• • • Indian Arranged Marriage • • •
~ You're the peace I crave in this chaotic world. ~
He was three, when he held her little finger for the first time. He didn't know, what future held for them. But he did know that he wanted to hold onto this lit...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I groaned pushing my face into the pil—wall? Floor? What did I do last night? Did I--sleep with someone? Please no! Slowly, like the sneaky person I am, I peeled right eye open and looked around—ohhh. Srinagar. Hotel. Fever. The man of my stupid heart, I wanna throw across the room, tie to a chair with a duct tape slapped on his mouth, so he'll fluffing listen to me. I looked down, when I felt myself rising and going down. Nothing biggie, just laying down on mah man chillin'. He'll kill me! Yeah. Nothing biggie my shoe.
I tried to slide down his body--oh oh--someone has their hands on my waist. No biggie. HE HAS HIS HAND ON MY BARE WAIST! BARE. UNDER MY NIGHT SHIRT. How does that even happen in sleep? I am not letting him kill me-- it's his fault he couldn't keep his hand to himself. Not like I climbed the mountain without some help from the mountain. 'We are adults and are fully capable to share a bed, or you're not?' Guess who's not 'capable' of sharing the bed without his hands all over me?
The door knocked pulling me out of my 'let's call someone names' phase. The knocking continued harshly, I had tried to get out of his hold, it's not happening. So I'll let him open the door. I am good person. If he wants to get out of this warm, cozy bed and walk the length of room to open the door-- I'll let him. Be my guest. Please.
He started moving, I put my head softly back on his chest, closing my eyes-- once a good sleeping actor, always a good sleeping actor. I had calmed down my breath to make it seem more believable that I am sleeping but-- his hand started moving around. The one under my hoodie. I bit down on my lower lip to not make a sound. He was still kind of half asleep, I don't know if he had his eyes closed or what. His other hand came to brush away hair strands from my forehead, my heart stopped working. God. Why he had to be so soft when he's faking being so rude? The only reason I am letting him do whatever he's doing is only because I know, I've seen, known-- what real Sahil under this hurt and mean Sahil is. I know all the little things he used to do for me every single day. I know how he used to look at me-- how he still looks at me. I have caught him twice with those eyes. Maybe he didn't realize how he's looking at me or maybe he thought no one's looking. But those two times were enough for me. The fact that this man had all the girls around him, drooling over him like he's piece of steak, and yet, he never went on any dates. He never looked at any girl the way he looked--looks at me.
My best friend may be loyal to her brother, and she doesn't tell me much about him or the time we've been apart. But she did say things that'd mean something to me. She told me, after him and I had our first ever conversation or we could say argument, that he has been as single as a pringle all these years. She also gave me two names who tried to ask him on dates-- guess who wants to die from my clawy hands once I have my arm candy with me?
My bubble of thoughts burst when I felt his hand, that was under my hoodie, come to the back of my head, my heart fluttered when I felt his lips brush my forehead and then gently, he turned us around. I made sure to keep my best sleeping face on. He slowly untangled our bodies and left the bed. He pulled the duvet over me, for extra measures, I moaned lightly and snuggled more into the duvet, once I was settled down-- and the knocking still didn't stop-- his looming shadow walked away.
