Nandini Verma was 18 when she penned her first story, a tale of passion, betrayal, and revenge. It was a masterpiece, poised for publication. But on the night she was to share her brilliance with the world, tragedy struck. Her abusive father, a figu...
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The next two days passed with a strange sense of restlessness settling in my chest. Nandini had insisted on taking a short break from everything-work, our budding relationship, and even me. She needed some time to herself, she had said, to unwind and recharge. While I respected her need for space, it didn't stop the quiet frustration that gnawed at me. The idea of her spending her days alone, without me by her side, made me uneasy. But the moment I heard her voice, all that frustration melted away.
We spent those two days talking over the phone, her voice a soothing balm to the anxiety that had begun to build within me. She was playful, teasing me about the most mundane things, and yet she still called me "Mr. Singhania." I noticed that she never used my first name, and though it pricked at me slightly, I told myself it was okay. She could take her time.
During one of our conversations, she mentioned she had kept the flower bands from our date on her shelf. That small detail brought a smile to my face, knowing she had kept something so trivial, yet so meaningful, as a memory of our time together. My smile widened when I saw that she had posted a photo on Instagram, one where the flower bands were clearly visible in the background. Nandini had millions of followers, and the comments quickly flooded in. Many were asking if she was dating anyone, and some even began to ship us together, the rumors fueled by the recent news of our companies working together.
It amused me to see how quickly people jumped to conclusions. But as much as I wanted to respond to each of them, to let the world know that she was mine, I refrained. It wasn't the right time, and I didn't want to pressure her.
The first day of her break was spent wandering through various bookstores across the city, her favorite pastime. She had an insatiable love for books, and the thought of her quietly perusing the shelves, lost in the worlds within those pages, brought a sense of peace to me. On the second day, she spent the entire day with her close friend Nitu at her home. While I understood her need for these small pleasures, it didn't make the time away from her any easier.
That night, after Nitu had left, I found myself unable to resist the pull any longer. The darkness of the night wrapped around me as I made my way to her apartment, using my powers to reach her balcony undetected. My abilities allowed me to manipulate shadows, the black and red mist that surrounded me concealing my presence as I slipped into her space like a silent wraith.
I stood on the edge of her balcony, the cool night air brushing against my skin as I watched her through the glass doors. Nandini was fast asleep, her small form curled up beneath a soft blanket. The sight of her, so peaceful and vulnerable in her slumber, sent a wave of warmth through me. There was something almost sacred about watching her sleep, something that made me feel both protective and possessive at the same time.
I couldn't resist the urge to be closer, to interact with her even in this subtle way. With a gentle wave of my hand, the mist coalesced into the form of a delicate black feather. The mist curled around the feather, almost as if caressing it, before I sent it drifting towards her face. The feather landed lightly on her cheek, tickling her skin, and she stirred, her brow furrowing slightly as she shifted in her sleep.
