study to the other.
Then back again. My thoughts are tripping over each other so quickly I can't catch a single one long enough to make sense of it.
Behind me, I know he's watching. I don't have to look.
I can feel it. Not the heavy kind of stare that demands something from me.
Just . . . patient. Quiet. Waiting.
Every time I accidentally glance at him, my cheeks burn all over again, and I immediately look somewhere else, pressing my palm against my face as though it might hide exactly how flustered I am.
A soft chuckle breaks the silence. "Technically .
. . " His voice is warm, teasing just enough to ease the tension without making fun of it.
"We're married." I stop pacing. He smiles—a small, gentle smile that reaches his eyes.
"So kissing you isn't exactly against the rules.
" His head tilts slightly. "If . . . " he adds more quietly, " . . . it's something you want too."
I let out one short, breathless laugh that sounds dangerously close to panic. "Don't you understand?" The words leave me before I can soften them. "This changes everything."
He doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he gets up.
Slowly. Never rushing toward me. Never cornering me.
He simply closes the distance one careful step at a time until he's standing close enough for me to see every tiny line of concern on his face.
His hands find mine. Warm. Steady. He doesn't pull.
He only curls his fingers around them gently, silently asking.
When I don't resist, he guides me back to the sofa.
We sit. I'm still trembling. Not from fear exactly.
From the overwhelming weight of finally having everything I've wanted placed into my hands .
. . and suddenly feeling terrified I'll drop it.
He waits. That's the thing about Yuvaan.
He's never tried to drag words out of me.
He simply creates enough silence that I eventually hand them over myself.
"Whatever's going on in here . . . " He lifts one hand, lightly tapping the space above my heart before meeting my eyes again. "We'll figure it out." His thumb brushes across my knuckles. "Together."
The word undoes something in me.
Together.
Not you.
Not I.
Together.
My composure finally gives way. "I'm diabetic.
" The confession tumbles out so suddenly that even I don't expect it.
"I have to check my blood sugar all the time.
I carry chocolate everywhere. I have to think about meals before everyone else does.
I nearly scared you that afternoon because I forgot to eat.
" I laugh shakily through tears. "And that's not going away.
" I frown, "My body just . . . " I shrug helplessly.
" . . . does this now." He says nothing.
He only keeps holding my hands. So I keep talking.
"I have Sara." My voice grows softer. "I'll always have Sara. She's my whole world." I sigh, "Every decision I make . . . "
" . . . every plan . . . "
" . . . every dream . . . "
" . . . she comes first. I can't stop that. I don't even want to." My throat tightens. "And . . . " The next words are so much harder. "My body isn't . . . " I close my eyes briefly. " . . . what it used to be." The shame arrives before the words do. "I have stretch marks."
"I gained weight after Sara. I've tried to lose it."
"So many times."
"I still wake up early to walk whenever I can. I've changed my food. I've counted calories. I've done everything people tell you to do." A bitter laugh escapes me. "My body just . . . kept the weight."
I finally look at him. "I've tried making peace with that." Some tears slip free. "Some days I manage."
"Some days . . . ” I shake my head. " . .
. I don't." He still hasn't interrupted me.
Not once. He's simply listening. Really listening.
The kind that asks nothing except honesty.
So I give him the rest. "There are things I still haven't told you.
" My voice barely rises above a whisper.
"Things that happened in Mumbai. I don't know how to say them yet.
I don't even know where to begin." My fingers tighten around his.
"I've spent so many years surviving that .
. . " I let out a shaky breath. " . . . I forgot how to want anything for myself. "
The words hang between us. Then I smile sadly. "Well . . . " I shake my head. "Not entirely." He watches me carefully. Waiting. "Except you." The confession breaks me completely. "I always wanted you." Fresh tears blur my vision. "It never stopped."
"Not once."
"No matter where I was."
"No matter how hard I tried to convince myself I'd moved on."
"I always wanted you." I laugh through tears. "And I'm so ashamed of that." My voice cracks. "I left this palace thinking I'd come back one day . . . "
“ . . . successful."
" . . . confident."
" . . . worthy."
"I thought I'd build this beautiful life. I thought I'd become someone who could stand beside you without feeling small." I look down at our joined hands. "And instead . . . I came back carrying grief."
"A daughter."
"Diabetes."
"Fear."
