Sitting before the mirror on her wedding day, adorned with the red bridal attire, Zoya, Delhi's one of the most renowned Gynecologist couldn't feign the absurd heaviness in her chest, as if something awful was going to happen. And the little hopeful...
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Zoya, as I assumed, is sitting on the bed resembling a still statue. The blistering rain has turned her long black curls into a straightened mess, that fall freely down her waist. Her gaze, blankly staring at nowhere while her hands rest at the either side of her, clutching the mattress into a firm hold. From even a gap of ten steps away from her, I see her lips quivering with cold, which I desperately desire to bite between my teeth and suck her in. Her saree is drenched terribly along with her, sticking to her body like it's not a cloth but her own skin.
With every passing second Zoya shudders, and so do I. We both desired each other's heat. But the truth was, she'd never ask me for what she truly wants.
Hell, she's so hurt she doesn't even want me to come back to her, but I did anyways. Zoya's stupid to let her mind feign over her heart but I'm not. I wouldn't let her go just like that.
Easier said than done.
Her taunt from earlier won't let me breathe until I make love to her till the moment she's trembling under me, and my name is the only word on her lips.
Tonight, it'd break. My yearning, and her ache. And she'd know what it means to be loved by me, what it means to belong to me.
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The air is a mix of fervor and desperation, shuddering the very cell of my empty existence. Through the corner of my eyes, I see Nischay, his black shirt clinging to his chest like it's not a cloth but his own skin. He is maximally ten steps away from away from me, making it hard for me to notice every of his primal features. But still, from the thickness of air consuming this gap, I feel the heat emanating from his body crawling through my bones.
A sole nerve of my body shivers, when Nischay worms his way toward me. His approach felt like a slow, predatory stalk, each step, deliberate in a savor attempt to corner his prey.
But my thoughts alter, so does my heart, when Nischay kneels down before me. I raise my gaze from my lap to look into his eyes, and the macabre pools have blossomed into a chimerical dream. His drenched black curls are falling on his eyes resembling a curtain hiding his mesmerizing glory. The water is still dripping from his finely chiseled jaw, perfectly sculptured nose and beautiful scarlet lips, draping his face into a mirror of sublimity.
