GUYS INAYAT IS MY FIRST BOOK AND YOU WILL ENCOUNTER SO MANY MISTAKES IN THE BOOK PLEASE IGNORE THEM.. THIS BOOK NEEDS HUGE EDITING... PLEASE FORGIVE THIS AUTHOR FOR THE MISTAKES YOU WILL ENCOUNTER AND SOME ILLOGICAL THINGS ALSO.
Inayat, a 25-year-o...
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VEER POV: -
I sit in my room, laptop open, but my mind wanders. Winning back Inayat's love has become my sole mission—to reignite the spark that once danced in her eyes. The day she confessed her feelings had faded, my world fractured. Yet, I clung to hope, tried every avenue, but she remained closed off. Whatever turmoil consumes her, it gnaws at her from within.
Her old dance videos haunt me. The comments—why no new posts?—echo my own frustration. I ache to ease her pain, yet I'm powerless. Guilt wraps around my heart; I know I'm the architect of her suffering.
A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts. I set my laptop aside and open the door. The sight that greets me leaves me speechless. Inayat is standing there, leaning on a cane. "Surprise," she says, reaching up to wipe away a tear that I hadn't even realized had escaped. "Inayat," I whisper, and she nods. I pull her into a tight hug, careful not to hurt her, and she hugs me back. "I'm so happy," I say, kissing her hair as she nods against my chest.
With the support of my arm and her cane, Inayat walks into the room. "When?" I ask, still in disbelief. "A week ago," she replies. "Why didn't you tell me?" I ask, trying to keep the hurt out of my voice. She gives me a choice between a truth and a lie, and I choose the lie.
"I wanted to surprise everyone," she says, and I raise an eyebrow. "If that's a lie, then what's the truth?" I ask. Her response leaves me speechless. "Well, the truth is that I like it when you carry me, so I didn't tell you so I could enjoy being carried by you everywhere."
"Oh really? If that's the reason, I could still carry you everywhere, even if you can walk," I say, lifting her up in my arms and spinning her around. Her laughter fills the room, and I can't help but join in.
I set her down, still holding her waist, and look into her eyes. "I'm so happy," I say, and she smiles. But it's a different kind of smile, one that I haven't seen before. And then she says the words I've been longing to hear.
Inayat's words hang in the air, a delicate promise woven with vulnerability. Her smile—different, yet achingly sincere—holds a universe of emotions. "I love you," she repeats, and my heart somersaults. The weight of her confession settles on my chest, both a blessing and a reckoning.
"I don't think I can do anything; the feeling won't change," she continues, her gaze unwavering. "I tried to get away from you, to distance myself. But no matter how much I try, I always end up with you." Her honesty pierces through my defenses. Fate, like an insistent puppeteer, has entwined our lives.
