I'm sure you've heard a lot about unrequited love, but what if I say there exists an unwilling love, hidden somewhere between the echoes of silence and the whispers of the heart's secrets? A love that fights to stay buried, yet yearns to be discover...
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๑ 🥀 ๑
Gasping for air, she shot up from the bed, her chest heaving as if she'd been drowning in her dreams. Reality and illusion blurred into one, both haunting her with equal intensity.
The room was bathed in soft daylight, the pale yellow curtains doing little to temper the sun's rays.
She squinted, her vision adjusting to the brightness as she turned toward the wall clock.
Two hours.
That's all she'd managed to sleep, though it was a miracle she'd slept at all. Fatigue must have wrestled her into submission-the kind that comes from long hours of travel, or maybe it was the bed, far too soft, too unfamiliar, too comfortable for her guarded soul.
Her room was sparse, almost cold in its simplicity. A bed, a dresser, a cupboard-bare essentials and nothing more. Her bags were left exactly where Amaan had placed them the night before, and she hadn't so much as unzipped them. She hadn't cared to. The air felt stagnant, her mind too preoccupied with questions about his plans and her place in them.
Amaan. The name alone drew her out of her haze. She rose quickly, washing up and pulling herself together. She thought he might still be sprawled on the couch where she'd left him, and the thought tugged at her in a way she didn't care to name.
As she stepped out of the bedroom, the brightness of the hall greeted her. The curtains had been pulled wide, letting in beams of sunlight that felt intrusive. But the couch was empty, pillows slightly askew as if someone had just vacated the space.
"Lucy," his voice called, deep and laced with ease, from the direction of the balcony. She froze, her ears perking at the unfamiliar name.
The sound of his chuckle followed, low and unrestrained. "Alright, I missed you too."
Her brows furrowed, confusion laced with something sharper, something jagged. Lucy? And who was he laughing with? The walls felt suddenly smaller, her pulse a rapid thrum in her ears. Was there someone else in the house? A woman, no less?
The thought was ridiculous. Absurd. But it wouldn't leave her. She'd known Amaan for so long, had seen every shade of him-or so she'd thought. But this side, playful and intimate, was foreign. And, for reasons she didn't want to admit, it burned.
Her thoughts spiralled until the sliding glass door to the balcony opened, and there he was, stepping inside. Amaan limped slightly, his injured foot slowing his movements, and in one hand, he carried a small packet.
His sharp gaze landed on her, and his brow quirked in acknowledgement. "You're up," he remarked, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
She didn't respond, still too caught up in the sight of him. He was freshly showered, his blonde hair damp, heavy and curling at the edges. A black jacket hung loosely over a white tee, paired with black joggers that clung comfortably to his frame.
