Chapter 23 Front row seat
Front row seat
DHRUV
If someone had told me a month ago that I’d willingly sit through a horror movie—voluntarily, without bribery or blackmail—I would have laughed in their face and gone back to my paperwork.
If someone had told me I’d be grateful for it?
I’d have checked their temperature.
Yet here I am.
In the private theatre of my palace—because apparently my sister believes trauma should be experienced in surround sound—watching something that involves possessed dolls, sudden screaming violins, and far too much whispering in dark corridors.
And Sitara is clinging to my arm like it’s her last tether to sanity.
I have never been so thankful for poor life choices.
Her fingers are curled tight around my bicep, knuckles pale, her shoulder pressed into my side, her head tucked dangerously close to my chest. Every time the screen flickers or the background music sharpens, she flinches and grips me harder.
I don’t even pretend to focus on the movie.
All my attention is on the way her breath stutters, on how warm she feels against me, on how she smells faintly of jasmine and something sweet I can’t place. My arm is trapped between her body and the armrest, and I don’t move it—not an inch—because that would mean loosening her hold.
And I refuse to be that kind of idiot.
She gasps suddenly, burying her face into my shoulder as something horrific happens on-screen. I feel the vibration of her muffled squeak straight through my bones.
I glance down at her, lips twitching despite myself.
“Princess,” I murmur, keeping my voice low so Yagini doesn’t hear, “you know this isn’t real, right?”
She lifts her head just enough to glare at me, eyes wide, pupils blown, her grip tightening like a warning. “Do not say things like that.”
I hum, amused. “Things like what?”
“That,” she snaps softly. “That tone. That calm tone. That is how people die in horror movies.”
I bite the inside of my cheek.
Yagini snorts from the other side. “He’s enjoying this way too much.”
“I absolutely am not,” I lie smoothly.
Sitara shifts, trying to pull her arm away like she’s suddenly become aware of how close she is to me. Her fingers loosen, hesitation creeping into her movements.
No.
I catch her wrist gently, firm enough to stop her, careful enough not to scare her.
“Stay,” I say, low and instinctive.
She freezes, looking up at me. For a second, neither of us moves. The glow from the screen washes her face in soft blue light, highlighting the faint blush spreading across her cheeks.
“I—” she starts, then stops.
Another shriek from the movie makes the decision for her. She yelps and clutches me again, forehead pressing into my shoulder.
I exhale, slow and controlled.
Good.
Yagini makes a dramatic gagging noise. “I’m changing places. I cannot take this. You two don’t care about my single heart at all.”
She stands up deliberately, pointing at us accusingly. “This is excessive. The hand-holding. The leaning. The whispering. I am being emotionally attacked.”
Sitara’s head snaps up. “We are not—”
“You absolutely are,” Yagini interrupts. “And you know what? I hope the ghost gets you both.”
She storms off to the back row, muttering about betrayal and sibling cruelty.
Sitara’s ears turn pink.
She tries to sit up properly again, awkward and flustered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”
I don’t let her finish.
My arm tightens subtly around hers, not possessive, not restrictive—just enough to let her know she’s not going anywhere unless she really wants to.
“It’s fine,” I say quietly. “Let her complain.”
She glances at me, uncertain. “But—”
“I don’t mind,” I add, softer.
She exhales, a little breathy, and after a second of hesitation, settles back against me. Not as tightly as before. More cautiously. Like she’s testing the ground.
I keep my body relaxed, my presence steady. I don’t want to spook her. I don’t want her to think she needs to pull away to protect me from… whatever this is.
On screen, something crawls out of somewhere it absolutely shouldn’t.
Sitara squeaks again, fingers digging into my arm.
I smile.
Not wide. Not obvious.
Just enough.
I don’t tease her this time. I don’t comment. I don’t move.
I just stay.
And for the rest of the movie, with ghosts and shadows and jump scares I barely register, she stays, too.
Warm. Real. And definitely here.
And for once, I let myself think—Just this once—That maybe it’s okay to want this.