🌄 That Morning – Before He Left
Golden morning spilled through the gauzy curtains, draping the room in warmth. Maholi stirred, her bare body still humming with the memory of last night — skin sore in the sweetest ways, lips swollen from the kiss he gave her under the rain, thighs trembling from the ache he left behind.
She lay sprawled across the bed, naked under the thin sheet that tangled at her waist. Her hair fanned out like a storm had passed. And it had.
Abir was seated at the edge of the bed, shirtless, slipping on his watch with practiced grace. His phone buzzed — the tone sharp, work-related. He stared at it with that familiar wariness, the weight of a life lived in shadows.
She blinked up at him, her voice still thick with sleep."You're leaving…?"
He turned, the morning light casting gold on the curve of her back. He leaned down, brushed a kiss over her shoulder, then her cheek, then the edge of her mouth — a trail so soft, it felt like a promise unspoken.
"I have to. A few days. Shooting."
She murmured something unintelligible, drifting between dreams and reality.
But then her hand reached for him. A simple touch — fingers grazing the line just above his jeans. That small, sleepy gesture, casual and unguarded, made his chest tighten.
He closed his eyes. Then dropped the watch.
And returned to her.
He climbed over her slowly, pressing her into the mattress, his voice a dark murmur in her ear."You just moaned in your sleep. Trying to tempt me to stay?"
She smiled lazily, her legs parting with invitation, not words.
His mouth brushed her jaw."You know what that does to me, Maholi?"
Then his fingers slid under her hips, tilting her toward him. Her sleepy sigh turned into a gasped whisper.
"Abir…"
He bit gently at her earlobe."You dreamed of me touching you, didn't you?"
A pause.
Then his mouth trailed down her spine. She arched, her body no longer under her control — only under his.
He kissed the base of her back, then between her thighs, then everywhere in between — slow, teasing, obscene in his devotion. He made her beg with her body. With breath. With silence broken only by her need.
When he finally entered her again, her moan echoed into the sheets.
Her name fell from his lips like a prayer and a curse."You ruin me," he whispered.
She held him tighter."So stay ruined."
Their bodies moved in a rhythm only they understood — not hurried, not frantic. But deliberate. Deep. Desperate. Like the final dance before the world pulls them apart.
By the time it was over, her body shook with aftershocks. Their limbs tangled again. His sweat on her skin. Her nails on his shoulder. Their scent thick in the air.
He kissed her temple before rising once more.
"Don't miss me."
"I already do…"
He left the door half-closed behind him. But it still felt like a slam.
📱 The Days That Followed – Unspoken Distance
Seven days.
Seven endless nights of silence.
Maholi buried herself in work — in rewrites, script pages, fake smiles. But even as she typed dialogue for others, her heart replayed the last words he said. The last time he kissed her. Touched her.
And worse — the way he didn't say goodbye like he meant it.
She would lie on her bed at night, and her body would remember his weight.
The whisper of his lips down her spine.
The way his fingers knew her — not just physically, but like they were reading Braille across the skin of her soul.
She missed him not just with emotion, but with hunger.
Her thighs ached when she thought of the way he used to pin her wrists above her head.
Her breath caught when she imagined his voice again — low, filthy, reverent — whispering against her inner thigh:
"Let me ruin you where no one else will ever reach."
And yet… all she had now were instructions forwarded by his assistant.
No calls.
No "I miss you."
No "Can't sleep without you."
Just silence. Cold. Clean. Final.
Until she broke.
One night, she gave in and called — needing to hear him. Just hear him.
But another voice answered.
Female.
Confident.
Too smooth.
"Hello?" the voice drawled.
Maholi's blood ran cold. "Is… Abir there?"
"He's asleep," the woman replied sweetly. "Long day. We're kind of busy. Should I tell him something?"
Busy.
Kind of busy.
Maholi swallowed, hard. Her throat burned.
"No," she whispered.
Click.
The call ended.
But the noise it left behind in her chest was unbearable.
đź–¤ A Thousand Questions
That night, she curled under her blanket like a child hiding from monsters.
Except her monsters wore familiar smiles. Familiar hands. Familiar kisses.
Why was she there?Did he lie about being alone?Why didn't he answer?Why hasn't he said what we are?
They'd shared beds. Bathtubs. Secret glances and stolen nights.
But never titles. Never declarations.
Not even a whispered "You're mine."
He had touched her like a man starved.
Held her like he couldn't breathe without her.
But not once had he said he loved her.
Only used her name in hunger. In lust. In groans.
But never with certainty.
Never in the way she now needed — not for body, but for belonging.
And as she stared at the ceiling, remembering the way his lips moved over her breasts like worship, and the way he'd once whispered "You taste like sin and surrender," she couldn't help but wonder—
Was it only skin for him?Or was she the silence between his heartbeats too?
She didn't know.
And that unknowing hurt worse than truth.