Chapter 32 Trust, with the lights on
Trust, with the lights on
SITARA
I have no clue why I am this nervous.
It makes absolutely no sense, which is ironic because if there’s one thing I usually have an explanation for, it’s my own anxiety. I can trace it back, dissect it, label it, file it away neatly with a bow on top. But this—this jittery, fluttery, heart-in-my-throat feeling? I have nothing.
Dhruv asked me out on a date.
A date date.
Not a formal dinner. Not a palace event.
Not a “we’re married so let’s sit across a table and make polite conversation” kind of thing.
An actual date. His eyes were shining when he asked, bright and hopeful in a way that caught me off guard.
I remember thinking, absurdly, that he looked younger in that moment.
Softer. Like the man in front of me wasn’t a king or a ruler or someone who carried entire regions on his shoulders, but just…
Dhruv. A man asking his wife out because he wanted to spend time with her.
I didn’t have it in me to say no.
And if I’m being honest with myself—and I’m trying to be, really trying—I don’t think I wanted to say no either.
That realization alone has been enough to send me spiraling all afternoon.
He insisted on making it a surprise. I insisted I hated surprises. He smiled in that maddeningly calm way of his and said, “Trust me.” And just like that, the argument dissolved before it even began, because somewhere along the way, trusting Dhruv Singhania has become… easy.
Too easy.
That scares me a little.
What scares me more is the dress.
The dress currently hanging on the wardrobe door, taunting me.
It’s a bodycon.
A bodycon.
I stare at it like it personally offended me.
It’s elegant, understated, a deep wine color that I know would look beautiful on someone.
Just… maybe not me. I can already imagine how it’ll cling in places I’d rather it didn’t, how every curve I’ve spent years learning to tolerate—if not love—will be highlighted unapologetically.
“He doesn’t understand,” I mutter to myself, smoothing my palms down the fabric like it might soften if I glare hard enough. “Men like him never do.”
But even as I say it, I know it isn’t true.
Dhruv would never make fun of me.
That certainty sits deep in my bones, solid and unshakeable. He’s never once looked at me with anything other than warmth. Admiration, even—though that still makes my stomach flip uncomfortably when I think about it.
I exhale slowly.
Fine.
I’ll let him win today.
I slip into the dress, adjusting it carefully, half-expecting to hate the reflection staring back at me. I don’t love it. But I don’t hate it either. It’s… different. Vulnerable. Like I’m showing up without armor.
My heart races as there’s a knock at the door.
“Come in,” I call, my voice betraying none of the chaos happening inside me.
The door opens, and Dhruv steps in.
The way his expression changes when he looks at me—God.
It’s not dramatic. No exaggerated gasp or theatrical pause.
Just the way his shoulders relax, the way his eyes soften, the way his lips part slightly like he forgot what he was going to say.
And then he smiles, slow and genuine, like he’s trying very hard not to overwhelm me with whatever he’s feeling.
“You look…” he starts, then stops, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. “You look beautiful, Sitara.”
My heart stutters.
“Not ridiculous?” I ask lightly, trying to keep my tone teasing instead of insecure.
He frowns immediately. “Never,” he says, firm. “Not once.”
“Do you think you look ridiculous?” He asks carefully, and I immediately shake my head because I know if I say yes, a little bit, he’s going to start his three things punishment, although I find it endearing but it’s still problematic for me.
He chuckles. The room feels smaller suddenly as he steps closer, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating off him, smell the faint trace of his cologne—something woody and familiar now. His hand lifts, hesitates, then settles at my waist like it belongs there.
I suck in a breath.
His thumb brushes lightly against my back, just once, almost accidental. My heart starts racing like it’s trying to escape my chest.
“You okay?” he murmurs, eyes searching my face.
I nod, even though my pulse is betraying me. “Yeah. Just… nervous.”
His smile turns gentle. “Good,” he says softly. “That means it matters.”
Before I can respond, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black silk blindfold.
I blink. “Dhruv.”
“Trust me,” he says again, voice low.
My throat goes dry. “You really like saying that.”
He chuckles. “Only when I mean it.”
He lifts the blindfold. “Do you trust me?”
I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”
The word leaves my mouth easily, instinctively. It surprises me a little—but not enough to take it back.
He ties the blindfold gently, careful not to snag my hair, his fingers brushing my temple in the process. My senses sharpen instantly. Without sight, everything else feels louder. His breath. The rustle of fabric. The faint hum of the palace beyond us.
His hand slides into mine, warm and steady. The other settles at my back, guiding me forward.
“Careful,” he whispers near my ear. “Step.”
I obey, my heart pounding.
“Another,” he murmurs, voice deliberately slow, teasing. “Good. You’re doing great.”
I swallow, trying not to overthink the way his touch feels—protective, intimate, grounding all at once.
He guides me through what feels like a few turns, his hand never leaving my back, his fingers occasionally brushing lower when I falter. Each time, he steadies me with quiet reassurance, whispered directions that make my skin tingle.
Finally, he stops.
“Okay,” he says softly. “You can look now.”
The blindfold slips away.
At first, the light is soft, muted. Warm. My eyes adjust slowly, and when they do—
I freeze.
Bookshelves line the walls. Tall, sturdy, filled with manga volumes stacked carefully, romance novels with dog-eared spines, art books I recognize by heart.
One entire shelf stands empty, waiting. A desk sits near the window, fitted with three tablets, a stylus resting neatly beside them.
There’s illustration equipment I’ve only ever seen online—high-end, thoughtfully chosen.
I turn slowly, taking it all in.
“What…” My voice cracks. “What is this?”
Dhruv scratches the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “Your corner,” he says quietly. “I wanted you to have something that’s just yours. A space. This felt right.”
My chest tightens.
There’s a small dining table in the corner, set for two, candles unlit but waiting. It’s cozy. Intimate. Intentional.
“For days when you’re too busy,” he adds, glancing at it, “I’d still like to eat with you.”
I don’t remember deciding to move.
One moment I’m standing there, overwhelmed, and the next my arms are wrapped around his waist, my face pressed against his chest. He stiffens for half a second—surprised—then relaxes, his arms coming around me slowly, carefully.
It takes me a moment to realize what I’ve done.
I pull back abruptly, flustered. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
He smiles, eyes warm. “It’s okay.”
I breathe out shakily.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “For this. For… seeing me.”
He steps closer again, lifting my chin gently so I have to look at him. His eyes hold mine, steady and sure.
“I love you, Sitara,” he says quietly. “Always remember that.”
My heart slams against my ribs.
He leans down and presses a soft kiss to my forehead—tender, reverent.
And for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel like I’m trying to fit into someone else’s life.
It feels like I belong.