"𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆, 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒍𝒚. 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒔 𝒅𝒓𝒂𝒘 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅,𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖."
She lay limply on the table drooling as the person behind her fucked...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Sultan arrived home that evening to a crying daughter and a frustrated wife.
No sooner had he closed the front door behind him, that his expression shifted from carefully cultivated apathy to full-blown concern, his steps automatically quickening at the sound of the commotion coming from the living room.
"No, Gulbahar," he heard Mishti speak firmly. "Sweetie, you can't start crying every time someone denies you something!"
Hurrying down the hallway, he barely avoided stepping on a scattered toy as his small family came into view, forming a scenario that was as unfamiliar as it was unpleasant.
Mishti stood in the middle of the sunset-bathed room, hands on her hips and a stern furrow between her brows, dressed down in a white t-shirt and a pair of simple sweatpants and with her wavy hair caught in a disheveled bun. Gulbahar, small and precious and barely a year old, wobbled towards him on quick feet, face red and scrunched-up and marred with salty moisture.
"Papa!" she wailed, looking at him with big, tear-filled eyes and holding up her little hands, practically pleading with him to sweep her up into his protective arms.
His eyes softened in an instant, but Gulbahar's snap put him off initiating any action.
"Do not pick her up!" she demanded, glaring fiercely in his direction.
His head snapped up. "What?"
"You heard me!" she answered. "I know what you're planning. But she needs to learn that the world won't be served to her on a silver platter simply because she starts crying!"
"Papa!" Gulbahar wailed again, and Sultan did not waste any more time acting surprised at his wife's demeanor, instantly bending down to effortlessly lift his baby daughter in his embrace. Quieting slightly, Gulbahar pressed her wet face into his shoulder, her little arms wrapping around his neck, fists clinging needily to the material of his shirt.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"What is wrong with you?" He hissed, addressing his wife, as he started to rub comforting circles on his daughter's back.
"Oh, there you go," she spat. "Problem solved! You come home once a month, pick her up when she cries, and ruin what little sense of discipline I'm trying to instill into her!"
