Hazel's POV -
The house was finally quiet.
My feet were killing me.
I shouldn't have worn those heels.
But the Navy blue saree looked too perfect not to.
I stepped onto the balcony, letting the cool air calm me.
The door opened behind me.
I didn't need to turn.
"Hazel."
His voice wasn't angry.
Just heavy.
He came to stand beside me.
"You shouldn't have worn those heels."
I almost smiled. "They matched."
"Your comfort matters more."
There it was again - that controlled concern.
I turned to face him fully.
He looked calm.
But his eyes weren't.
"I meant what I said earlier," he spoke slowly. "About loving you."
"I know," I answered.
And I did.
But something was still sitting inside him.
"I wasn't testing you," he said. "I was fighting myself."
That made me still.
"I've always controlled everything," he continued. "My emotions. My reactions."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"And then you made m
e feel something I couldn't control."
The wind brushed my hair across my face.
"You made me need someone," he admitted. "And I didn't know how to accept that."
My heart softened instantly.
He wasn't doubting me.
He was struggling with himself.
"I've never been able to breathe around anyone the way I breathe around you," he said quietly.
That broke something inside me.
Not painfully.
Tenderly.
"You don't look weak when you feel," I whispered.
His eyes lifted.
"You look safe."
Silence.
"I was scared," he confessed. "Not of losing you. Of needing you."
I stepped closer.
"Then need me," I said softly.
And when he finally exhaled -
I felt it.
Like he had been holding his breath for years.
Later, when I removed my heels, I winced.
He noticed instantly.
He didn't comment.
He knelt.
"Hari-"
"Sit."
He examined my swollen ankle, his expression darkening.
"You push yourself too much."
"For you?"
He gave me a look.
"For the saree," I corrected.
He applied ointment carefully, fingers gentle.
"I wonder why you take my soul wearing navy blue," he muttered, "and then try to destroy your feet."
My cheeks warmed.
When we lay down, I fell asleep quickly.
But sometime later, I stirred.
The bed felt different.
I opened my eyes.
He wasn't beside me.
My heart jumped.
Then I saw him.
Lower on the bed.
Near my feet.
One arm loosely wrapped around my ankle.
Sleeping.
Guarding.
"Hari..." I whispered.
He shifted slightly. "Hmm?"
"Why are you there?"
"So you don't turn and hurt it."
Like it was obvious.
Like it required no explanation.
My throat tightened.
He feared needing me.
But he had no problem protecting me.
I adjusted the blanket over him and lay back down.
And I realized something.
He breathes around me.
And I will never misuse that.
Haris's POV -
I hate when she's in pain.
She thinks I don't notice small things.
I notice everything.
The way she slightly limped.
The way she hid it.
The way she pretended the heels were worth it.
She doesn't understand.
Nothing she wears compares to her comfort.
When I stepped onto the balcony, I almost didn't speak.
I've never been good at saying what sits inside my chest.
But she stood there -
Calm.
Unafraid.
Waiting.
"I wasn't testing you," I told her.
I was fighting myself.
I've built my life on control.
Control keeps you strong.
Control keeps you respected.
Control keeps you unshaken.
Then she arrived.
And suddenly, I wanted to depend.
To lean.
To need.
That terrified me.
Because when you need someone, you give them power to break you.
But Hazel?
She didn't look at me like I was weak.
She looked at me like I was trusted.
When she said, "Then need me,"
I felt something unclench inside my chest.
Later that night, when she fell asleep, she shifted slightly.
Her ankle moved.
She winced even in sleep.
I couldn't ignore it.
So I moved down.
It wasn't dramatic.
It wasn't romantic.
It was instinct.
If she turned, I'd stop her.
If she moved, I'd wake.
That's all.
When she whispered my name, I almost smiled.
"Why are you there?"
So you don't hurt yourself.
It didn't feel like sacrifice.
It felt right.
She thinks I'm strong.
But the truth?
I am strongest when I am protecting her.
And for the first time in my life -
Needing someone doesn't feel like weakness.
It feels like home.
..................
He pretends he doesn't get tired.
He pretends he doesn't need softness.
