غلاف قصة Breath Between Heartbeats  بقلم gurleen_fiction
Breath Between Heartbeats
  • WpView
    مقروء 70
  • WpVote
    صوت 17
  • WpPart
    فصول 3
  • WpHistory
    الوقت 15m
  • WpView
    مقروء 70
  • WpVote
    صوت 17
  • WpPart
    فصول 3
  • WpHistory
    الوقت 15m
مستمرّة، تم نشرها في ينا ١٥
This is a story about fragile breaths and stubborn hearts.
About bodies that remember trauma even when the mind refuses to speak.
About silence that screams louder than words ever could.
Breath Between Heartbeats explores psychological trauma, suppressed grief, panic responses, and the unseen battles people fight while appearing "normal." It is about how loss reshapes identity, how fear settles into the body, and how healing is never linear.
This story does not glorify pain-
it examines survival.
It asks how much the human heart can endure before it forgets how to breathe, and whether love, presence, and patience can restore what trauma has taken away.
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"Why don't you understand, Mr. Agnihothri?" The words were torn from my throat, raw and desperate. "I am not the one who is made for love. Don't try to heal me, Shiv. I'm telling you, you will only break yourself in that process," I screamed, the sound catching and splintering with a deep, shaky breath. ​But the expected anger, the frustrated retreat, never came. Instead, his gaze-intense, impossibly tender-met mine, and a small, maddeningly serene smile touched the corner of his lips. It was a silent challenge, a soft denial that made the fragile control I held on my sanity begin to crumble. ​"Let's stop this here, please," I whispered, the desperate plea barely audible, the fight draining from me. "You deserve someone whole, someone pure, not a shattered, half-broken glass doll like me." The confession was an admission of defeat, and a single, traitorous tear-hot and heavy-escaped the dam of my composure, tracing a path down my cheek. ​Something fractured in his placid facade. The smile vanished, replaced by a sudden, fierce darkness. He shut his eyes, his jaw clenching as he inhaled a deep, steadying breath, a visible battle raging to master a sudden, barely contained fury. Then, in a single, predatory movement, he erased the space between us. ​He captured my shoulders, his grip not cruel, but intensely demanding, and pushed me firmly back against the cool, unforgiving drywall. The sudden pressure was intoxicating, trapping me between the solid surface and his unyielding body. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in, his intent palpable, until his mouth was almost touching my ear. ​"Saanvi," his voice was a low, resonant rumble, a silken promise laced with a dangerous possessiveness, "Even the breath I take when you are near me is elixir (Amrit) for my soul." His lips brushed my skin as he spoke the last word, the sheer intimacy of the contact sending a wildfire racing through my veins and igniting my heart into an uncontrollable inferno. ​