I'm sure you've heard a lot about unrequited love, but what if I say there exists an unwilling love, hidden somewhere between the echoes of silence and the whispers of the heart's secrets? A love that fights to stay buried, yet yearns to be discover...
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๑ 🥀 ๑
His heavy eyelids fluttered open, every nerve in his body screamed with exhaustion.
His skin burned, his muscles ached, and each breath dragged through him as if his chest were weighted.
For a long moment, he let the haze blur his vision—afraid perhaps, that if he truly saw where he was, it would vanish, dissolve into another cruel trick of his mind.
But no. Slowly, his gaze cleared.
And then he saw her.
Yusra.
Seated at his bedside, her head tilted onto the edge of the mattress, hair spilling like a river of dark silk over his arm.
Her hand—small, soft, desperate—was wrapped around his with such force that her knuckles stood pale against her skin. She was holding him as if the strength of her grip alone kept him tethered to this world.
For a moment, he simply stared.
Maybe this was a dream.
Maybe he was still unconscious, caught between life and death, and his mind conjured the one place he wanted to be—her, beside him.
But if it was, then he didn’t care. He would take this dream.
I’m not going anywhere now.
His eyes traced her face in the soft light. He had never seen her like this. Not as his friend, not as the Yusra who teased him, argued with him, fought with words and glances.
No, this was different. This was his wife. His. The only one allowed to see her so unguarded, so vulnerable, so heartbreakingly beautiful. Pale.
Her hair fascinated him the most– thick, black, falling in loose strands across her face and the blanket. If she stood, it would sweep her waist.
He reached for it before he could stop himself, his free hand trembling slightly caught a strand. He brought it to his lips, brushing against the silkiness. The coolness of it soothed the heat of his skin.
He closed his eyes briefly, inhaling. Vanilla, almonds, and something crisp like rainwater. The scent was fresh, familiar. Her scent.
It grounded him.
Yusra stirred. Her lashes fluttered, her head lifting, the strand slipping from his fingers. When her eyes met his, wide and shimmering, her lips parted.
“You’re up.” Her voice cracked, trembling with relief. Weak, almost unbelieving—but filled with happiness.
She shot to her feet, left hand still clinging desperately to his, the other flying to his forehead. Her palm was cool against his fevered skin, lingering there a moment before sliding down to the side of his neck.
