ShikshaSharma137
She fell first-with a heart still healing.
He fell harder-with a soul already ruined.
And in the darkness between them, love found a way to bloom-twisted, raw, and terrifyingly real.
Grief changes a person. It stains the light, rewrites the heart's language, and buries the version of you that once believed in happy endings.
Once, she believed. In love that bloomed in bookstores and kisses that lingered like poetry. But that was before loss carved itself into her chest-before the silence of death became louder than the promises people break.
Now she keeps her heart locked behind sarcasm and survival, barely old enough to understand herself, but already too old for fairy tales.
And then there's him. Older, sharper, harder. A man with shadows in his eyes and blood on his hands-metaphorically, maybe. Probably. He doesn't smile unless it's laced with warning. Doesn't love, doesn't lose, doesn't let anyone close.
He wasn't supposed to look at her like that. And she wasn't supposed to look back.
Their story shouldn't have started. She was too soft, too young, too full of fractured hope. He was too dangerous, too cold, too bound by things she couldn't yet understand.
But fate has a cruel sense of humor. Enemies first. Sparks second. A slow-burning wildfire that neither of them can stop.