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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I held her close, my heart still racing from the intensity of our confrontation. Nandini was nestled in my lap, her head resting against my chest as I played with the soft strands of her hair. The scent of lavender surrounded us, calming the storm that had been raging inside me for the past week. I could feel her heartbeat gradually slowing down, matching the steady rhythm of mine as she began to speak.
“I needed time, Yash,” she whispered, her voice soft and slightly trembling. “Mafia life… it’s not just some fantasy. It’s real, and it’s terrifying. I was scared. Not just for myself, but for you too.”
Her words resonated with me, pulling at something deep within. I continued to run my fingers through her hair, the repetitive motion grounding me, soothing both of us. “I understand that,” I replied, my voice low and sincere. “But I need you to know that nothing can change how I feel about you. Nothing.”
“I know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I had to be sure, Yash. I had to be certain that I could handle it… handle you… us.”
Her vulnerability struck a chord in me. I had been so consumed by my own possessiveness and fear of losing her that I hadn’t fully considered what she might be going through. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t come to me with this,” I said, brushing my lips against her forehead. “I’ve been so focused on keeping you close that I didn’t give you the space you needed to process everything.”
She lifted her head slightly, meeting my gaze. “I’m here now,” she murmured, her eyes filled with a mixture of apology and reassurance. “I’m ready to face this with you, Yash. I just needed to get there on my own.”
I tightened my arms around her, holding her as if she were the most precious thing in the world—because she was. “You’re not alone in this, little Swan ,” I said softly. “You never have to be.”
She smiled up at me, a small, tender smile that sent warmth spreading through my chest. “I know,” she said, leaning up to kiss me gently, her lips soft against mine. “Thank you for understanding.”
I deepened the kiss, pouring every ounce of love and need I felt for her into it. She responded, her fingers threading through my hair as she shifted in my lap, pressing closer. The connection between us was electric, a palpable energy that hummed in the air around us.
After a few moments, she pulled back, her cheeks flushed, her breathing uneven. “I should make us something to eat,” she said, her voice a bit breathless.
I nodded, though I was reluctant to let her go. “Alright,” I agreed, running my thumb along her cheek. “But I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
She laughed softly, a sound that was music to my ears. “I don’t think I could get away even if I wanted to,” she teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Damn right,” I said with a smirk, watching as she slid off my lap and headed toward the kitchen.
I followed her, leaning against the counter as she began to gather ingredients for dinner. There was something incredibly domestic, incredibly right, about watching her move around the kitchen, her movements graceful and familiar. It was as if this was how it was always meant to be—just the two of us, together.
