Ekansh’s POV

The next few days passed in a haze of exhaustion, frustration, and determination. Dia needed time to heal, and I was ready to give her that. I had canceled all my meetings, postponed business deals, and immersed myself fully in taking care of her. But it wasn’t just the physical care that mattered—it was the emotional healing she so desperately needed.

I could see it in her eyes, the fear, the trauma that still clung to her like a shadow. Every time I looked at her, I could feel the weight of her suffering, and it made my heart ache. She flinched at every sudden movement, every loud noise, and it broke me every time. But I couldn’t rush her healing. It had to be her pace, not mine.

The mansion, which had once felt like a cold, empty place, now felt warmer with her presence. I made sure she was never alone unless she wanted it. Her space was important to me, but I didn’t want her to feel abandoned. Not after everything she had been through.

I found her in the garden one afternoon, sitting on the swing. She looked peaceful for a moment, her eyes closed as if she were trying to feel the warmth of the sun. I approached her slowly, not wanting to startle her, but she turned her head, sensing my presence before I spoke.

“Dia,” I called softly, taking a seat beside her. She didn’t respond, but I noticed the way her shoulders stiffened just a little. It was a small gesture, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Are you okay?” I asked, my voice steady but filled with concern.

She nodded, but it wasn’t convincing. Her eyes were distant, her mind clearly somewhere else. She was battling demons that I couldn’t see, but I knew they were there.

“I’m fine,” she replied quietly, but I could hear the lie in her words.

I reached over, gently cupping her hand in mine, my thumb brushing across her skin. “Dia, you don’t have to pretend with me. It’s okay to not be okay.”

Her gaze met mine, and for the first time in days, I saw a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. “I don’t want to be weak,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

“Strength isn’t about pretending you’re okay when you’re not,” I told her, squeezing her hand. “Strength is about facing your pain and choosing to fight through it. And you don’t have to fight it alone. Not anymore.”

---

She looked down at our intertwined hands, and for a long moment, neither of us spoke. The silence was heavy, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that spoke volumes, the kind that meant we were on the same page, even if the words hadn’t been said out loud.

Finally, Dia spoke again, her voice softer than before. “I don’t know how to trust anymore… after everything that happened.”

My heart twisted at her words. Trust was fragile, and it would take time to rebuild, but I wouldn’t give up on her. I couldn’t.

“You don’t have to trust anyone right now, Dia. But you can trust me,” I said, my voice firm but gentle. “I’ll earn it. Every day, I’ll prove to you that I’m not like the others.”

She looked up at me, searching my eyes as if looking for any sign of insincerity. I met her gaze with complete honesty. There was no part of me that would ever hurt her.

“I believe you,” she said quietly, her words barely above a whisper.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I saw a hint of peace in her eyes, a small sliver of hope. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep me going.

---

Later that evening, I sat beside her as she ate dinner, watching her with careful attention. She was still fragile, but there was a small spark in her that I hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t much, but I held on to it like a lifeline.

“Dia,” I said after a while, breaking the comfortable silence. “If you ever need to talk, or even just need someone to be here with you… don’t hesitate to ask.”

She looked up at me, her eyes soft. “I don’t think I’ve ever had someone say that to me before.”

I smiled slightly, a bittersweet feeling rising in my chest. “Then I’m glad I’m the first.”

Her lips curved into the smallest of smiles, and it was enough to make everything feel a little bit lighter. Just a little.

“Thank you, Ekansh,” she said quietly, her voice soft and sincere.

“Always,” I replied, my heart full of a love I didn’t know I was capable of until she came into my life.