✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
[ 𝐒𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐋 1 ]
Because this is where love fades and hate resides and intensifies, broken hearts produce the most tragic stories.
Their treachery is told through their bleeding hearts: their unrequited love was never reciprocated. The...
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Slowly, my eyelids fluttered open completely, and the world solidified. A sharp gasp caught in my throat, instantly stolen by the fear-tinged warmth that enveloped me. I was cradled in a familiar embrace, the warmth of another body radiating through the thin sheet draped over us. I was no longer on the couch; we were in the bed.
I turned my head to look back, my movement cautious, almost reverent, only to see him—Vidyut. I was tucked deeply into his side, my back pressed against the rock-solid wall of his chest. His body was a comforting, heavy weight against my slight frame—a sturdy anchor against the gentle rocking of the world.
His face, usually etched with a thousand lines of strategy and worry, was serene, a masterpiece sculpted by the deep peace of sleep. His brow, often furrowed in countless silent battles with the universe, was smoothed, a canvas of tranquility I felt privileged to witness. His lips, the same lips that had possessed mine with such desperate hunger just hours ago, were slightly parted, a silent invitation to explore the uncharted territories of his dreams.
His breath, a rhythmic, warm symphony, washed over the back of my neck, carrying the intoxicating scent of sandalwood and something undeniably, exquisitely masculine. His arm, heavy with sleep and possession, was slung around my waist, pulling me close, cinching me against him in a protective embrace that felt absolute.
My breath hitched. My heart, a traitorous, frantic thing, began to pound against my ribs, a chaotic drumbeat against the peaceful rhythm of his deep sleep. I was utterly motionless, afraid to disturb the fragile peace that had settled over us, afraid to break the beautiful, impossible bubble we were in.
I raised my trembling hand, the one that had been resting on the pristine white pillow, and slowly, gently, began to trace the lines of his face. Each touch was a quiet, private revelation. The rough texture of his morning stubble beneath my fingertip, the soft, firm curve of his jaw, the delicate flutter of his long, dark eyelashes. His features were mesmerizing, captivated by his raw, untamed beauty. I felt a surge of purely feminine adoration.
A wave of emotions, fierce and untamed, threatened to drown me. Joy, a vibrant, effervescent bubble, battled with a poignant ache, a longing so deep it threatened to shatter my ribcage. I had never felt so safe, so utterly, completely seen, even in my sleep. It was as if I had finally found my own constellation, a perfect alignment of stars, a symphony of souls singing in unison. At that moment, the world with all its chaos and discord faded away, leaving only the peaceful rhythm of our shared breath, the gentle caress of the morning light, and the intoxicating certainty that I was finally, irrevocably home.
