Whispers of Love

Crimson Affection

As Ishan was engrossed in his stitching, a sudden knock on the door interrupted his concentration. He rose to answer it, and upon opening the door, he was greeted by Shubman’s familiar face. A wide smile spread across Ishan’s lips as he embraced Shubman tightly, his heart lifting at the sight of him.

"Kya baat hai aaj itna pyar?" Shubman teased, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Kyun gale nahi laga sakta kya?" Ishan responded with a playful pout.

"Laga sakte ho, jaan. Khana taiyar hai, aaj bahut bhook lagi hai," Shubman said, his tone affectionate yet slightly impatient.

"Han, taiyar hai. Aaiye," Ishan replied, guiding Shubman to the dining table where they enjoyed a warm, satisfying lunch together.

After the meal, Shubman excused himself to the bathroom to freshen up. Meanwhile, Ishan returned to his bed, intent on finishing his design. As he worked, he heard the sound of Shubman re-entering the room. Shubman stood in front of the dressing table, towel in hand, and his gaze fell upon the small packet lying there.

Curiosity piqued, Shubman opened the packet and discovered the pair of earrings and the bottle of alta. He turned to Ishan, a question in his eyes.

"Jaan," Shubman said, his voice carrying a note of surprise.

"Han," Ishan replied, glancing up from his design with a smile.

"Bazaar Gaye the kya?" Shubman asked, his curiosity growing.

"Han, hame chitra karne ka man nahi kar raha tha isliye," Ishan explained, his voice tinged with a hint of shyness.

"Acha, ye alta kyun laye?" Shubman inquired, noticing the vibrant red bottle.

"Hame lagana hai par kaise lagaye," Ishan said with a wistful pout, his eyes reflecting a blend of longing and uncertainty.

"Main laga dun," Shubman offered, his tone gentle and reassuring.

"Aap laga doge?" Ishan asked, his expression brightening at the prospect.

"Han, laga dunga," Shubman confirmed with a tender smile, his eyes meeting Ishan’s with a promise of care and affection.

Ishan’s face lit up with a warm, appreciative smile. “Sach mein? Bahut accha,” he said, his voice soft with gratitude. He set aside his sewing and moved closer to Shubman, eager for the special moment they were about to share.

Shubman took the bottle of alta and carefully poured a small amount onto a piece of cotton. He then sat on the edge of the bed, motioning for Ishan to sit beside him. As Ishan settled next to him, Shubman’s touch was gentle but firm, his fingers deftly applying the crimson dye to Ishan’s hands.

The room was filled with a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the soft rustle of fabric and the occasional murmur of Shubman guiding Ishan through the process. The alta’s rich, red hue slowly traced intricate patterns on Ishan’s skin, each stroke a testament to Shubman’s meticulous care.

Ishan glanced at Shubman with a look of contentment. “Aapke haathon se laga to aur bhi accha lag raha hai,” he said, his voice full of warmth.

Shubman looked up, his eyes meeting Ishan’s with a soft smile. “Aapke liye kuch bhi,” he said, his tone tender and filled with affection. “Abhi to bas haathon ka kaam hua hai, baaki bhi to dekhna hai.”

With a playful glint in his eyes, Shubman took Ishan’s feet gently into his lap. He repeated the process, carefully applying alta to Ishan’s feet. The room’s soft lighting cast a warm glow over the scene, highlighting the intimate and affectionate exchange between the two.

As Shubman finished, he looked up at Ishan, his eyes reflecting a deep sense of satisfaction. “Sab ho gaya,” he said, his voice a soft murmur of accomplishment.

Ishan’s face glowed with happiness as he admired the intricate patterns now adorning his hands and feet. “Bahut accha lag raha hai,” he said, leaning in to rest his head on Shubman’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

Shubman wrapped his arm around Ishan, pulling him close. “Koi baat nahi, jaan. Main hamesha yahan hoon tumhare saath,” he said, his voice a soothing balm.

They sat there for a while, enjoying the peaceful intimacy of the moment. The gentle touch of alta on Ishan’s skin was a beautiful reminder of their shared affection, a symbol of the love and care that bound them together.

Ishan lay on the bed, his hands and feet adorned with the vibrant alta, and giggled with the giddy excitement of a teenager. His eyes sparkled as he admired the intricate designs, a playful joy lighting up his face. Shubman watched him with a tender gaze, his heart swelling with love at the sight of Ishan’s happiness.

“Par ye toh jaldi hi nikal jayega,” Ishan said with a pout, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness.

“Koi baat nahi, jaise hi niklega main ek baar aur laga dunga,” Shubman reassured him, his voice gentle and comforting. The promise in his words made Ishan’s smile widen, his eyes shining with affection.

Shubman then settled onto the bed, patting the space beside him. “Chalo, abhi thoda let jao,” he said, his tone inviting.

Ishan shifted closer, resting his head on Shubman’s chest. The steady rhythm of Shubman’s heartbeat was a soothing lullaby, a reassuring reminder of his presence. As Ishan listened to the comforting thrum of his heartbeat, a deep sense of peace washed over him. He snuggled closer, feeling Shubman’s warmth envelop him.

They lay there in comfortable silence, the quiet of the evening broken only by the soft sounds of their breathing. Ishan’s giggles had faded into a serene smile, and Shubman’s hand gently stroked his hair, his touch tender and loving.

As the evening shadows lengthened, Ishan found himself immersed in his painting room, diligently working on a portrait of his husband, Shubman. The studio was a sanctuary of creativity, yet one Shubman had never been invited into, a fact that had only deepened Ishan’s focus and secrecy.

Shubman, meanwhile, was in his study, preparing questions for the following day's test. The rhythmic scratch of his pen against paper filled the quiet room, creating a stark contrast to the vibrant energy of Ishan’s artistic endeavor.

Hours passed, and Ishan, growing weary, decided to take a break. As he washed his hands, he noticed with dismay that much of the alta he had applied earlier had washed away, leaving his fingers and feet devoid of the crimson hue he had so carefully applied. Pouting slightly, he contemplated his next move.

Determined to restore the lost color, Ishan retrieved a mehendi cone from their bedroom. With a playful determination, he made his way to Shubman’s study, the soft rustle of the mehendi cone in his hand signaling his intent.

Entering the study, Ishan found Shubman deeply engrossed in his work, his focus unwavering. Undeterred, Ishan approached him with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Without hesitation, he climbed onto Shubman’s lap, a move that was met with a gentle acceptance from Shubman, who simply looked up from his papers with a curious smile.

Ishan began to play with the buttons on Shubman’s shirt, his pout deepening as he sought his husband’s attention.

“Kya hua, jaan?” Shubman asked, his voice warm and concerned.

“Alta hat gaya, mehendi laga dijiye,” Ishan replied, his pout morphing into a pleading smile.

Shubman’s eyes softened with affection, and he took the mehendi cone from Ishan’s hand. “Theek hai,” he said, guiding Ishan to the nearby couch.

They settled comfortably, with Shubman carefully applying the mehendi to Ishan’s hands. The gentle touch of the mehendi cone, combined with Shubman’s focused attention, created an intimate, soothing moment. Ishan watched with a smile, the warmth of Shubman’s care filling him with contentment.

As the mehendi took shape, their laughter and quiet conversation wove through the evening, the simple act of applying mehendi becoming a cherished part of their shared routine.

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