Page 27 of Scars and Crowns

As though both of us are searching for a place to begin and finding too many unfinished conversations instead.

He sighs before he speaks. "You . . . " His voice is quieter than I expected. Almost rough. "You didn't even think of coming to see me." He pauses. "After you come back."

I swallow. My throat suddenly feels too tight. "It would've been inappropriate . . . " The word catches. " . . . sir."

His eyes close. Not dramatically. Just briefly. His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose as he exhales. "Please." His voice softens. "Don't call me that."

Something inside me shifts painfully. He opens his eyes again. And for the first time since yesterday . . . I let myself really look at him. The familiar boy is still there. Hidden beneath sharper features.

Broader shoulders. Years of responsibility.

The easy smile he once wore so effortlessly has become rare now, replaced by a quiet composure that somehow makes him even harder to read.

Life hasn't hardened him. It's simply . . . made him carry more.

"How are you?" He whispers. Such an ordinary question. Such an impossible one.

How do I answer that? Do I tell him about Mumbai? About surviving instead of living? About hospital corridors. Unpaid rent. Endless job applications. The loneliness of becoming a mother when everyone else quietly walked away. About losing Maa. About learning that grief doesn't stop simply because your child needs dinner. About . . . Sara’s father? A thousand truths crowd my throat.

Only one escapes.

"I'm okay." I lower my gaze. "How are you?"

His answer comes without hesitation. "I missed you."

I blink. Certain that I heard him wrong. My eyes lift to his automatically. He's watching me with that same quiet honesty that always made lying impossible. A sad smile touches his lips. "That surprising?"

"No." The word slips out before I think. Then I laugh awkwardly. "You still don't think before speaking."

A tiny smile appears. "I hardly speak anymore." His eyes never leave mine. "I just don't like pretending." A beat passes as his eyes travel between mine, "Especially with you."

My chest tightens. The room suddenly feels too warm. I look away first. "Why . . . why did you call me here?"

Something changes in his expression. The softness remains. But beneath it . . .Resolve. "I need your help."

I frown. "My help?"

He nods once. "The council has been after me for years." He holds my gaze before looking away, outside towards the sky, "They want me married."

I stare. Still trying to understand where this conversation is heading. He takes one slow step closer. Not enough to invade my space. Just enough that I can feel the weight of his attention. "I need a wife."

My heart skips.

Then stumbles.

I force a nervous laugh. "I'm . . . not sure how I can help with that."

He doesn't smile. He simply looks at me. "Marry me."

Everything inside me stops. The room doesn't spin. It simply ceases to make sense. For one long moment, I hear every word individually.

Marry.

Me.

None of them fit together. I realise I'm standing only after I've already taken a step backwards. "I . . . " Nothing comes out. "I can't." The words finally arrive in a whisper. "I'm sorry."

He rises slowly from where he'd been leaning against the desk. Unlike me . . . He looks perfectly calm.