"So many things I still can't even talk about." Another tear lands on my wrist. "I don't think I'm that girl anymore." I swallow painfully. "I don't think . . . I'm someone worthy of you."
Silence. My heart begins preparing itself.
This is the moment. The moment where reality returns.
Where kindness softens into pity. Where love becomes an obligation.
Instead . . . His hands leave mine. Only so they can cup my face.
Both of them. His palms are warm against my cheeks.
His thumbs wipe away tears before they have the chance to fall.
He lifts my face gently until I have no choice but to look at him.
"Anamika." He says my name like it's something precious. "You keep talking about worth." His voice is quiet. Certain. "As though it's something you lost."
"As though there's some version of you I was waiting for....and you've disappointed me by becoming someone else." He smiles sadly. "Daisy . . . " His forehead almost touches mine. "That woman never existed." I blink. Confused. "There has never been a checklist."
"No perfect version of you."
"No finish line."
"No moment where I would've finally decided . . . " He smiles. "Yes. Now she's worthy." He brushes another tear away. "That isn't how love works, my love." His thumb strokes my cheek slowly. "Your diabetes isn't something I have to overlook."
"It's part of you."
"The same way my eyesight is part of me."
"The same way Kairav forgets where he leaves his keys."
"The same way Amma pretends she doesn't like sweets before stealing everyone else's dessert."
His smile softens. "It simply means I learn.
I learn when you need to eat. I learn which chocolate actually helps.
I learn what low blood sugar looks like.
I learn because I love you. It's really that simple.
" I stare at him. Speechless. "And your body .
. . " His voice grows impossibly gentle.
"You keep apologising for it." He shakes his head.
"I don't understand why." His fingers brush lightly against my arm.
"Those stretch marks? They're part of your story. "
"The weight you're so busy criticising?"
"It carried Sara." His eyes glisten. "It carried both of you through the years I wasn't there to help.
" His jaw tightens briefly. "I don't look at you and see flaws.
I look at you . . . " He gulps, " . . . and I see proof.
Proof that you survived. Proof that your body fought for you.
Proof that it brought our little girl safely into this world. "
He smiles through his own emotion. "How could I ever hate something that gave me both of you?" My breath catches. He continues before I can speak. "And whatever happened in Mumbai . . . " His voice becomes quieter still.
"I'm not asking tonight."
"I'm not asking tomorrow."
"I'm not asking next week."
"You'll tell me . . . if . . . and when . . . you're ready." He squeezes my hand again. "But listen to me carefully." His eyes never leave mine. "There is nothing . . . "
"...nothing..."
"...you could tell me..."
"...that would make me love you less."
"I don't care what happened. I care what it did to you."
"And I care about helping you carry whatever's left." He smiles sadly. "You didn't come back broken."
"You came back after surviving."
"There's a difference."
"You are still kind."
"You still stop to smell flowers."
"You still cry over children's books."
"You still rescue injured birds."
"You still laugh exactly the same way."
"You are still . . . " He brushes his forehead lightly against mine. " . . . you."
"And that's the only person I've ever loved." The tears come so hard I can't breathe around them anymore. I don't even try. He opens his arms.
Without any hesitation. Without any questions.
I fall into them. Completely. His embrace is firm without trapping me.
Protective without trying to fix me. His hand slides slowly through my hair, over and over, each stroke impossibly gentle.
I don't remember the last time someone held me while I cried. Maybe no one ever has.
Not like this.
Not without asking me to stop.
Not without telling me to be strong.
He simply lets me fall apart. And somehow .
. . That makes it easier to put myself back together.
His lips brush lightly against my hair. "We don't have to solve everything tonight.
" His voice rumbles softly against my forehead.
"We don't have to solve anything tonight.
" Another slow stroke through my hair. "We can take our time.
I'm not in a hurry." A quiet laugh escapes him.
"I've already waited seven years." He rests his cheek lightly against my head. "I can wait a little longer."
His arms tighten just enough for me to feel it. "As long as this time . . . " He smiles against my hair. " . . . I get to wait beside you."
I close my eyes. Breathe him in.Sandalwood. Fresh linen. Home.
The knot I've carried inside my chest for years loosens so quietly I almost don't notice it happening.
Maybe being worthy was never about becoming someone different.
Maybe . . . Just maybe . . . Being loved had never required me to become anyone other than the woman already resting safely in his arms.