prologue

N E E V

“I love you.” I whispered against her lips.

The taste of them lingered in my mouth, sweet and intoxicating.

I opened my eyes slowly, panting softly. The heavy rain continued to pour down, drumming against the car's roof and dripping down our bodies, but our gazes remained connected—as always.

We were in a haze, in a world of our own, captivated and rooted by each other's presence.

She blinked, her lashes trembling and cheeks flushed. She parted her lips sucking in air; her chest heaved with breathlessness, touching mine firmly.

My hand remained wrapped around her waist, the other cradling her hair gently. Her body leaned against the car's door, and our bodies flushed together. Her white saree clung to her body, revealing her waist as the fabric became completely damp—stuck to her soft skin.

“I love you, Dharvi.” I loosened my grip on her hair and gently cupped her cheek, rubbing my thumb against her cheekbone.

She blinked again, her cheeks turning a darker shade of pink, looking enticing as ever. Is she not able to hear me? Or is she avoiding hearing my confession? I wanted to confess her in a different way, preferably not in the pouring rain, which soaked our bodies to the bone. Yet did we care about the rain right now? Absolutely not.

I pulled her even closer, my throat constricting as her saree became even damper, revealing every curve of her waist and chest. Her grip on my waist tightened; the warmth of her touch contrasted with the cold water pouring down on us. Her grey eyes searched mine intently, as if determining whether I was being truthful.

“I love yo—

“I heard you.” She whispered, lowering her gaze to my chest. The fabric of my white shirt had become wet as well, becoming see-through and sticking to my torso.

“And that's all I want.” I whispered back, caressing her cheek with my fingers—my touch feather-light, maintaining the rhythm of the moment's delicacy.

My confession must be abrupt, but it's not at all unexpected. Seven months into our marriage, seven months into having feelings for her. I never avoided them but kept them to myself, afraid of breaking the thread of our slowly forming bond.

But maybe it was the midnight rain or the kiss that had left us panting, I could not stop blurting out what I had been keeping to myself.

The warm, fuzzy sensation that was sweeping through my heart made it hard to keep my emotions in check. And her scent—lavender mingled with vanilla made it impossible to stay sane.

And I really do not want to regret this tender moment we are sharing. I don't want to ruin anything anymore.

“Neev...”

I heard her quiet, almost inaudible whisper.

“I am sorry.” She added, not meeting my gaze and keeping her eyes fixed on my chest.

My heart ached more than I had anticipated—a sharp pain sliced through it. It wasn't as if I expected any reciprocation to my feelings, yet as the truth struck, a wave of disappointment crashed throughout me.

The last thing I wanted was for us to drift apart after finally beginning to become a real husband and wife. After we finally started to be closer.

I ruined it. I ruined us.

Is she not feeling the same now, or will she never feel the same?

Was I really incapable of experiencing love?

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D H A R V I

“Why?”

I repeated, giving him a bitter smile as the tears threatened to spill out of my eyes—the impeccably arranged walls surrounding my heart beginning to crumble.

“Because, I—I never deserved this...” I gestured vaguely between us, indicating the affection developing since the past few months of our marriage.

“And who decided that?” He murmured softly. Despite looking clearly agitated, he kept his calm, trying to be calmer than he should have been.

“No one did,” I looked into his eyes—red with barely contained frustration and desperation, “ it is the truth.”

“Please Dharvi,” He pleaded, his voice softening as he held me by my shoulders, his grip gentle but his fingers shivering, revealing the turmoil swirling within him.

I had never hated myself more than now. The pain of hurting him was unbearable to endure, yet somewhere this was inevitable.

A damaged soul like me never deserved his gentleness or love.

“Please, not now,” He shook his head slowly, taking a step closer to me, “not when everything was going so well. Not when you f-finally admitted your feelings.”

His voice trembled slightly, his grip on my shoulder tightening as if to express his desperation, his obvious pain.

I swallowed hard, my lips quivering as my eyelashes became wet from the weight of my tears, which remained dangerously close to my eyelids—close to spilling, yet refusing to fall.

“I don't deserve anyone, Neev,” I looked into his eyes, my voice barely coming out of my throat.

“A murderer doesn't deserve to be loved.” I added quietly, lowering my eyes as the familiar guilt consumed my soul—chilling and nauseating.

I despised this. This hollow ache that resurfaced every now and then to ruin my life, which had become happier, better than ever.

I love him.

And it hurts.

I will always be undeserving of everyone's love, no matter what.

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