No.
I scramble backward, hands scraping against the walls. There’s nowhere to go.
“Please… please don’t,” I whisper, my voice small, broken.
She comes closer. Her shadow looms over me.
“Please… Sister… please—”
“Abhimaan!”
Someone is shouting.
No. Wait. That’s not her voice.
My eyes fly open.
I’m not in the dark room. I’m not twelve. I’m in my bed. Drenched in sweat. My heart is pounding like a drum against my ribs.
And Aditi is here.
She’s holding me. Tight. Her arms wrapped around me like she’s trying to anchor me to reality.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until a tear slips down the side of my face and touches her shoulder. My chest rises and falls rapidly. I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
But she doesn’t let go.
I should push her away. She shouldn’t see me like this. This broken, weak version of me. I’ve spent years building walls so no one sees this part of me. It’s ugly. It’s pathetic.
But I don’t move. I stay there, frozen in her arms. Because somewhere deep inside, I know—if I have to be honest with her, truly honest, then she has to see all of me. Not just the parts that are polished and composed.
If I want this—us—to be real, she needs to know me. Even the pieces I’d rather keep buried.
I wrap my arms around her. Slowly. Hesitantly. Like I’m afraid she’ll vanish.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper against her shoulder.
She pulls back immediately, furious. “You’re sorry?” Her voice cracks. “For what? For your nightmare? Was it your choice? Did you choose that?”
Her pain is palpable, and it cuts deeper than any blade. Not because she’s angry at me—but because she’s hurting for me.
A single tear slips down her cheek, and still, somehow, her hand rises to wipe mine. Her fingers shake as they touch my skin, brushing just beneath my ear like I’m something breakable. Porcelain. Delicate. And maybe I am. Right now, in this moment—I feel like I am.
Her forehead leans gently against mine, the soft weight of her grounding me. Her voice drops to a whisper, but it lands like a promise. “You’re okay,” she breathes. “You’re not alone. I’m with you. Always.”
Her breath ghosts over my lips—warm, steady—and I feel myself breathe for the first time in what feels like hours. Maybe days. Maybe years.
“I’m supposed to keep you safe,” I murmur, my throat dry, my voice barely there. A confession. A curse.
She pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes, and I see something fierce burning in hers. “No,” she says, and her voice is stronger now, even as it trembles. “No. This isn’t one of those one-sided protector things. This will be fifty-fifty.”
A laugh escapes me—quiet, broken—but it’s real. A small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth, tired but honest. “Yes, it will be,” I whisper. “You exist. And I take care of you.”
She narrows her eyes and glares like I just offended her entire soul. That familiar little frown tugs at her brows, andit somehow makes her look impossibly small. And impossibly precious.
The realization dawns on me. A realization that settles into my chest like dawn breaking through fog.
“Aditi,” I say, her name cracking in my throat. My eyes sting again. “I have someone. Someone who… who cares for me.”
