Forever His

Chapter 43: Scars

Mahnoor's POV:

As the soft morning light seeps into the room, I blink slowly, adjusting to the reality around me. I'm nestled in the crook of Shahmeer's arm, his head resting above mine, and it feels almost surreal. The warmth radiating from him envelopes me, a cocoon that pushes away the remnants of the nightmares. His breaths are steady and calm, grounding me, making me feel like I can breathe without fear.

I let my fingers trail over his sculpted abs, the smooth skin warmed by the sunlight. It's a stark contrast to the cold dread I've felt in the past. As I trace the contours of his body, memories of last night flood back—the way he held me tight, like he was my shield against whatever darkness lurked. His actions spoke louder than any words could. And he spoke volumes. I can't help but feel a flutter in my chest.

But as the flutter spreads, it's overshadowed by a wave of regret. I let him see something I've never shared with anyone before. I opened up about the nightmares, about the touch that haunts me, and now I can't shake the feeling of vulnerability. I've always kept my fears locked away, buried deep within me, because every time I've dared to speak up, I was met with indifference. My father taught me early on that my feelings were trivial, that they were something to be dismissed. He treated my emotions like they were flaws, something to be corrected rather than understood.

When my mother died, everything shifted. I was left grappling with grief and loneliness, navigating a world where no one cared to listen. I could count on one hand the number of times someone asked me how I felt or acknowledged my pain. I screamed so loud but no one heard a thing. I've learned to cry in silence, alone in the darkness, feeling the weight of emotions too heavy for anyone else to carry.

But now, here in Shahmeer's arms, something is different. He didn't flinch or pull away when I revealed my fears. Even when I hugged him the day he came to move my stuff. He didn't hug back but he didn't back away. He held me close, unwavering in his presence, and for the first time, I feel the tiniest spark of hope. It's as if a light is beginning to seep into the shadows that have surrounded me for so long. I want to believe that maybe my feelings are worthy, that they matter.

Yet, doubt creeps in. Will he still see me as I am—fragile, scared, unsure? Or will he, like everyone else, become overwhelmed and turn away? I've never allowed anyone to see this side of me. The thought of being dismissed again sends a shudder through me, but just as quickly, I remind myself of the warmth radiating from him, the way he cradles me as if I'm precious to him- I'm probably not.  In the shadows of my past, I've learned to put on a brave face, to be strong and self-reliant, but in this moment, wrapped in the warmth of his presence, I find myself craving something more. I want someone to know my heart, to value it as I've always yearned to be valued. The thought stirs something deep inside, a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, I could be enough for someone after all.

                                                                            _______________

As he heads to the closet, he momentarily forgets his shirt is still off, exposing the scars that crisscross his back. The light from the window casts shadows that deepen the grooves of his past, stories etched into his skin that speak of pain and survival. I catch sight of them, and my breath hitches.

"Shahmeer," I say, unable to mask the shock in my voice. "What's on your back?"

He pauses, turning slightly, and the moment I see the vulnerability in his expression, I realize the gravity of what I've stumbled upon. The scars tell a tale I can only begin to fathom. I'm struck by the realization that these marks hold a history darker than I could have imagined.

His back is a canvas of suffering—some marks are deep, others faded, but all signify battles fought, many lost. I'm horrified and captivated simultaneously. Each scar feels like a testament to the pain he carries, the burdens of a life I know little about.