[Sequel of Warm Love, hence can't be read as a standalone.]
In the first phase, Reyansh concealed a web of mysteries, but as they stand face to face once more, it's Kiraz who holds the tantalizing secrets waiting to be unveiled. These hidden truths...
I had to hold it down because I wanted to enter the new year with them. Wish you a very happy new year.
Do engage well. I miss your comments.
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The beauty of the idea of you and me is fascinating, pleasing, and, most of all, thrilling.
My heart beats faster every time she is before my eyes, as if the whole universe is standing before me in a twinkling charade. Yet, the way drought hits my throat and a dry, thirsty coil forms within me just for her is exhilarating. It's thrilling to love her and to keep loving her. It's devotional.
Even after six years, nothing has changed. The burn just blazes more fiercely. If anything has changed, it's the dates on the calendar. Some pages have been turned by her in anger, some turned while laughing at my dirty jokes, and some turned with tears hanging in the brown. Her delicate fingers have turned the pages, and six has been replaced with me by her side, with our hearts still devoted to each other.
Drunk in the love, we behold within ourselves.
In these six years, we have changed, grew, laughed, cried, she has cursed me, I have shouted at her, she has slapped me, and I have kissed her. And later, we made love. But one thing has always remained, no matter the situation; the undeniable thirst to have each other in those moments and later, when the clouds of moments have vanished and we are staring at each other with nothing on our minds. We have stayed by each other even when we had no reasons. Except the love.
Just like she chose me six years ago and went on her knees to propose, a month later, we were marrying each other. We did it three times, and since three is considered unlucky, we decided to marry four times more, making it seven. Seven lives. Anniversaries were never a thing for us. We don't need a reason to celebrate or to treat a day as special out of the calendar. We make sure each day is special because we're selfish for each other.
Dressed in red, just like the way I like it—the only color I want her to wear. The color oflove, I want her to be drenched in. The Bengali-styled saree, perfectly draped,flares adjusted with precision, accentuates her grace and beauty. Her hair, the richbrown cascading down her back, sways with each movement, drawing me closer.The tip of my finger burns with a desire to glide over her smooth, bare skin. Lust floats through me as I yearn to trace her skin with my lips, to mark it, to inhale her essence and let her know the effect she has on me. Even after twelve years.
"Reyansh," she calls, breaking the spell. Her eyes lock with mine through the mirror. The dark brown of her gaze pierces through me, and I wonder if I am so transparent that she can read my thoughts without a word being spoken. Within the minute, I feel exposed, as if all my desires and longings are laid bare before her. Her gaze, intense and knowing, speaks volumes. It's as if she can see straight into the depths of my soul. And, she does.
"Yes," I voice out, my voice carrying a hint of mischief.
"Don't think about it," she warns, her tone teasing yet firm.