But I saw him last night.
The way he exhaled like he had been holding his breath for years.
The way he slept near my feet.
The way he guarded my pain like it was his responsibility.
Men like Haris don't ask to be cherished.
They endure.
So the next morning, I decided something.
If he could protect silently-
I could love intentionally.
He came out of the shower adjusting his watch, already in that composed, controlled mode again.
As if last night didn't happen.
As if he didn't fall asleep with his cheek resting near my ankle.
I walked toward him quietly.
He raised an eyebrow. "What?"
I didn't answer.
I simply took his hand.
Guided him to sit on the edge of the bed.
"Haze-"
"Shh."
I knelt in front of him.
The same way he did last night.
His expression shifted immediately.
Confused.
Concerned.
"What are you doing?"
I picked up his hand gently.
Ran my thumb across his knuckles.
"You take care of everyone," I said softly. "Who takes care of you?"
He tried to pull his hand back slightly.
"I don't need-"
"I know," I interrupted gently.
"That's why I'm doing it anyway."
Silence.
His shoulders relaxed just a little.
I brushed my fingers through his hair lightly, pushing it back from his forehead.
"You look tired," I whispered.
"I'm not."
"You are."
He looked at me then.
Not defensive.
Just... caught.
I leaned forward and pressed the softest kiss against his temple.
Not dramatic.
Not heated.
Just grateful.
"For breathing with me," I murmured.
His jaw tightened slightly.
"You don't have to thank me."
"I'm not thanking you."
I smiled faintly.
"I'm cherishing you."
That did it.
His hand came up slowly, resting against my waist.
Careful.
"You don't know what you do to me when you say things like that," he said quietly.
I tilted my head.
"Good."
I don't like being the one cared for.
It feels unfamiliar.
Vulnerable.
But when she knelt in front of me this morning-
The same position I was in lThe kind of pairing that looks accidental but isn't.
"You planned this?" I asked.
He ignored that.
He helped me slip into the kurta carefully, adjusting the fabric at my shoulders.
His fingers were steady.
Focused.
He knelt again - and this time it wasn't about injury.
He applied a little more ointment to my ankle, gentle as ever.
"You heal properly," he muttered. "No more suffering for fashion."
Then he looked up at me.
"Sit."
I obeyed.
He picked up my brush.
And slowly, patiently, began combing my hair.
Not rushed.
Not messy.
Careful strokes.
Like he had all the time in the world.
"You'll spoil me," I whispered.
"I already am," he replied calmly.
When he finished, he reached for the perfume bottle.
lavender.
My favorite.
He sprayed lightly near my wrist, then paused.
Brought my wrist closer to his face.
Inhaled softly.
His eyes closed for a second.
"Laddaly lavender," he murmured. "Now you smell like morning."
My heart melted.
Then he did something that made my breath catch.
He picked up my hand.
Slid his thumb over my wedding band.
Pressed his lips gently against my ring finger.
Not dramatic.
Not heated.
Just reverent.
"My wife," he said quietly.
The words weren't loud.
But they settled somewhere deep inside me.
He slipped his own ring back into place properly - as if reminding himself too.
When I stood up, fully ready, he adjusted the dupatta once more.
Stepped back.
Looked at me with quiet pride.
"Perfect," he murmured.
I tilted my head.
"Because of the outfit?"
He shook his head faintly.
"Because you're comfortable."
Then he leaned down and kissed my forehead.
"Let's go."
And for the first time-
Getting ready didn't feel like preparing for the world.
It felt like being cherished before facing it.
The moment we walked into the living room, it happened.
Ijza and zara noticed first.
She squinted at us.
Then gasped dramatically.
"Why are you both matching?"
Inaya and Kabir leaned forward. "Oh my God, they ARE."
I froze.
Haris didn't.
He calmly removed his watch and placed it on the table like he was in a board meeting.
"It wasn't intentional," he said smoothly.
I stared at him.
It absolutely was.
Ijza smirked. "So pink shirt and soft floral coordination is coincidence?"
Haris glanced at me briefly.
One look.
One soft, quiet look that only I understood.
