LET’S LEAVE
LET’S LEAVE
ANAMIKA
He hasn't let go of my hand once since we walked through the doors.
Not when he introduced me to the finance minister.
Not when one of the senior council members stopped us to offer his congratulations.
Not even when three women I have never met before smiled politely at me while their eyes travelled over my saree, my jewellery, my face, measuring me against whatever picture of the Maharani they had apparently carried in their heads before tonight.
Yuvaan's hand has stayed wrapped around mine through all of it. Every time someone approaches, his thumb brushes once over my knuckles before he speaks. "My wife, Anamika." He says it so naturally. So proudly.
As though there has never been a question about the word. And each time I hear it, something inside me melts a little more.
By the time we reach the edge of the dance floor, I am almost beginning to believe that maybe I can do this. Maybe I can stand in this room without feeling like everyone is waiting for me to prove that I don't belong here.
Kairav is beside us, currently explaining to an elderly council member why civet cats have been unfairly portrayed in popular culture. I have no idea how the conversation got there. I take a sip of juice, trying not to laugh, and let my attention drift across the ballroom. It's an ordinary glance.
Nothing more.
My eyes move over the crowd, the chandeliers, the tables, the men gathered near the bar. And then I see him. At first, it's only the back of his head. Dark hair. Close cut. Black suit. Nothing distinctive enough to make me look twice.
Except for something at the base of his neck. A tattoo. Small. Geometric.
Three sharp lines forming a shape I haven't seen in years. My body recognizes it before my mind does. The glass nearly slips from my hand. My fingers tighten around Yuvaan's. Hard.
He goes still immediately. I don't look at him. I can't. I'm staring at the man near the bar, and every breath seems to disappear somewhere between my lungs and my throat.
He turns. Just slightly. Someone beside him says something, and he laughs. And I see his face. Everything inside me stops.
No.
The word never makes it past my lips. It simply appears somewhere inside my head, loud and desperate.
No.
It can't be.
But it is.
Seven years haven't changed him enough.
There are a few more lines around his eyes now. His hair is longer. His face is older, dressed in an expensive suit that makes him look like every other wealthy man in this room.
But I know that face. I know it so well that my stomach twists before I can tell myself not to react.
The room disappears.
The music becomes a dull vibration somewhere very far away.
Voices blur together until they are nothing more than meaningless noise.
The chandeliers above us seem unbearably bright, and suddenly I am aware of the fabric against my skin, the weight of my earrings, the pressure of Yuvaan's fingers around mine.
Everything is too much. Everything except him.
That face.
That face I have spent seven years trying to bury so deeply that sometimes I've convinced myself I imagined parts of that night.
My lungs refuse to work properly. I inhale. Nothing. Again. My chest tightens harder. I am back there. Not here. Not in this ballroom. Not beside Yuvaan. Somewhere else. Somewhere I never want to be again.
My fingers start shaking.
Yuvaan turns toward me. "Anamika?" I hear his voice, but it feels distant. His expression changes almost immediately.
The warmth disappears from his face, replaced by something alert and intensely focused. His eyes move over mine, searching for an explanation I can't give him, and then follow the direction of my stare.
He looks across the room. Then back at me. “What's wrong?"
I try to speak. Nothing comes. My throat feels closed. I swallow once, painfully. "Please." The word barely exists.
His hand tightens around mine. "Anamika."
"Please, let's go." My voice breaks. "I can't."
He doesn't ask why. He doesn't ask who I'm looking at.
He doesn't tell me I'm safe or demand that I explain myself or try to make sense of whatever is happening inside my head.
He simply moves. His arm comes around my waist, firm and immediate, and he turns my body away from the ballroom.
"All right." That's it. No questions. Just that. All right.
He guides me toward the exit, keeping himself between me and the room. His hand stays at my waist, steady enough that I can lean into him without having to think about it.
I barely register the people we pass. Someone says his name. Someone else starts to ask where we're going. He doesn't stop. He doesn't slow down.
"Excuse us." His voice is calm, but there's something underneath it that makes people move.
I keep my eyes on the floor. One step. Then another. I can hear my own breathing, too fast and too shallow.
"Look at me, Daisy." I can't.
"That's all right. Just keep breathing." My fingers curl tighter around his. "You're with me." The words reach me somewhere through the fog.
You're with me.
Not there. Here. With Yuvaan.
I cling to that. By the time we reach the doors, my knees are barely cooperating.
The cool night air hits my face, and I suck in a breath so sharply it hurts.
My legs give way. Yuvaan catches me before I can fall.
One arm wraps around my waist, the other steadying my shoulder, holding me upright while I fight for another breath. Then another.
The night is quiet outside compared to the ballroom. I can hear the faint rush of cars along the driveway, the soft movement of trees, the muffled music still spilling through the closed doors behind us.
It should feel peaceful. It doesn't. My entire body is still waiting for something terrible to happen.
Yuvaan doesn't let go. He doesn't tell me to calm down. He doesn't ask me what that man did. He simply keeps one hand against my back and waits. "That's it," he murmurs. "Take your time."
I squeeze my eyes shut. A tear slips free.
"I saw him." The words come out so quietly I'm not sure he hears them.
His hand stills against my back. He is watching me. Not demanding. Not judging. Just there.
And somehow that makes another tear fall. "I thought . . . " My voice catches. "I thought I'd never see him again."
Yuvaan's jaw tightens. I see it. The tiny shift.
The restraint. But he doesn't push. He only pulls me closer until my forehead rests against his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear.
One beat. Then another. Something I can count.
Something real. I close my eyes and breathe him in, letting the familiar scent of his cologne and the warmth of his shirt pull me back into the present.
Five years.
Five years of avoiding that face.
Five years of pretending that if I never said his name, never spoke about that night, never let anyone see how badly it still hurt, then maybe it would eventually stop belonging to me.
And now he is here. Standing in the same room as me. Laughing. Living. As though he didn't leave a part of me terrified of being touched by certain memories for the rest of my life.
My fingers twist into Yuvaan's jacket. "I'm sorry."
His hand moves slowly over my hair. "Don't."
"I ruined tonight."
"You didn't ruin anything."
"The gala—"
"Can wait."
I lift my head. His expression is impossibly calm. "The gala can wait, Daisy." Something in me breaks a little at that.
Because he means it. He doesn't care about the guests still inside. He doesn't care about the council. He doesn't care about the event that took months to organize.
Right now, he cares that I'm standing here shaking in his arms.
"You don't have to tell me anything tonight," he says quietly. "Not until you want to."
My lips tremble. "And if I never—"
"Then you never do."
I stare at him. He brushes his thumb beneath my eye, catching the tear before it reaches my cheek. "But whoever that man is," he says, his voice quieter now, "he doesn't get to take tonight from you either."
My breath catches. He presses his forehead gently against mine. "You're here." I close my eyes. "You're safe." Another breath. "And I'm not going anywhere."
For the first time since I saw that face, I manage to breathe without it hurting.
Behind us, the ballroom continues exactly as it was. Music. Laughter. Glasses clinking. People talking about things that suddenly feel impossibly small. But out here, beneath the cool night sky, none of it matters.
The only thing that matters is Yuvaan's arms are still around me, and the need to tell him.