Forever His

Chapter 52: Sleepless nights

Mahnoor's POV:

After the longest shower of my life, I step out of the bathroom wrapped in a soft towel. The mirror is fogged, the air heavy with the scent of lavender soap. My mind is still racing—about him, about the dinner, about everything that's been gnawing at me since we got here. I try to push it all away, but the weight of it is exhausting.

When I step out, he's already in the room, standing near the window, his back to me. He's changed into a plain black t-shirt and grey sweatpants. The casualness of it feels so out of place after the day we've had.

He turns when he hears me, and I freeze as he walks toward the bed, nonchalantly pulling the comforter back on his side.

"What do you think you're doing?" I snap, clutching the towel in my hands like it's a shield.

He looks at me, utterly unbothered, and says, "Sleeping. What does it look like?"

"Not here you're not," I snap. "Take the couch or the floor, I don't care."

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose like I'm the unreasonable one. "I'm not sleeping on the couch."

"Then get another room—"

"I'm not leaving you alone," he interrupts, his voice calm but firm. "After tonight's little adventure, someone needs to make sure you don't escape again."

The nerve. My fists clench at my sides. "Oh, so you're scared I'm going to run away and leave you looking like a fool?"

He smirks faintly, the most maddening expression on his face. "You wouldn't make it to the airport, but nice try. And trust me, if anyone looks like a fool in this arrangement, it isn't me."

My chest tightens with fury. "Why don't you just handcuff me to the bed while you're at it?"

The words fly out before I can stop them, and for a split second, I see the glint of mischief in his eyes. "Don't tempt me, sweetheart."

I groan, throwing my hands up in exasperation. "You're impossible."

"And you're exhausting," he says smoothly, sliding onto the bed like he owns the place. He props a pillow under his head and stretches out, one arm resting behind his head.

I glare at him, incredulous. "You can't seriously think I'm okay with this."

"You don't have to be," he replies, closing his eyes like I'm not even worth the energy it takes to argue. "Goodnight, sweetheart."

I stare at him, mouth open, too stunned to speak for a moment. Is this some kind of joke? I stand there, arms crossed, watching him get comfortable like he hasn't turned my life upside down.

"Unbelievable," I mutter, yanking the blanket on my side of the bed. I lie down as far away from him as possible, stiff as a board. The bed feels too small, the room too quiet except for the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Minutes pass, and I can't help but toss and turn. My mind won't stop racing. I keep replaying his words, his smirk, the way he looked so... calm. How is he even capable of sleeping after everything that's happened?

"Shahmeer," I whisper, testing the waters.

No response.

"Shahmeer," I say again, louder this time.

Still nothing. His breathing is even, deep. The jerk is actually asleep.

My blood boils. "Of course," I mumble under my breath, turning to face the ceiling. "Of course he sleeps like a baby while I can't even close my eyes."