"She looks better when she's comfortable," he said simply.
That shut everyone up.
Because that wasn't teasing.
That was truth.
I felt my cheeks warm.
Inaya leaned toward zara and whispered loudly, "couples goals."
Ijza nodded. "No seriously. Who is this man? Haris? Madly in love?"
Haris raised an eyebrow.
"I've always been in love with my wife."
The room went silent again.
He didn't even blink.
My heart nearly exploded.
I nudged him lightly. "You didn't have to announce it."
He leaned slightly closer.
"I don't mind."
......
Car Ride - Later
On the drive to our apartment, it was quieter.
Softer.
He kept stealing glances.
I noticed.
"Eyes on the road," I murmured.
"Road is straight."
I tried not to smile.
He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.
"You smell like lavender."
"You sprayed it."
"I know."
Silence again.
But not empty.
Full.
Heavy.
Comfortable.
His hand found mine on the center console.
No drama.
Just instinct.
Apartment - Just Us
The door closed behind us.
And suddenly the world felt far away.
No family.
No teasing.
No expectations.
Just quiet.
He removed his shoes.
Then mine.
Without speaking.
We didn't rush.
We didn't perform.
We just... existed in the same space.
I sat on the couch.
He sat beside me.
Too close.
Not close enough.
After a few seconds, he pulled me gently into his chest.
Like it was muscle memory.
We stayed like that.
No phones.
No distractions.
Just breathing.
His chin rested lightly on my head.
"You know what they meant today?" I asked softly.
"Hmm?"
"Who is this man?"
He huffed quietly.
"He's still me."
I tilted my head slightly.
"No. This version... is softer."
His arms tightened slightly.
"You did that."
Silence.
Then he said something low.
Almost to himself.
"Dressing you this morning... felt more intimate than anything else."
I stilled.
He continued.
"Not because of how you looked. But because you let me take care of you."
His fingers traced slow circles against my back.
"That trust... that quiet closeness... it's addictive."
I felt my heart swell.
"You're addicted to me?" I teased gently.
He didn't smile.
"I think I am."
The honesty in his voice made my breath hitch.
"Is that scary?" I asked.
He paused.
Then answered truthfully.
"It used to be."
He leaned down and pressed a slow kiss to my forehead.
"But now... it feels like home."
I melted into him.
And in that quiet apartment -
No teasing.
No dramatic love declarations.
Just a man who once feared needing someone -
Now holding his wife like she was the safest place he'd ever known.
And maybe...
Maybe that's the most dangerous kind of love.
The city was glowing beneath us.
Not loud.
Just distant enough to feel unreal.
He stood beside me, sleeves rolled up, pink shirt slightly creased now from the day. His hair falling a little messier than usual.
He looks the most beautiful when he's not trying.
He rested his forearms on the railing.
Calm.
Composed.
But softer than the world ever sees.
I watched him longer than I meant to.
His profile.
The sharp line of his jaw.
The way his lashes cast faint shadows when he blinked.
"Why are you staring?" he asked without looking at me.
I didn't look away.
"Because you're beautiful."
That made him finally turn.
There's something about his eyes at night.
They look darker.
Not empty.
Deep.
Like they're holding stories they never tell.
"Hazel," he warned gently.
"No," I said softly. "Let me say this."
The wind moved my hair again. He instinctively tucked it behind my ear.
And I spoke before I lost courage.
"Your eyes..."
He stilled.
"They're black," I continued. "But not the kind that scares me."
His expression changed slightly.
"They're the kind that feel like home."
Silence.
"When your eyes meet mine," I whispered, "I forget everything."
My throat tightened.
"I forget my fear. My pride. My doubts."
I stepped closer.
"Since your black became the place my heart rests... I haven't hesitated once."
His breathing slowed.
"You don't understand what your eyes do to me," I admitted. "They look at me like I matter. Like I'm chosen."
My fingers lightly touched his shirt near his chest.
"And when you look at me like that... I love you more."
The words came easier now.
"I love you so much."
The balcony felt smaller suddenly.
Quieter.
He didn't speak immediately.
He just watched me.
