BOOK ONE OF THE SWEET AND SOUR SERIES
Vanya Sharma hated marriages. Growing up seeing troubled and failed marriages carved a bitter spot in her heart, especially when one of them belonged to her parents. While escaping the shadows of her past, she f...
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༘⋆🌷🫧💭₊˚ෆ
𝐈𝐬𝐡𝐪 𝐁𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐰𝐚
तेन्नु ताकंदा रवा बातों पे तेरी हांसदा रवा पागल में खुद नू बानानदा रवा तू हँसदी रावे में हंसानदा रवा
📓
𝗩 𝗔 𝗡 𝗬 𝗔
09:13 Am, 27th April, Sunday
The cold water cascades over me, its iciness curling around my body as I stand still, my fingers tracing idle patterns on my arms. But no matter how cool the water is, it does nothing to cool the heat still lingering on my skin-the ghost of his touch, the remnants of his kiss.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but it only makes things worse. It only makes me remember.
The way he had looked at me like I was something precious, like he had waited forever just to have me close. The way his lips had moved against mine-firm, hesitant at first, then hungry, as if he was just as lost in it as I was. The way my heart had stuttered, then raced, then given up completely, drowning in the moment.
God.
I press a hand to my chest, feeling the rapid beat beneath my fingertips, as if my heart is still struggling to catch up.
It was my first kiss. And my second.
And I had let it happen. Willingly.
I don't regret it. That's the worst part.
I liked it. Liked the way he held me, liked the way his hands had trembled slightly when they touched my waist. Liked the way he had looked at me afterward-half dazed, half desperate, like he wanted more but didn't know if he was allowed to take it.
Like he wanted me.
My breath hitches, and I press my forehead against the cool tiles, trying to push the thought away, but it clings to me, stubborn and relentless.
I don't hate Mahir. I don't think I ever did. He's grumpy, impossible, and infuriating at times, but he's also-God help me-kind.
I see it in the way he notices things, the way he watches me when he thinks I'm not looking. The way he teases me just enough to distract me when he knows I'm anxious.
The way he listens.
The way he kissed me.
I exhale sharply, shutting off the water, wrapping a towel around myself as I step out of the shower, but my mind is still tangled in its own storm.
