Getting Over Him

Waking up

Pat's P.O.V: 

As we lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, basking in the gentle morning light, the tranquility is momentarily interrupted by the persistent ringing of a phone. I feel Pran's body stir, a subtle shift in his posture, as he begins to awaken from his peaceful slumber.

Reluctantly, I release my grip on him, allowing him the freedom to reach for his phone. I watch as he fumbles for it, his brows furrowing slightly in confusion. With a drowsy voice, he answers the call, still in that hazy space between dreams and reality.

I listen attentively, unable to hear the words on the other end of the line, but witnessing the gradual change in his expression. His features shift from grogginess to concern, and my heart clenches, hoping that it's nothing too serious.

As the conversation unfolds, his gaze meets mine, silently conveying his need to attend to whatever urgent matter awaits him. I nod understandingly, offering reassurance and support.

He murmurs a few more words into the phone, his voice laced with a mixture of determination and a hint of disappointment. I reach out, gently cupping his cheek, a gesture of encouragement, reminding him that I'll be here waiting for him.

With a resigned sigh, he hangs up the phone and turns towards me, a mixture of regret and apology in his eyes. He's torn between the outside world's demands and the comfort we've found in each other's arms.

I offer a warm smile, assuring him that I understand. Life has its obligations, its unexpected twists and turns. We know each others' struggles better than anyone else, and I can only guess that the one who put such a sour look on his face to be none other than his dad. And in this moment, I want nothing more than to support him, to be his pillar of strength. 

I know exactly just how much he will be needing it...

As he rises from the bed, I hold his gaze, silently conveying my unwavering belief in him. I see the flicker of determination in his eyes, a reminder of his resilience and unwavering spirit.

I reach out, my hand grazing his as he stands by the edge of the bed. Our fingers intertwine for a brief moment, a silent exchange of love and encouragement. And then he's gone. 

As I lie alone in bed, my hand instinctively reaches out, searching for the presence that once occupied this space beside me. I yearn to feel the warmth of his body, the touch of his skin against mine, but all I find is an empty expanse. Even though we spent all night together and woke up in each others' embrace... 

I guess I'm really greedy for Pran. 

My fingers graze the cool sheets, and a pang of longing courses through me. The bed feels vast and cavernous without him, a stark reminder of his absence. I close my eyes, attempting to summon his essence, to imagine his familiar scent lingering in the air. 

I know he'll come back, and that I can see him again- but it's just that after having gone my whole life without knowing his touch, the feel of his sking, his slightly softer lips than mine, or what it feels to be able to kiss those dimples... 

I recall the sensation of his touch, the way his fingertips would dance along my skin, leaving trails of electric desire in their wake. Each caress was an exquisite symphony of affection and tenderness, a language we spoke without words. 

I just don't think I'll ever be able to live without him anymore. Not after I've had a taste of him already.