And his eyes-
Those eyes-
Softened in a way that almost undid me.
ast night-
Something inside me shifted.
She wasn't imitating me.
She wasn't proving a point.
She was... reciprocating.
"You take care of everyone," she said.
I do.
That's my role.
That's my responsibility.
But when her fingers brushed through my hair-
I felt my chest tighten.
Not from discomfort.
From being seen.
Men are praised for strength.
Rarely for exhaustion.
When she kissed my temple, I almost forgot how to breathe again.
"For breathing with me."
She has no idea what that means to me.
I never wanted to be dependent.
But when she touches me like that-
It doesn't feel like dependence.
It feels like rest.
She thinks I'm protecting her.
But the truth?
She protects the part of me that no one else sees.
And I don't know when it happened.
But I've started to crave it.
Not her submission.
Her softness.
And that terrifies me less every day.
After I kissed his temple, I tried to pull back.
Tried.
But Haris' hand tightened at my waist.
Before I could react, he gently pulled me forward-
And suddenly I was sitting sideways on his lap.
"Hari-"
His arm wrapped around me instinctively, steadying me as if I might disappear.
"Finish what you started," he murmured quietly.
My heart did something dangerous.
I placed my hands lightly on his shoulders.
He was watching me differently now.
Not guarded.
Not controlled.
Just... soft.
"I love this side of you," I whispered.
His brows pulled together slightly. "What side?"
"The one you don't show anyone."
I brushed my fingers along his jaw gently.
"My teddy bear."
He almost scoffed.
"Hazel."
"My marshmallow," I continued, smiling faintly.
His ears turned slightly red.
"I am neither of those things."
"You are with me."
Silence.
His thumb slowly traced circles against my waist.
Careful. Unconscious.
I leaned closer, resting my forehead against his.
"My jaan-e-Haris," I whispered.
That broke him more than anything else.
His breath grew heavier, not out of desire-
But emotion.
"I loved you so much," I corrected softly. "Even before you let yourself need me."
His hold on me tightened just slightly.
"You don't know what that does to me," he said quietly.
"I think I do."
I brushed my lips gently against his cheek.
Not rushed.
Not demanding.
Just cherishing.
And that's when he lowered his voice, almost shy-
"Don't spoil me like this."
I smiled.
"Why?"
"Because I might start expecting it."
There it was.
That honesty again.
I touched his face gently.
"Then expect it."
When she kissed my temple, I should have let her move away.
I didn't.
I pulled her into my lap without thinking.
It felt natural.
Like she belonged there.
When she called me teddy bear, I almost protested.
When she said marshmallow, I wanted to correct her.
But when she said "my jaan-e-Haris"-
I felt something inside my chest surrender completely.
No one has ever spoken to me like that.
No one has ever looked at me like I'm something soft worth protecting too.
She says she loves this side of me.
The side that breathes.
The side that leans.
The side that doesn't calculate every emotion.
When she said she loved me even before I allowed myself to need her-
I understood something.
She wasn't waiting for me to become strong.
She loved me when I was learning.
"Don't spoil me like this," I told her.
Because if she keeps looking at me like that -
I will forget how to be guarded.
And the terrifying truth?
I don't think I mind anymore.
I rested my forehead against hers again.
"My Hazel," I murmured quietly.
And for once-
I didn't feel like the protector.
I felt cherished.
And that might be more dangerous than love.
He didn't let me move away.
"Stand," he said softly.
Not commanding.
Just certain.
I stood in front of him, and he looked at me like he was memorizing something.
"Today," he murmured, "I dress you."
I tried not to smile too wide.
He walked to the wardrobe and pulled out an outfit that almost matched his - soft tones, coordinated without trying too hard.
The kind of pairing that looks accidental but isn't.
"You planned this?" I asked.
He ignored that.
He helped me slip into the kurta carefully, adjusting the fabric at my shoulders.
His fingers were steady.
Focused.
He knelt again - and this time it wasn't about injury.
He applied a little more ointment to my ankle, gentle as ever.
"You heal properly," he muttered. "No more suffering for fashion."
Then he looked up at me.
