UNWILLINGLY HIS

The lines we draw

*Samaira's pov*

The morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. I stir slowly, my eyes heavy with the remnants of exhaustion. As I sit up, memories of the night come flooding back. The darkness. The fear. And then... him.

I glance toward the couch where Advait is sprawled, his arm draped over his eyes as if shielding himself from the world. The sight makes my chest tighten in ways I refuse to name. He stayed with me. Despite everything, despite who he is, he stayed.

The thought doesn't sit well with me. It's too raw, too vulnerable. I'm not the type to need someone-especially not him.

Pulling the blanket tighter around myself, I quietly step off the bed. My feet sink into the soft rug as I make my way to the adjoining bathroom. A splash of cold water on my face helps, but it doesn't erase the lingering feeling of his arms around me, the way his voice sounded in the dark. I stare at my reflection, trying to summon the sharpness I've always used to shield myself.

"You're not the lead in some over-the-top drama," I mutter to my reflection, shaking my head. "Get it together, Samaira."

When I step back into the room, Advait is awake. He's sitting up on the couch, his hair slightly disheveled, his shirt wrinkled. He looks at me, and for a fleeting moment, there's something in his eyes-concern? Relief? I don't know. I don't want to know.

"You're awake," he says, his voice still rough with sleep.

I nod, crossing my arms over my chest, my defenses snapping back into place. "And you're still here," I reply, keeping my tone neutral.

His brow furrows, and he stands, closing the distance between us in a few long strides. "Samaira, are you okay? Last night..."

I hold up a hand to stop him. "I remember," I say, my voice steady but distant. "And... thank you. For staying. For-" I hesitate, the words catching in my throat. "For everything."

His lips twitch into the faintest of smiles, and I see the smugness creeping into his expression. I know that look all too well.

"Don't flatter yourself," I add quickly, narrowing my eyes at him. "This doesn't mean I've forgotten who you are or what you've done. For one night, maybe I needed you. But that doesn't erase the past."

The smile fades, replaced by something heavier. He steps back, giving me space, and for a moment, I see the man behind the mask. The man who broke me.

"I'm not asking you to forget," he says quietly, his voice unusually soft. "I just-" He cuts himself off, shaking his head as if deciding against finishing the thought.

I don't let him. "Good," I say, crossing my arms again. "Because I can't. And I won't."

He nods, his jaw tightening, and for a moment, the room is filled with silence.

But as I look at him, standing there in the soft morning light, something shifts. I hate that I feel it, hate that I'm even entertaining the idea of letting him in. And yet, a part of me-the part that remembers the way he held me, the way he didn't leave-can't deny the pull.

I push the thought aside, burying it beneath layers of hurt and defiance.

"I may have leaned on you last night," I say, breaking the silence. "But don't think for a second that this changes anything. You're still..." I trail off, my words failing me.

He raises an eyebrow, waiting for me to finish.

I huff, throwing my hands in the air. "You're still you, okay? And that's not exactly a compliment."

He chuckles softly, the sound low and surprisingly warm. "Noted," he says, his lips quirking into a small smile.

I glare at him, though the fire behind it feels half-hearted. "I'm serious, Advait. One moment of kindness doesn't rewrite history. It doesn't change who you are or what you've done."

He nods again, his expression unreadable. "I know," he says simply.

The simplicity of his response catches me off guard. There's no argument, no smug retort, just quiet acknowledgment.

And for a moment, I feel unsteady. Like the ground beneath me is shifting, and I don't know how to keep my balance.

I turn away from him, focusing on the view outside the window. The world looks peaceful in the morning light, a stark contrast to the chaos of last night.

"I don't need saving," I say softly, more to myself than to him.

"I know," he replies, his voice just as soft.

I glance over my shoulder, meeting his gaze. For a moment, we just look at each other, the silence between us heavy with unspoken words.

"I hate this," I mutter, turning back to the window.

"Hate what?" he asks, his tone genuinely curious.

"This... this situation," I say, gesturing vaguely. "You. Me. Everything."

I hear him chuckle again, and it takes everything in me not to turn around and snap at him.

"Glad to know I'm not alone in that," he says, his voice tinged with amusement.

I roll my eyes, finally turning to face him. "You're impossible, you know that?"

He shrugs, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. "So I've been told."

I sigh, shaking my head. "You're not making this any easier."

"I didn't realize I was supposed to," he says, his tone light but not mocking.

I glare at him again, though it feels more like habit than genuine anger. "You're infuriating."

"And you're stubborn," he counters, his smile widening slightly.

We fall into a strange silence, the tension between us shifting into something lighter, though no less complicated.

I don't know what to make of him, of us, of this moment. But for now, I don't need to.

Here’s the revised ending with your lines included:

“Like I said,” I mutter under my breath, turning away from him again, “I’m starting to sound like the drama lead in that movie.”

“What movie?” he asks, genuinely curious.

I wave him off. “Doesn’t matter. Just… stay out of my way.”

“Noted,” he says again, though there’s a hint of amusement in his tone.

As I start to leave, Advait moves toward the door, pausing only briefly to glance back at me. “Breakfast is waiting downstairs. Freshen up and join me. And if you want me to babysit you, then it’s all fine with me,” he says with a sarcastic smile before walking out of the room.

The audacity of this person. I think to myself, fists clenching slightly as I glare at the closed door. Babysit? Really? Who does he think he is?

I let out an irritated sigh, shaking my head before turning to glance at the clock on my bedside table. My eyes widen when I realize it’s already past nine.

“Oh no,” I groan, a new wave of panic washing over me. “I’m already late for the hospital!”

With that, I rush toward the bathroom, muttering under my breath about impossible men and how they seem to take pleasure in disrupting my perfectly planned mornings.