CHAPTER L
"A House of Dreams, A Heart That Longs"
Sasha and Mia's words echoed in my mind long after they'd been spoken, their unwavering support wrapping around me like a fragile but much-needed shield. For so long, I'd been drowning in fear—fear of losing Sita, fear of the truth, fear of a future where I was nothing but a placeholder in someone else's love story. But now… something inside me shifted.
Their encouragement lit a small spark of courage within me, and that spark quickly grew into a steady flame. I wasn't going to live like this anymore—hiding, flinching at every thought, suffocating in silence. No. I had made my decision.
Either I would win Sita's heart… or I would bring this entire twisted story to its rightful end.
There was no room left for hesitation.
I wanted her.
I wanted to start a life with her, to build a family with her. I wanted her laughter to echo through the halls of our home, her presence to be the warmth I came back to every day. And if it meant baring my heart, if it meant facing rejection, so be it. I'd rather be shattered in the truth than die a slow death in uncertainty.
With that resolve burning in my chest, I followed Sasha and Mia out of the room. The hallway felt brighter somehow, as though even the house sensed my decision.
That's when I saw her.
Sita was standing in the middle of the grand hall, her delicate frame silhouetted by the soft glow of the chandeliers. She wasn't aware of us watching her; her attention was entirely captured by the home around her. Her eyes roamed over the walls adorned with paintings, the shelves lined with carefully chosen decorations, the poetry etched into frames that carried whispers of love and resilience. There was something pure about the way she looked at this house—my dream house, the one my brother had gifted me with so much love.
A small smile crept onto my lips. She liked it here.
The thought sent warmth spreading through me. Maybe… maybe this could be her home too.
Quietly, I walked up behind her, my footsteps light on the polished floor. But before I could speak her name, she turned unexpectedly, her body colliding with mine. The sudden movement sent me stumbling backward, and before I could catch myself, I fell onto the hard floor with a soft thud.
For a second, silence. Then Sita gasped, her eyes wide with concern as she rushed toward me.
"Ved!" she exclaimed, kneeling beside me. "I—I'm so sorry! I didn't see you there! Are you okay?"
I winced playfully, leaning back on my elbows, my lips curling into a teasing smile. "So… this is it, huh?" I said, my voice carrying a hint of mock drama. "You're finally trying to kill me, Sita?"
Her cheeks flushed, her eyes widening at my teasing. "No! Of course not!" she said quickly, her words tumbling out as if she were afraid I might actually believe them. "I swear, I just… I wasn't paying attention. I was… I was looking at all these paintings and poems." Her gaze flickered toward the walls again, her expression softening with awe.
I pushed myself up into a sitting position, watching her face as she looked around. "Do you… like this house?" I asked quietly, my heart beating faster with every second I waited for her answer.
Sita turned back to me, her lips curving into a small, genuine smile. "Yes," she said softly. "It's beautiful. Really, Ved… this house is stunning."
The sincerity in her voice sent a flutter through my chest, warmth blooming in my heart. For a moment, I just sat there, staring at her, memorizing the way her eyes lit up as she looked around, the way her smile softened her features. This house wasn't just beautiful because of its design—it was beautiful because she was standing in it.
"Ved," Sasha's voice cut through the moment, teasing and light, "are you planning to just sit there on the floor forever, or…?"
I blinked, startled out of my reverie. I glanced back to see Sasha standing by the doorway, her arms crossed, an amused smirk playing on her lips.
Mia, of course, couldn't resist making it worse. "Or maybe…" she said, her voice dripping with playful mischief as she leaned against Sasha's shoulder, "maybe Ved's staying down there because she's fallen… you know… in love. Quite literally."
Heat rushed to my cheeks as Mia winked at me, and I quickly scrambled to my feet, brushing off imaginary dust from my clothes. "Very funny," I muttered under my breath, shooting her a half-hearted glare.
Sita looked at me with a curious expression, as if she wasn't entirely sure what to make of their teasing. Her brows knitted slightly, but she didn't say anything.
I smiled at her, trying to mask my embarrassment. "They're just being dramatic," I said softly.
But deep down, I knew Mia's words weren't wrong. I had fallen—hard.