"Sit."
I obeyed.
He picked up my brush.
And slowly, patiently, began combing my hair.
Not rushed.
Not messy.
Careful strokes.
Like he had all the time in the world.
"You'll spoil me," I whispered.
"I already am," he replied calmly.
When he finished, he reached for the perfume bottle.
lavender.
My favorite.
He sprayed lightly near my wrist, then paused.
Brought my wrist closer to his face.
Inhaled softly.
His eyes closed for a second.
"Laddaly lavender," he murmured. "Now you smell like morning."
My heart melted.
Then he did something that made my breath catch.
He picked up my hand.
Slid his thumb over my wedding band.
Pressed his lips gently against my ring finger.
Not dramatic.
Not heated.
Just reverent.
"My wife," he said quietly.
The words weren't loud.
But they settled somewhere deep inside me.
He slipped his own ring back into place properly - as if reminding himself too.
When I stood up, fully ready, he adjusted the dupatta once more.
Stepped back.
Looked at me with quiet pride.
"Perfect," he murmured.
I tilted my head.
"Because of the outfit?"
He shook his head faintly.
"Because you're comfortable."
Then he leaned down and kissed my forehead.
"Let's go."
And for the first time-
Getting ready didn't feel like preparing for the world.
It felt like being cherished before facing it.
The moment we walked into the living room, it happened.
Ijza and zara noticed first.
She squinted at us.
Then gasped dramatically.
"Why are you both matching?"
Inaya and Kabir leaned forward. "Oh my God, they ARE."
I froze.
Haris didn't.
He calmly removed his watch and placed it on the table like he was in a board meeting.
"It wasn't intentional," he said smoothly.
I stared at him.
It absolutely was.
Ijza smirked. "So pink shirt and soft floral coordination is coincidence?"
Haris glanced at me briefly.
One look.
One soft, quiet look that only I understood.
"She looks better when she's comfortable," he said simply.
That shut everyone up.
Because that wasn't teasing.
That was truth.
I felt my cheeks warm.
Inaya leaned toward zara and whispered loudly, "couples goals."
Ijza nodded. "No seriously. Who is this man? Haris? Madly in love?"
Haris raised an eyebrow.
"I've always been in love with my wife."
The room went silent again.
He didn't even blink.
My heart nearly exploded.
I nudged him lightly. "You didn't have to announce it."
He leaned slightly closer.
"I don't mind."
......
Car Ride - Later
On the drive to our apartment, it was quieter.
Softer.
He kept stealing glances.
I noticed.
"Eyes on the road," I murmured.
"Road is straight."
I tried not to smile.
He adjusted his grip on the steering wheel.
"You smell like lavender."
"You sprayed it."
"I know."
Silence again.
But not empty.
Full.
Heavy.
Comfortable.
His hand found mine on the center console.
No drama.
Just instinct.
Apartment - Just Us
The door closed behind us.
And suddenly the world felt far away.
No family.
No teasing.
No expectations.
Just quiet.
He removed his shoes.
Then mine.
Without speaking.
We didn't rush.
We didn't perform.
We just... existed in the same space.
I sat on the couch.
He sat beside me.
Too close.
Not close enough.
After a few seconds, he pulled me gently into his chest.
Like it was muscle memory.
We stayed like that.
No phones.
No distractions.
Just breathing.
His chin rested lightly on my head.
"You know what they meant today?" I asked softly.
"Hmm?"
"Who is this man?"
He huffed quietly.
"He's still me."
I tilted my head slightly.
"No. This version... is softer."
His arms tightened slightly.
"You did that."
Silence.
Then he said something low.
Almost to himself.
"Dressing you this morning... felt more intimate than anything else."
I stilled.
He continued.
"Not because of how you looked. But because you let me take care of you."
His fingers traced slow circles against my back.
"That trust... that quiet closeness... it's addictive."
I felt my heart swell.
"You're addicted to me?" I teased gently.
He didn't smile.
"I think I am."
The honesty in his voice made my breath hitch.
"Is that scary?" I asked.
He paused.
Then answered truthfully.
"It used to be."
