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AAVYA RAJAWAT

“Then don’t hold it,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his grip tightening around the steering wheel making his knuckles go white. “Let me carry it all for you. Just… hold my hand when we walk together.” His words hit deeper than I expected, and I swallowed hard.

My eyes burned as I turned away from him, focusing on the passing lights outside the window. “I’m not ignoring you, Vihaan,” my voice cracked. “I’m protecting you.” The truth was already out, too late to take it back. Outside, the world moved on—Delhi traffic buzzing, people walking on sidewalks, the distant honk of a bike. But inside the car, everything stood still.

“From what?” he asked quietly, his voice soft—more broken.