HER SAFE PLACE

Park

Shivangi's Pov

Since that night, things have completely changed between us in the best way possible. We’ve been practically inseparable—we sleep next to each other, share our meals, and spend our days enjoying each other’s company. Whether it’s playing video games, getting competitive over board games, or just hanging out, we’re always together.

Rocky’s still working from home, and one day he took the time to really talk to me. He explained everything, and I realized that I had misunderstood the situation. Hearing his side of the story made such a difference; it was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I feel so much more at peace now.

What’s really struck me is how supportive he’s been through all of this. Not once did he let me feel bad or uncomfortable. He’s been there for me, showing that he cares and making sure I know I’m not alone. It made me appreciate him even more.

I’m sitting on the bed, lost in thought, feeling this persistent urge to do something—anything—that would make me feel like less of a burden to Rocky. He’s told me countless times that I’m not a burden, that he’s happy to take care of me, but the feeling lingers. It’s hard to shake the thought that maybe I’m leaning on him too much, that maybe I should be doing more for myself.

Rocky has gone above and beyond for me. My wardrobe is a testament to that. It’s overflowing with clothes of every kind—from traditional Indian outfits to chic Western styles. There are shoes for every occasion, earrings that sparkle in every color, and bags that could match any outfit I could dream up. He’s made sure I want for nothing, that I have everything I could possibly need or desire. If this were the old Shivangi—the one who used to get excited over every new dress and piece of jewelry—she would be over the moon right now. She would be thrilled to have all these choices, these luxuries. But the truth is, I’m not that Shivangi anymore.

These things don’t excite me the way they once did. I can appreciate the effort Rocky has put into making sure I have everything, but my heart and mind are elsewhere, preoccupied with thoughts of what I could do to make myself feel more independent, more like I’m contributing.

Rocky is busy with an online meeting in his room, so I decided to distract myself by revisiting an old passion of mine—writing. Writing used to be my escape, my way of expressing everything I couldn’t say out loud. But somewhere along the way, I had to give it up, mainly because of the pressures and expectations from my parents. They didn’t see the value in it, didn’t think it was practical. So, I stopped, pushed it aside, and focused on what they wanted for me instead of what I wanted for myself.

But now, I’m thinking it’s time to start again. The idea of picking up where I left off, of putting my thoughts and emotions into words, feels right. It feels like something I need to do for myself. So, I grabbed my phone, downloaded the writing app I used to use, and tried to log in with my old account. But then, the app prompted me for a password. And that’s where I hit a wall—what was the password? I hadn’t used it in so long that it completely slipped my mind. I sat there, trying to remember, feeling a little silly that something as simple as a forgotten password could stop me in my tracks.

I racked my brain, trying to recall what it could be, and suddenly, it hit me—'Ace's Angel.' That was the password. As soon as I remembered, a wave of relief washed over me. But right on its heels came another wave, this one full of memories—memories of Ace, my first love.

The name brought everything rushing back, memories that I hadn’t thought about in a long time. Ace was the one who made me feel special, the one who understood me in a way no one else did. We were so close, so connected, and everything seemed to be going perfectly between us. But then, out of nowhere, everything fell apart. He left, and I never really understood why. He never texted, never tried to explain, and I was left with so many unanswered questions.