Book 7 of the Mangoverse
What's written in your fate, finds you on its own.
Collection of short stories.
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Connected to my book Hasratein but can be read on it's own.
Check the tags before diving in.
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Eight months. Eight months of dating this bookworm and I've learned things that horrify me to the core. And not to forget I've had to compete with a million men that don't even exist. And they are all so fucking unrealistic and perfect, it's annoying.
I kiss her shoulder and tuck her into my chest. The sheets fall a little lower but she pulls them up, while sniffing her way through the moment. "Come here sweetheart, it'll be okay." She sniffs and cries some more in my chest, her hiccups make an entrance too.
Why is she crying, some might wonder.
Some stupid hero in her book died. I'm sure I am much better than him anyway but who will tell her that? I sure won't. I like my life and existence too much to tell her that.
"Why did he have to die?!" She rubs her face against my chest, smiling slightly before sniffing again. I raise a brow. "What was that?" She shakes her head as much as she can while lying on the bed and tucked under me.
"Those little hair tickle." She buries her face more into my chest and I smile while running my fingers over her bare back. She is adorable when she wants to be. Then she goes on to roast me for the rest of it.
It's morning now, a fresh Sunday morning and I woke up to see her beside me, naked and crying. It was horrifying for a second until I saw the book in her hand. That explained everything.
I sigh, dropping a kiss on top of her head. "Get up now, we have to go to your house and then mine." It's meeting the parents day. Especially since I proposed to her three days ago. It was an absolutely normal Thursday evening and I had taken her for a random dinner and then back home.
"Now why aren't we using your expensive car?"
"Because I love metro." She rolls her eyes in exasperation and amusement before sitting down beside me on the bench while we wait for the train. The station is empty rest for the two of us and a few workers.
I pick her hand up from her lap and rub my thumb over her fingers. She has ridiculously pretty hands. Long fingers, nicely filed nails. It's so pretty, I barely stop playing with her hands. She leans her head down on my shoulder, looking ahead towards the tracks.
She pays me no mind and for once I am glad about it. She has pretty hands, but they miss a ring. She doesn't wear any jewelry and I asked her if it was preference or something else.
She is allergic to fake metals. And affording gold or platinum is not for everyone. That's what she said with a shrug and then turned away.
Fuck that. I'll get her all the gold and platinum or whatever else in the world. I slide down a ring on her finger and she raises her hand up at the sensation.
She stares at the ring I got her. It's a plain platinum band with a circle solitaire diamond in the middle.
