Forever His

Chapter 48: Distanced

Mahnoor's POV:

Since we've returned, something feels... different.

It's subtle, barely there, but it's enough that I can feel it. Shahmeer's been pulling away, as though he's built some invisible wall between us, one I don't understand and can't seem to cross. Before, he'd been right there. He'd laughed a little in the rain, stood beside me at the beach, driven all night to make sure I slept. He held me through the worst of my nightmares. And now? Now, I can barely feel him at all.

It started the moment we got back, with him barely glancing my way, his expression reserved, his words clipped and efficient. At first, I thought maybe he was just tired or distracted. But as the time has gone by, it's grown—a gap between us that wasn't there before, growing wider every time I try to reach out, only for him to take a step back.

And I keep replaying things in my mind, wondering what went wrong. He'd been fine before. Even if he was guarded and sometimes hard to read, there was still something there, something that gave me hope that I was finally breaking through those walls of his. I remember how he stood next to me in the rain, his dark hair slicked back, the water dripping down his face while he let me tug him into those moments, even against his better judgment. For the first time, he seemed present, with me. And now, as if some switch has been flipped, he's distant, slipping away.

My mind spirals, trying to figure out what I might have done to push him away, and it's exhausting. I tell myself I'm just being paranoid, that maybe it's all in my head, but each time he's in the room, I feel that tension, the strange silence that wasn't there before. I feel like I'm clinging to something fragile, something I've somehow shattered without even realizing.

I can't shake the feeling that I've done something wrong—that I'm too much, the way my father always said. Too much for anyone to care about for long, with all my overthinking and my feelings, and all my hopelessly naive dreams about love. I'd thought maybe... maybe it would be different this time. But it's like I'm right back where I was before, telling myself to be smaller, quieter, less noticeable, so he doesn't have a reason to pull away even further.

Sitting in the guest room, I stare at the chair, where he was sitting this morning . Even if he wasn't warm and open, he'd been there, just a little closer, sharing the same air, speaking to me, sometimes even looking at me as though he wanted to understand me. Now, that side of the room feels empty. And he spends most of his time in the study of the villa after we come back, the door closed firmly behind him. I hear it latch shut every night, the sound echoing in the silence, leaving me feeling more alone than I ever have before.

In my father's words, I hear an echo: You can't hold onto people, Mahnoor. They don't want all that from you.

And each time I think I'm getting past it, I find myself right back here, wondering if he was right. Maybe I was naive to think someone like Shahmeer could ever want me in that way. He's cold, composed, with walls so thick I've barely chipped the surface. Maybe my father was right—that I'm asking too much by even hoping he might care.

I let myself believe it for a moment, let myself hope he might care even a little. I'd let those butterflies in my chest, those strange twists in my heart, fool me. All this time, it was love blooming, silently building in me without my permission, and it's terrifying. And I'm certain now that it's hopeless—that I'll have to live with these feelings on my own, loving someone who will never, could never, love me back.

The door creaks, and I look up just as Shahmeer walks in. He pauses, his gaze unreadable as he glances in my direction, his face a careful mask. I can feel the tension between us, stretching tighter, and my heart sinks, my voice sticking in my throat.