He pecked my forehead and attached our forehead we were breathing heavily due to the ferocious kiss we have shared and damn god he is good, na! na! -fantastic kisser.
"How many times have you kissed before?"
"Never. Ahana never you are my first and...
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Run.
That's what we all do-run from our miseries, our pain, our troubles, our sufferings. But today, I wasn't running away. I was running toward something. For something.
For him.
To save him from breaking.
I had somehow managed to gather my own shattered pieces over time, stitching myself back together with fragile seams. But watching him fall apart? That was something I could never bear. Because if he shattered, I wasn't sure I could ever put him back together again.
As a teenager, love had always seemed like something out of a book-fictional, dreamy, wrapped in the warmth of poetic promises and fairytale endings. An illusion I had once embraced without hesitation. And so, I had willingly walked upon its arduous path, unaware of the thorns beneath my feet. Reality had struck with its cruel, unrelenting truths, forcing me to let him go once before.
But not now.
Not when he needed me.
I reached his room just in time to see him storm inside, his shoulders rigid with barely contained turmoil. A small, hard case flew from his grasp, landing with a sharp thud on the floor. He didn't spare it a glance. Didn't hesitate. He just kept moving, straight into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.
I flinched at the sound, my steps faltering at the threshold.
I wanted to go in.
To hold him.
To tell him he wasn't alone.
But my mind waged a battle against itself, thoughts clashing in a chaotic storm. What if he didn't want me here? What if my presence only made it worse?
For the first time in a long while, I felt helpless.
A sharp hiss reached my ears from inside the bathroom, sending a jolt through my body. Instinct took over before logic could intervene-I grabbed the doorknob and stepped inside.
The moment my gaze landed on him, my breath hitched.
Ishaan stood under the cascading water, his back to me, droplets glistening as they trailed down his tense muscles. But my eyes weren't drawn to the water. They were drawn to the scar.
