"I am sorry... for denying the honeymoon suddenly. And thank you... for defending me downstairs."
I inhaled deeply.
Stood up.
Faced him.
There was confidence in my posture-not arrogance, not bitterness. Just certainty.
His aura still intimidated me...
Do Follow me on Instagram for spoilers [I'D: _akshviverse_] Do Follow me on scrollstack for early chapter updates. {I'D: akshviwrts} ***** Word count:8.8k Vote Target: 125 Comments: 130 *****
Humne samjha tha golden jubilee jise Haiye samjha humne tha golden Jubilee jise Woh toh matine dikhakar ke chuma le gaya Jhalla mera aashiq jhalla wallah Mera balma jhalla wallah Mera jhalla wallah wallah
*****
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"
Mai kabhi kisi ki koi cheez udhaar nhi rakhta."
{I never keep anyone's things on loan.}
The sentence was simple, but in Dheer's voice it sounded like something far more dangerous. Abhira's breath caught the moment his gaze shifted to her lips. It was only a glance, brief and controlled, yet enough to send her heartbeat into complete rebellion.
Her chest felt too small for the chaos rising inside it, while he sat there looking entirely calm, as though he had not just turned her pulse into a battlefield.
"W... what do you mean?" she asked, forcing the words out despite the way her throat had gone dry.
Dheer looked at her with eyes as steady as the ocean, peaceful enough to make anyone forget storms existed. It was unfair, truly. While her heart was trying to break through her ribs and flee the situation, he appeared to be the picture of composure. If serenity ever needed a face, it would borrow his. If torment needed one, it would simply point at Abhira.
"I mean," he said softly, lifting a hand to her hair. His fingers slipped through her locks with lazy confidence, caressing the strands as though they had every right to be there.
As though four months of distance had never happened. As though silence had not lived between them long enough to become a third presence. "That I don't keep anyone's things on loan."
Abhira's irritation rose instantly. Mostly because he had repeated the same sentence. Partly because he knew exactly what he was doing. "That is what I am asking," she snapped. "What do you mean by that?"
It would have been easier to stay angry if the situation itself was not so absurdly intimate. She was sitting on his crossed legs, her hips resting in his lap as though they belonged there. Their faces were only inches apart, close enough to feel each other's breath, close enough for one small movement to change everything.
Yet both of them continued speaking like awkward acquaintances forced into conversation at a family gathering.
Anyone looking at them would have thought they were the most romantic couple in existence.
No one would guess they had spent four months apart. No one would know they had barely touched each other in four months of marriage. No one would imagine that even comfortable conversation between them had become a rare event.