He leaned down and pressed a slow kiss to my forehead.
"But now... it feels like home."
I melted into him.
And in that quiet apartment -
No teasing.
No dramatic love declarations.
Just a man who once feared needing someone -
Now holding his wife like she was the safest place he'd ever known.
And maybe...
Maybe that's the most dangerous kind of love.
The city was glowing beneath us.
Not loud.
Just distant enough to feel unreal.
He stood beside me, sleeves rolled up, pink shirt slightly creased now from the day. His hair falling a little messier than usual.
He looks the most beautiful when he's not trying.
He rested his forearms on the railing.
Calm.
Composed.
But softer than the world ever sees.
I watched him longer than I meant to.
His profile.
The sharp line of his jaw.
The way his lashes cast faint shadows when he blinked.
"Why are you staring?" he asked without looking at me.
I didn't look away.
"Because you're beautiful."
That made him finally turn.
There's something about his eyes at night.
They look darker.
Not empty.
Deep.
Like they're holding stories they never tell.
"Hazel," he warned gently.
"No," I said softly. "Let me say this."
The wind moved my hair again. He instinctively tucked it behind my ear.
And I spoke before I lost courage.
"Your eyes..."
He stilled.
"They're black," I continued. "But not the kind that scares me."
His expression changed slightly.
"They're the kind that feel like home."
Silence.
"When your eyes meet mine," I whispered, "I forget everything."
My throat tightened.
"I forget my fear. My pride. My doubts."
I stepped closer.
"Since your black became the place my heart rests... I haven't hesitated once."
His breathing slowed.
"You don't understand what your eyes do to me," I admitted. "They look at me like I matter. Like I'm chosen."
My fingers lightly touched his shirt near his chest.
"And when you look at me like that... I love you more."
The words came easier now.
"I love you so much."
The balcony felt smaller suddenly.
Quieter.
He didn't speak immediately.
He just watched me.
And his eyes-
Those eyes-
Softened in a way that almost undid me.
Haris's POV -
She thinks my eyes are strong.
They're not.
They betray me around her.
When she said they feel like home, something inside my chest tightened painfully.
I've never liked my eyes.
Too intense.
Too unreadable.
People always say they look intimidating.
But when she looked at them tonight-
She looked like she found safety.
When she said she forgets everything when I look at her-
I almost looked away.
Because I do the same.
When her eyes meet mine, I forget control.
I forget pride.
I forget the version of myself that always calculates.
All I see is her.
And I don't hesitate either.
I lifted my hand slowly and cupped her face.
"Hazel."
My voice wasn't steady.
"You think my eyes chose you?"
She nodded softly.
I leaned my forehead against hers.
"They did."
My thumb brushed her cheek.
"But yours saved me."
Her breath caught.
"I used to think love makes you weak," I admitted quietly.
"But when you look at me like that..."
I swallowed.
"I feel invincible."
Not because I'm guarded.
Because I'm known.
I kissed her gently.
Not rushed.
Not desperate.
Just certain.
When I pulled back, I murmured softly-
"Don't ever look away from me."
She smiled faintly.
"I don't think I can."
And under the city lights, with nothing dramatic happening-
I realized something dangerous.
If her poetry lives in my eyes-
Then she has no idea she is the only place they ever want to look.
balcony air followed us inside.
Soft. Cool. Lingering.
He lay on his back, one arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling like he was thinking too loudly.
I lay on my side, facing him.
Watching.
Memorizing.
His lashes.
The slow rise and fall of his chest.
The faint crease between his brows that only appears when he's thinking about something he doesn't want to say.
"What are you thinking?" I whispered.
He didn't answer immediately.
Then-
"I'll tell you what I feared most."
My heart stilled.
He turned his head slightly toward me.
"I wasn't afraid you'd leave," he said quietly.
"I was afraid I would love you more."
That made my breath catch.
He continued, voice low.
"I was afraid I'd become the one who needs more. Who waits more. Who feels more."
Silence.
"I've never been the man who waits for a message. Or counts hours. Or loses focus because someone smiled."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"And then you happened."
My chest ached in the softest way.
