Azmaish-e-Ishq

Ch. 21: Confrontations

"Aww, sevgilim," I cradled his cheek before pecking his forehead. "It was just Daniaal. He decided to vlog his day so he was sending his friends loads of silly videos on Snapchat."

"I don't like sharing your attention when you're with me, that's all," he mumbled, pressing play on the paused show.

I smiled, "I know. That's why I wasn't checking them, aşkım."

"Good," he muttered, his eyebrows remaining furrowed as he propped the iPad up with one hand while using his other arm to hold me tight. He pressed a few kisses on my cheek and held me tightly to himself, tucking my head under his chin as though I were his very own teddy bear, leaving me to giggle at him.

I sniffled, wiping my cheeks as I began to feel drained.

I felt Salaar tug the comforter closer to him. It was cold in the flat, which meant he hadn't closed the window in the living room entirely.

My phone glowed against the bed next to my pillow once again.

Was he seriously still downstairs?

What did he want to say?

Rather, what was there left to say?

It was nearly 2 AM.

And it was so cold out.

Has he really been waiting out there for so long in these freezing temperatures? It had been at least over five hours since Salaar and I have gotten home.

I glanced over my shoulder at Salaar's sleeping figure before carefully slipping out of bed and going over to the window. I pulled one of the curtains back slightly and found Kamran sitting on the ground against the light post.

My eyes wavered as I stared at him for a moment, my chest tightening.

He would be there the rest of the night if I didn't go down to meet him, that much I knew of him. He was stubborn.

His presence was also distressing Salaar.

I took a deep breath and put on my jacket and shawl then went downstairs, my heart racing.

My nails dug into my palms as I slowly exited the building, my breath creating puffs of white as I entered the freezing night.

When I reached him, I found him teetering on the border of sleep and consciousness. His skin was pale from the cold, his nose, cheeks, and hands depicting tints of pink. Tears pricked at my eyes as I remembered the night I first met him—he was in a similar state, cold from the pouring rain.

I crouched in front of him. I couldn't help but wrap my shawl around him. His coat wasn't that thick.

"Heer?" he whispered, his eyes flickering open when he saw my shadow through his eyelashes.

I stood up quickly and took a step back, my heart going a million kilometers per hour.

"Heer!" he got up on his feet and took a step closer, his hands reaching out and gripping my arms as he studied me with soft eyes, "Heer..."

All I could do was stare at his face. The concern, the care... It was so contradictory, so different to how he was on Friday.

And as I continued to observe him, for a split second, I want to run into his arms and have him comfort me and tell me nothing had happened, but it was overpowered by the memories of his hatred, disgust-filled glances which flashed before my eyes, making my insides close up, making me want to recoil. Standing face-to-face with him in confrontation made me feel as though someone had pried open a wound that was yet to begin to heal.