❝ 𝐌𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚, 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥❞
When 𝐀𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐚 𝐋𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐚, walks into his world, she's nothing but soft edges and shy glances-a girl burdened with debts, abandoned by a father who never cared. She only wants f...
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Marna bhi ab na mumkhin hai, Teri baahon ke siva
A B H I M A N Y U
A B H I M A N Y U.
The thought of her with another man claws at me from the inside. It is not a simple thought. It is a storm. A voice in my head that refuses to shut up, a rage that grows louder with every second I sit here doing nothing.
He is already there. He is probably making her laugh. Probably standing too close. Probably touching her like he has earned the right to be near her.
And the worst part? I know exactly how she looks when she lets someone close.
I have seen it. I have been the one standing close enough to notice every little thing she tries to hide. My grip tightens around the steering wheel until my knuckles ache.
"No," I mutter, the word barely controlled. "No, he fucking can't." The next second, I am starting the car.
I don't even remember making the decision. My body moves before my mind catches up, fueled by something ugly and relentless. Jealousy. Anger. Hurt. Everything I have spent weeks pretending I do not feel.
The drive disappears into a blur. All I know is that I need to see her. I need to stop whatever this is before I lose my mind completely.
By the time I reach her house, my anger has burned into something heavier. Something quieter. My fists clench at my sides as I stand there, fighting with myself, trying to remember why I came.
Then the door opens and everything stops. Amisha stands there. For a moment, surprise crosses her face before she hides it behind that impossible calm of hers.
The soft light from inside falls over her, catching the black dress she is wearing, the way her hair frames her face, the confidence she carries without even trying.
She looks beautiful and I hate that she does.
I hate that after everything, after every argument, every wound, every reason I have given myself to stay away, one look at her is enough to destroy my control.
She looks innocent. But I know better. There is nothing innocent about the way she gets under my skin. Nothing harmless about the way she can ruin my peace with a single glance.
And still, here I am. Standing outside her door like I have no pride left.
"I hate myself for wanting you, Amisha," I say quietly. The confession tastes bitter. Her expression shifts, just slightly.
The confusion in her eyes almost makes me angry because how can she not understand? How can she not see what she has done to me?
"Every time I look at you," I continue, my voice rough, "I remember everything I lost."
