Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
ARUNA HADNT moved from where Anakin had left her. The corridor was still, the soft hum of the cruiser's engines the only sound breaking the silence. She stared blankly ahead, her mind replaying every word of their conversation, every touch, every unspoken feeling.
She shouldn't have let it go that far. They were on the edge of something dangerous, and Anakin—he was already too close to the brink. She knew what was at stake for him, the immense weight of his destiny looming over him like a shadow. And yet, in that moment, she had wanted nothing more than to forget it all and step over the line with him.
Aruna shook her head, forcing herself to snap out of it. There was no time for this—not now, not ever. They had a mission to complete, and she couldn't afford to let her feelings for Anakin cloud her judgment.
As she turned to leave the corridor, she couldn't help but wonder if he was thinking the same thing.
Meanwhile, Anakin stormed into his quarters, his heart pounding with frustration and guilt. He shouldn't have let it get that far. His entire focus was supposed to be on the war, on winning battles and saving lives—and yet, all he could think about was her.
Aruna.
Her name echoed in his mind like a constant refrain, each syllable tugging at the tangled mess of emotions he couldn't seem to control. The way she had looked at him, the way she had stood her ground, refusing to back down even when he'd stepped closer, had nearly unraveled him.
What are you doing? he thought angrily, pacing the length of his room. He shouldn't feel this way. Not about her. Not about anyone. It wasn't just forbidden—it was dangerous.
He had made promises. Not just to the Jedi, but to himself. His destiny was too important to let something—or someone—distract him. But when he was around her, those promises felt flimsy, like they could be shattered with a single glance.
He ran a hand through his hair, trying to push the thoughts aside. The battle was coming, and they had no room for mistakes. He needed to focus, to push all of these feelings down and lock them away where they belonged. But the more he tried to bury them, the stronger they became, threatening to break free at any moment.
Anakin stopped pacing, staring at the wall in front of him. The tension was building, and he knew that if they didn't resolve it soon, it could cost them more than just a battle.
Later, in the ship's training room, Aruna tried to work off the emotions still swirling inside her. She had always found solace in training, in the rhythmic motions of combat drills and the steady focus of her mind. But today, her mind wouldn't quiet. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Anakin's face—his intensity, his vulnerability.
She spun with her lightsaber, striking at the training droids with sharp, precise movements. But each strike felt heavy, burdened by thoughts she didn't want to have. She could feel herself growing frustrated, her movements becoming more aggressive with each swing.
"That droid looks like it's seen better days," a voice broke through the quiet.
Aruna froze mid-swing, her saber cutting through the air with a sharp hiss. She didn't have to turn around to know who it was.
"Anakin." The word came out as a breath, barely audible.
He stepped into the room, his gaze lingering on the wrecked training droid before shifting to her. "Thought I'd find you here," he said, his voice softer than usual, though there was still a lingering tension beneath it.
Aruna powered down her saber, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow as she finally turned to face him. The atmosphere between them was thick, still buzzing from their last encounter, and neither of them seemed willing to acknowledge it head-on.
"You shouldn't be here," she said, though there was no edge to her words, only weariness. "You need to be preparing for the battle."
Anakin crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, his eyes never leaving hers. "I could say the same about you."
She exhaled, the weight of the moment pressing down on her shoulders. "I am preparing."
He shook his head, his lips curling into a faint, humorless smile. "No, you're running. Just like I am."
His words hung in the air, too honest, too raw. And suddenly, the fragile barrier she'd built between them after their near-confession began to crumble. He wasn't pulling back this time, not entirely. He was speaking the truth they were both too afraid to say.
"What do you want me to say, Anakin?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "That this is easy? That I can just pretend none of this is happening?"
Anakin's eyes darkened, his posture stiffening. "I don't want you to pretend anything," he said, stepping closer, his voice low and intense. "I just—"
He stopped, his words catching in his throat, and for a brief moment, Aruna saw the conflict in his eyes—the push and pull between what he wanted and what he knew he couldn't have. It mirrored her own struggle, the constant battle between duty and desire.
"I don't know what I'm doing anymore," he admitted, his voice strained. "But I can't stop thinking about you. Every time I try, it just... it doesn't work."
His honesty hit her like a wave, knocking the breath from her lungs. For a moment, she didn't know how to respond. Her heart wanted to reach out to him, to tell him that she felt the same way, that she was just as lost as he was. But her mind—the part of her that knew what was at stake—forced her to hold back.
"Anakin, we can't," she said, though the words tasted bitter on her tongue. "You know that."
His jaw clenched, and he took a step back, as if her words had physically pushed him away. "Yeah," he said, his voice flat now, distant. "I know."
They stood there in silence, the distance between them feeling much larger than the few feet that separated them. Neither of them moved, neither of them willing to close the gap that had suddenly grown wider.
And then, as quickly as it had begun, the moment passed. Anakin turned away, his hand lingering on the doorframe as if he wanted to say something more, to offer some kind of resolution. But in the end, he didn't.
"We'll talk later," he muttered, though they both knew that wasn't true. This wasn't something they could talk their way out of.
As the door slid shut behind him, Aruna sank to the floor, her head in her hands. The battle that awaited them was no longer just external—it was internal, and it was tearing them both apart.
