“You undo me.” His voice was a whisper, rough and reverent, like a man confessing a sin he never wanted to be forgiven for.
She looked up at him, confusion flickering in her eyes. “Undo you?”
He cupped her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek with a gentleness that contradicted the storm in his eyes. “Every time I look at you, I lose myself. You make my world tilt, make the ground beneath me unsteady. And yet…” he exhaled, his forehead resting against hers, “you’re the only thing that feels like home.”
His fingers trailed down her spine, a slow, lingering touch, as if memorizing every inch of her. “You’re in my veins, Anvaya. My every thought, my every breath. I don’t just want you—I need you. Like a sinner needs redemption. Like a drowning man needs air.”
He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his eyes dark with something raw and unspoken. “You are my ruin, and yet, the only thing that can save me.”