He tilted his head slightly, lips almost brushing mine. But he didn’t kiss me yet. He just hovered there, breathing me in, as if asking silently
Are we allowed to be close again?
I answered without speaking.
My fingers curled into his shirt and tugged him closer.
That was all it took.
His lips found mine not harsh, not demanding, but with a slow, aching tenderness that made my knees buckle.
The kind of kiss that doesn’t rush. The kind that apologizes without words.
His hands slid to my waist, steady but careful, like he was afraid he might hurt me.
I felt his breath hitch when I touched his jaw.
He pressed his forehead into the side of my face, inhaling deeply.
“Missed you " he whispered into my hair, his voice so rough.
I felt something warm and sharp inside me.
“I know ” I whispered back.
He kissed me again, deeper this time, pulling me against him.
His hands traced the curve of my back, his breath shaky, his body warm against mine.
It wasn’t urgent.
It wasn’t hungry.
It was something else.
It was us trying to find our way back.
We stumbled backward until the bed hit the back of my legs.
He paused, searching my face.
“You sure?” he breathed.
I nodded.
“Are you?”
He gave the smallest smile which looked tired, gentle and almost sad.
But real.
“Always.”
When he kissed me again, it was slower, our breaths mixing with each other.
My hands slid under his shirt, skimming the warm skin of his back.
His breath caught sharply when my fingers moved along his spine.
“Lavina…” he whispered, voice breaking in a way that made something inside me melt.
We didn’t rush anything.
We didn’t need to.
Our bodies folded into each other the way they used to softly, hesitantly, with small gasps and whispered apologies and quiet laughter when his nose brushed mine.
He kissed the hollow of my throat. I slid my fingers into his hair. His breath trembled against my skin.
For one night, I wanted to be a couple not drowning in test results and medical appointments.
We weren’t the husband and wife who had forgotten how to touch without fear.
We were just two people finding each other again in the dark.
No promises.
No answers.
Just us.
Aarjak
Later, she lay with her head on my chest, her hair was still damp not from rain now but from sweat and warmth.
It smelled like rain mixed with soap, and something I couldn’t name but had missed for months.
I wanted to tell her everything.
12. Something has changed
Start from the beginning
