𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐥 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

23. Her Pain

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Mashal's POV:

I tried to steady my breathing as I felt Hassan's warmth all around me, my heart racing from the intensity of his touch. His lips had just left mine, but the memory of that kiss lingered, leaving me flushed and flustered. I could still feel the heat from where his fingers had brushed my skin. Ya Allah, what has this man done to me?

Gathering my courage, I decided to break the silence. "So, Mr. Husband," I said shyly, my voice barely above a whisper, "agar aapka kiss karna ho gaya ho, toh... kya aap bol sakte hai ke mai kaisi lag rahi hoon?"

(Translation: "If you're done with your kissing, then... can you tell me how I look?")

His eyes darkened, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He leaned in closer, his voice a teasing whisper that made my heart flutter all over again. "Begum," he said slowly, his tone dripping with playful mischief, "agar mai aapko bata diya, toh aap itni sharmaengi ki aapke chehre ka rang gulabi se laal ho jayega."

(Translation: "If I tell you, you'll get so shy that your face will turn from pink to red.")

My breath hitched at his words. I knew he was teasing me, and yet, the way he said it made my heart skip a beat. Before I could muster a response, he added with a smirk, "Lekin agar aap phir bhi sunna chahti hai... you look like something that could make even the stars jealous."

(Translation: "But if you still want to hear it... you look like something that could make even the stars jealous.")

He was gently running his hands through my hair, kissing the top of my head softly. "Begum," he whispered, his voice low and tender. "Tell me, what do you dream of?"

I hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to say it. But then again, he was my husband—my Hassan. I gathered my courage, my voice barely above a whisper. "You've already fulfilled most of my wishes... but there is one thing," I said, my heart beating faster. "I really wish for my very own art gallery, but without anyone's help. I want to build it with my own hands, piece by piece. That's my dream."

Hassan listened intently, his eyes never leaving mine, as though he was absorbing every word I said. "And... I've always wanted to visit every holy mosque... to see the Kaaba, and Medina, and all those sacred places... with you by my side," I added shyly, my voice softening.

He smiled warmly, his hand still brushing through my hair. "Insha'Allah, my begum, we will do all of that. Together," he said, his voice filled with quiet certainty.

"And I will tell you about my fantasies when the time is right," I said with a giggle.

"Nahi, begum, aisa mat kariye, please. Aapne vada kiya tha ke aap mujhe batayengi." he pouted, looking at me with such innocence that I almost had the urge to kiss him on the spot. But I resisted, keeping my composure. Instead, I carefully moved him aside and stood up.

(Translation: "No, my love, don't do this, please. You promised me that you would tell me.")

"You know, Hassan, I've always wanted to wear a saree after marriage," I said, but I didn't hear his response.

Suddenly, I felt a hand creeping around my waist, making its way to my stomach. Before I could react, he turned me around and buried his face near my stomach, his warm breath tickling me. I giggled loudly, squirming at the unexpected sensation.

"Hassan!" I exclaimed between my laughter, trying to catch my breath. "Stop, you're tickling me!"

But he only tightened his hold, his playful smirk telling me he had no intention of stopping anytime soon.