Sarima's body gave up before her mind did.
She felt it in the way her fingers loosened weakly against his shirt, in the way her head eventually dropped against his chest without permission.
She hated it.
Hated how easily her strength slipped away.
Hated that he would notice.
For a while, he said nothing.
Either he truly hadn't noticed… or he had and simply chose not to mention it.
Then his voice broke through the silence, low and rough.
"Still planning to argue, or are you finally done fighting me?"
Normally, she would have snapped back instantly. Said something sharp. Defensive.
But exhaustion dragged heavily through her body now.
"I wasn't fighting you," she murmured weakly.
Even her voice sounded distant.
That was when she felt it.
His gaze.
Heavy.
Focused.
Too observant.
And she knew he saw everything now,the blood smeared against her skin, the scratches across her legs, the weakness she had been trying so hard to hide.
The forest still felt endless around them. Every step he took sent dull aches through her body, reminding her painfully of bruises she had ignored until now.
She stopped speaking after that.
Not because she didn't want to.
Because she no longer trusted her own voice not to betray her.
When they finally stepped out of the woods, the air immediately felt different.
Too open.
Too exposed.
"Which way?" he asked calmly.
"I can walk..."
"Which way?"
The interruption was quiet.
Firm.
Sarima swallowed the rest of her protest and lifted a weak hand, pointing ahead.
The stares began almost immediately.
She didn't need to look at anyone to feel them.
They clung to her.
Followed her.
Judged her.
She kept her gaze fixed forward, refusing to react.
Until the whispers started.
"…they're just waiting for the right offer…"
"…she's barely treated like a daughter…"
"…more like an exchange…"
"...Her luck is in her beauty, every high ranking personnel wants her for himself or his son."
Her chest tightened painfully.
Not because the words were new.
Because they were being said aloud.
Where he could hear them.
Against her better judgment, she glanced at him.
Big mistake.
His expression hadn't changed much.
But something about him felt colder now.
Sharper.
More dangerous.
She looked away immediately.
The moment they entered her room, relief hit her weakly.
Briefly.
He set her down carefully on the bed, far more gently than she expected.
She refused to comment on that.
"Where's your aid kit?" he asked.
"You've done enough."
"That wasn't the question."
"I said I'll handle it."
Her voice came out steadier this time, like she was slowly pulling pieces of herself back together.
He didn't argue.
Instead, he leaned casually against the wall, his gaze drifting slowly across the room like he was studying it.
Memorizing it.
Then his eyes returned to her.
And suddenly she felt seen again.
Far too seen. Her eyes lingered on the mud stain smeared across his loose white shirt from carrying her.
"Is it true?"
Her fingers tightened slightly against the sheets.
"Is what true?"
She already knew.
But she wasn't making this easy for him.
He tilted his head slightly, watching her like she was something complicated.
"You know what I'm talking about."
Of course she did.
And she hated that he had heard it.
Hated that something she spent years pretending didn't hurt was now exposed in front of him.
"It's too personal," she replied coolly, lifting her chin slightly, "to discuss with some stranger I just met."
For a moment, he only looked at her.
"Funny," he said quietly, "you didn't seem to mind trusting that stranger with your life."
The words landed harder than she expected.
And she hated that too.
Exhaustion weighed heavily against her chest now. Physical exhaustion, emotional exhaustion and even mental exhaustion.
Even her room no longer felt comforting.
It felt smaller somehow.
Tighter.
And he was still standing there watching her like he could already see every thought she was trying to bury.
She needed him gone.
Immediately.
"You know," she said carefully, "it's not appropriate for you to stay in my room this long."
Her tone remained calm.
Polite enough to pass.
Sharp enough to mean something else entirely.
Leave.
For a second, she thought he actually would.
Then he looked at her properly.
And something in his eyes shifted.
Quickly.
But not quickly enough for her to miss it.
A dangerous glint.
Raw.
Unfiltered.
Like she had said the wrong thing to the wrong person.
The air changed instantly.
"You're worried about what's appropriate?" he asked quietly.
Her fingers tightened against the sheets again.
"I'm worried about boundaries."
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
Not a smile.
Something more dangerous than one.
"You should've thought about that," he said slowly, pushing himself off the wall, "before letting me carry you through the woods."
Each step he took was calm.
Controlled.
But it closed the distance between them anyway.
"And into your room."
He stopped close enough to disturb her pulse.
Not touching her.
Not yet.
"But now you care what people think?"
Sarima held his gaze stubbornly despite the sudden tension tightening around her chest.
"So," he continued casually, "are you worried they'll think I've moved in?"
For a second, she didn't even understand what he meant.
Then realization hit.
Her jaw tightened immediately.
She breathed in sharply.
"That's not funny."
"I didn't say it was."
His eyes moved briefly across her face before settling again.
"But you are thinking it."
She hated that he was right.
Even worse, she hated that he noticed.
"I'm thinking you've overstayed your welcome," she replied sharply.
A faint pause followed.
Then the corner of his mouth lifted slightly again, almost entertained by the fact she was still trying to fight him at all.
"That's one way to put it."
Silence stretched between them once more.
But this time it felt different.
Less hostile.
More aware.
Like neither of them was ignoring what people outside this room would already assume.
Sarima straightened slightly against the bed despite the protest from her aching body.
"I didn't ask for your help," she said firmly.
"I didn't ask you to carry me. I didn't ask you to bring me here. I didn't ask you to....."
Her voice caught slightly.
She stopped immediately before too much slipped through.
He watched all of it silently.
Like he was letting her finish because he already knew exactly where this conversation would end.
When she finally fell quiet, he spoke.
"You're right."
The answer caught her completely off guard.
No argument.
No resistance.
Just agreement.
"…I am?"
"Yes."
A pause followed.
"You didn't ask."
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"And yet you still did it."
"I did."
That should have ended the conversation.
It didn't.
Because then he added calmly...
"And you're alive enough to complain about it now."
The words landed differently than the rest.
Not cruel.
Not mocking.
Just factual.
And somehow that made them worse.
Sarima looked away first, jaw tightening.
"That doesn't make it acceptable," she muttered.
"No," he agreed again.
Still no argument.
Only certainty.
"But it makes it necessary."
The silence afterward settled heavily between them because she didn't have a clean response for that.
He watched her for another moment after that, like he was weighing something invisible in his mind.
Then finally,
"Rest."
Simple.
Final.
And this time, he actually left.
The door closed softly behind him.
Only then did Sarima realize how tightly she had been holding herself together simply because he had been standing there.
Her shoulders dropped slightly.
Not relief.
Something closer to collapse.
Slowly, she pushed herself off the bed. Pain immediately shot through her legs, but she ignored it and limped toward the bathroom, steadying herself against the wall.
Every step sounded louder now in the quiet room.
Her room.
Yet somehow it didn't feel like hers anymore.
She reached the bathroom, shut the door behind her, and leaned against it quietly for a moment.
Just breathing.
Then she stripped out of her ruined clothes without looking at them too carefully and let them fall onto the floor.
She didn't think.
Didn't allow herself to.
She simply stepped beneath the shower.
Warm water poured over her instantly.
Relentless.
Steady.
It slid down her skin, washing away dirt, sweat, blood, and everything she had spent hours pretending not to feel.
For a while, she simply stood there motionless beneath it.
Letting the sound drown out her thoughts.
Then the ache settled in fully.
Not sharp.
Just constant.
Every ignored bruise.
Every exhausted muscle.
Every emotion she had tried to push aside all demanding attention at once.
Sarima closed her eyes and let herself feel it.
Because at least here,
she thought,
no one was watching her.