"I feared losing control of myself," he admitted. "Not losing you."
I moved closer.
"You didn't lose control," I whispered.
He looked at me fully now.
"I surrendered it."
There was no shame in his voice.
Just truth.
His hand found my waist instinctively.
"And the worst part?" he murmured.
"I don't regret it."
I smiled faintly.
"Good."
He brushed his thumb lightly along my side.
"What about you?" he asked.
"What did you fear?"
I swallowed softly.
"That you'd love me quietly."
He frowned slightly.
"I did love you quietly."
"I know," I said gently. "I was scared you'd never say it out loud."
His expression softened.
"I will never love you silently again."
That promise settled deep inside me.
Later
The lights were off now.
Only the faint city glow slipping through the curtains.
He turned onto his side, facing me.
Close enough that our knees touched.
Close enough that I could feel his warmth.
He brushed a strand of hair away from my face.
"You stare a lot," he murmured.
"I like watching you breathe."
He almost smiled.
"That's strange."
"No," I whispered. "It's peaceful."
His breathing slowed gradually.
Steadier.
Softer.
His fingers stayed resting against my waist even as sleep started pulling him under.
He fights sleep sometimes.
Not tonight.
Tonight he let it take him.
Because I was there.
I traced the faint line of his jaw with my eyes.
Admiring the man who once feared loving too much-
Now sleeping like he had nothing left to defend against.
"You're beautiful," I whispered, barely audible.
He didn't respond.
But his arm tightened slightly around me.
Even asleep.
And as I watched his chest rise and fall-
As I memorized the rhythm of the man who calls my heart home-
My own eyes grew heavy.
The last thing I felt before drifting off-
Was his forehead resting gently against mine.
No fear.
No control.
Just two people who chose each other.
And slept like they were safe.
The room was dark.
Only the faint silver of moonlight touching the edge of the curtains.
She was asleep.
Curled slightly toward me.
Her breathing soft.
Even.
Peaceful.
I woke without knowing why.
Maybe instinct.
Maybe habit.
Maybe because my arm felt empty for half a second.
I turned.
She had shifted slightly away in her sleep.
Just inches.
But it felt like distance.
"Hazel..." I murmured softly.
No response.
My sleepy jaan.
Her night dress had slipped slightly at the shoulder, soft fabric catching the moonlight. Her hair scattered across the pillow.
She looked younger when she slept.
Unprotected.
Trusting.
I moved closer instinctively.
Carefully.
Sliding my arm around her waist again.
Pulling her back into my chest.
She made a small sound - not protest.
Just awareness.
Her body relaxed immediately once she felt me.
Like she knew.
Like she always knows.
I buried my face gently near her neck.
Not rushed.
Not hungry.
Just needing.
I pressed the softest kiss against the curve of her neck.
Then her cheek.
Slow.
Unseen by the world.
"Sleep," I whispered against her skin.
She stirred faintly.
"Mmm... Hari..."
Half asleep.
Voice thick with dreams.
My heart clenched.
"I'm here," I murmured.
Her hand moved lazily, finding my shirt, gripping it lightly like she needed proof.
Even in sleep.
I admired her quietly.
The way her lashes rested against her cheeks.
The way her lips parted slightly when she exhaled.
The way she leaned back fully into me without hesitation.
This woman.
This softness.
This trust.
It humbles me.
I brushed my lips once more against her temple.
"My sleepy jaan," I whispered.
She smiled faintly - barely there.
But it was enough to undo me.
I tightened my hold slightly, protective but gentle.
Her warmth against me felt like home.
Not fire.
Not chaos.
Just warmth.
Just belonging.
Her breathing deepened again.
Steady.
Safe.
I stayed awake a little longer.
Listening.
Counting her breaths.
Memorizing the quiet.
Because this-
This is what I was afraid of once.
Needing someone this much.
And now?
I can't imagine sleeping any other way.
Eventually, sleep pulled me back under.
My arm still wrapped around her.
Her back pressed to my chest.
Two heartbeats.
One rhythm.
And under the moonlight-
We slept.
Together.
Safe.
Write a comment ...