[Sequel of Warm Love, hence can't be read as a standalone.]
In the first phase, Reyansh concealed a web of mysteries, but as they stand face to face once more, it's Kiraz who holds the tantalizing secrets waiting to be unveiled. These hidden truths...
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What if you fall in love with a dark flawed character?
I trail my finger over the glass, a poor attempt to feel the burning impact of their meaning on my skin. Probably, my soul. To bring the leftover remnant of connectivity, it could offer to ease down the ribbon of pain wrapping around my lungs. A smile of mock, tugs the edge of my lips.
You, falling in love with a hero is not a big deal. Destined, the bad writer's likeness.
Villain, falling in love with you is part of the story. Demanded, and made it look like the most natural thing. The broken, jealous, wounded character can offer.
But then again, what if your heart pounds for the remorse villain instead of the hero? What a tragedy that would be. A story of tragedy, a tale of a monster and his lady. Falling in love with a villain, not a misunderstood character but indeed a man who wears sins like his gloves. Loving is hard. It has always been.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" a voice behind my back has me turn my head towards its source. Kavya, I assume that is what her name is, stands beside me, her eyes fixed on the photo frame hung on the wall. I follow my eyes back to their original position, tracing them over the inscribed words glinting on the paper, caged behind the glass, as though it were a bird. Fear of them flying away and losing them in the cold, endless universe for eternity.
I don't feel the need to answer her. The petite woman standing beside me shifts on her legs, periodically tucking the unruly black strands behind her ears. Her posture is stiff, hands clasped behind her back, yet she is not a sweating mess, not at least like her brother, who happens to wear an all-time horror-grappled face, having to be reminded to breathe if he doesn't want to suffer from a stroke.
"Wanna know who wrote this?" Kavya tips her chin towards me, asking me the most obvious question. She wiggles her brows in anticipation. She is annoying, holding a child-like excitement.
"Kiraz," I reply, ending it, hoping she picks up the hint from my lack of interest in indulging with words with her and leaves me the hell alone. All I desire is sleep and silence. The chaos of thoughts has announced a mayhem on me, the same thoughts repeating like a cycle. My mother fucking rejected me. Haven't I forgotten the grudges I held all my life, like my dear breath? Held her hand to know even if her husband was taken, I was there--
"Bingo!" the sound of claps brings me back from my drifting thoughts. "How do you know?" She blinks her eyelids at me. I turn my head towards her, unwillingly tearing my gaze from the décor to face the five-foot girl, shooting her a glare. Do people love to test my patience?
Is the, Leave me alone!, expression not visible on my face, or is she that good at feigning ignorance? I try to intimidate her, narrowing my eyes more firmly to shoo her off. She shrinks in her place but doesn't do the needful of leaving me the fuck alone.
