Sacred Haven
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- Votes 4
- Parts 4
She knelt before the small altar, her delicate fingers cupping the flame as she lit the final diya. The scent of sandalwood and jasmine lingered in the air, mingling with the quiet rhythm of his breath.
He stood behind her, watching in reverent silence. The world had taught him to kneel only before gods, but in this moment, he knew-she was his sacred haven.
As the flame steadied, she turned to him, her eyes reflecting the light she had just kindled. "For your prayers," she whispered, offering him the warmth of the diya.
But his gaze never left her.
"I already worship," he murmured, voice hushed with something deeper than devotion.
She stilled, her heartbeat a quiet tremor between them. And in that sacred hush, in the golden glow of the diya, the moment stretched-soft, infinite, and eternal.
β§ He bows in reverence.
β§ She kindles the flame.
The diya glows softly, but the true light sits before him.
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moments
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"A-Aryan..." her voice trembled, breath uneven. I smirked. "Miss me, butterfly?" Her body was taut, shaking, but not from the cold. Her hands pressed against my chest, pushing, resisting. Weak. "Let me go," she whispered. I didn't move. "Why?" "You-" her voice cracked. "You killed him." My smirk didn't waver. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. "You're not just a businessman. You're a murderer." I tilted my head. "And?" Her breath hitched. "And? That's all you have to say?" "What else do you want, Siya?" I murmured, brushing my thumb against her pulse. "An apology?" Her eyes darkened with rage. "You don't even regret it." I chuckled. "No." __________________________________ "What do I want?" His voice was low, edged with something dark. "I thought that was obvious." I held my ground, refusing to back away even as he stopped mere inches from me. "Say it," I challenged. He exhaled a quiet chuckle, his eyes roaming my face before locking onto mine. "I want you, Siya." My breath caught. Not because of his words-I had known it from the start-but because of the way he said them. Not a request. Not a plea. A statement. Like it was inevitable. Like I was already his. I forced my chin up, summoning every ounce of defiance in me. "You don't own me, Aryan." _____________ Mature contentβ οΈ
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