Stay

Chapter 40 - My Fiza

Alan's pov

I tried to follow Fiza out, but Farzana hurled herself in front of the door, blocking my way. A red haze of pure frustration blurred my vision. I didn't have time for her games. I shoved past her, my arm clipping her shoulder hard enough to send her stumbling into the wall. I didn't look back. I didn't care if she was okay. There was only one thought in the chaos of my mind: Fiza. My Fiza.

I called her phone but it went straight to voicemail. I ran towards her family's cottage but then I spotted her. She was sitting on a bench in the garden, halfway between our cottages and the dense green of the trees. She looked small, folded in on herself.

I approached slowly, my anger at Farzana cooling into a cold dread. I sat beside her on the bench. She was weeping silently. I carefully put my arm around her, half-expecting her to fling it off. But she didn't. She just leaned into the touch, as if all the fight had been drained out of her.

"Why?" she whispered, the single word soaked in so much pain it made my own eyes burn.

I reached out, cupping her face in my hands, wiping her tears with my thumbs. "How could you ever believe that I would do something like that?" I murmured against her skin. I pressed soft kisses to her wet cheeks, her temples, anywhere I could reach, as if I could kiss the hurt away. "Why is it so easy for you to doubt me?"

She closed her eyes, a quiet sigh escaping her. She was letting me in, letting my words and my touch seep into her. The tension in her body began to soften.

"Princess," I whispered. "There is no one else I want. Just you."

I looked at her face. Her eyes were still closed, but the tears had stopped. "My Fiza," I breathed, claiming her in the only way I knew how.

Then I brushed my lips against hers. It was a question. And she answered. She yielded, her lips parting under mine, and then her hands were around my neck, pulling me closer, deepening the kiss. It was forgiveness and need and a shared, aching loneliness all tangled together.

When we finally broke apart, breathless, I rested my forehead against hers. "You are everything to me," I said.

In that quiet garden, with the scent of damp earth and flowers around us, I held onto her.

My fingers moved softly along the curve of her back, and I felt her tremble at my touch.

Fiza's heart was racing, I could feel it against my own chest. She reciprocated, her fingers stroking the sensitive skin at the nape of my neck. My lips found hers again. It felt right, perfect, in a way that made it impossible to imagine ever going back to just being friends.

I threaded the hem of her shirt with my fingers before caressing her waist. I squeezed gently, and she gasped into my mouth, her lips parting. I slipped my tongue past them, exploring her in a way that had been the subject of so many fevered dreams.