And now, standing there in the warmth of this house, watching Sita's eyes sparkle with curiosity and wonder, I felt a surge of determination rise within me once more.
I would fight for her.
No matter what it took.
After Sasha and Mia left the room, the house grew quieter, the only sound being the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Sita sat on the edge of the bed, her posture calm but her mind clearly somewhere far away. She was holding Rama's old phone in her hands, her gaze fixed on a message she had been reading over and over again.
The irony of it all wasn't lost on me. That message… the one she read so intently, the one she clung to with such emotion—wasn't written by Rama at all. It was written by me. Every word she thought came from him had been born from my heart, shaped by my longing, and sent through his phone because I didn't yet have the courage to reveal myself.
But I wasn't ashamed of it.
Sasha had told me once, with an almost cold clarity, "If Sita's love for Rama had been meant to last forever, it would have. That chapter closed eight years ago. The only reason her love stayed alive… was because of you. Because you kept writing. You kept her believing. You became her reason to hold on."
And now, as I sat here watching her reread those words that I had poured my soul into, I didn't feel jealousy. I didn't feel pain. Instead, I felt… peace.
Maybe even a touch of pride.
Because, in a way, every time she had read those words and felt warmth in her chest, it had been me reaching her heart.
I moved closer to her, my steps soft and hesitant, until I was sitting beside her on the bed. For a moment, I just watched her, her delicate fingers scrolling through the screen, her brows furrowed slightly in concentration. There was such grace in her stillness, such beauty in the way she carried her emotions without even realizing it.
Finally, I broke the silence. "Sita," I said softly, my voice almost a whisper. She turned her head, startled out of her thoughts, her dark eyes meeting mine. I smiled gently and reached for her feet, surprising her. "Here," I said, my voice warm. "Let me paint your nails."
She blinked, confused, a small laugh escaping her lips. "You? Paint my nails? You know how to do that?"
I nodded with a playful smirk. "Of course I do. Trust me."
She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused but curious enough to agree. With a little shrug, she handed me the small bottle of nail polish sitting on the dresser. I carefully took her feet into my lap, feeling a strange sense of intimacy in the simple act. My hands were steady, almost reverent, as I unscrewed the cap and dipped the tiny brush into the shimmering color.
I started painting.
Sita watched me quietly at first, her expression softening as she leaned back on her hands. I could feel her eyes on me, but I didn't look up—I focused on each nail, carefully brushing on the color, as though this tiny task was the most important thing in the world. For me, it was.
Every stroke was an act of love I couldn't yet say out loud. Every line of polish was a silent confession.
When I finally finished, I gently blew on her toes to help the polish dry. "Okay," I said softly, smiling up at her. "Done. You can look now."
Sita leaned forward to inspect my work. For a brief moment, her lips curved into a smile, but then… her expression shifted. Her laughter bubbled up first, and then her brows furrowed in mock horror.
"Ew, Ved!" she exclaimed, giggling and shaking her head. "What is this? What did you do to my nails?"
I blinked, looking at them again. The polish was a bit… uneven. A little messy. Okay, maybe more than a little.
I laughed sheepishly, holding my hands up in defeat. "Hey, I tried!" I said, trying to stifle my own laughter at how terrible they looked. "It's not that bad, right?"
She raised an eyebrow and gave me a look that was equal parts amusement and judgment. "Ved, they look like a child painted them while blindfolded," she teased, still laughing as she pulled her feet back.
I chuckled, my heart swelling at the sound of her laughter. There was no anger in her voice, no sharpness—just warmth. Even as she teased me, there was a softness in her eyes that made my heart ache in the best way possible.
For a moment, it didn't matter that she didn't yet know my truth, or that she still thought those messages were from someone else. All that mattered was this moment.
Her laughter.
My clumsy attempt at showing her care.
The quiet intimacy of sharing something so small, yet so deeply personal.
I watched her tuck her legs beneath her and shake her head at me with a smile that could melt anyone's resolve.
And in that instant, I knew—I could spend the rest of my life being the reason she smiled like that. Even if it meant painting terrible nail polish for her every single day.
To be continue....