The Space between!

 As he got back from the office, we were at the dining table for dinner. The air still smelled like garlic and seared meat from the kitchen. His top button undone, and his shirt carried the faint scent of his cologne mixed with afternoon traffic.

"I'm going to Lahore tomorrow," he said as he sliced a piece of steak. The knife scraped against the porcelain plate.

For a moment, I was stunned. My chest went tight. Deep down, I didn't want him to go.  

"Lahore?" I said casually, pushing the cool, wet cucumbers beside my steak around with my fork.  

"Yeah, for work," he replied and took a bite.  

"And for how many days?" I asked, looking at him. The fork was still in my hand, suddenly heavy.

"Two to three days. Or maybe a week. Let's see," he replied.  

After a moment of silence, the AC humming in the background, "Okay," I said, looked down at my plate while taking a bite.

His eyes flicked to my face, then down to my plate, then back up. "Is there something on your mind?", he asked, as the fork rested in his hand.

“Nope,” I said, shaking my head while looking at my plate. The steam from the steak had gone cold. 

"Isn't it your favorite?", he asked, while knowing well.

"You know the answer", I replied while slicing a piece.

"But you're not eating properly", he said further and before I could protest, he picked up my plate.  

I looked up at him, uncertain. The fork and knife in my hands still. 

He just started slicing — clean, precise cuts, turning the whole steak into small, manageable pieces. The knife clicked against the plate with each stroke. 

When he was done, he set it back in front of me again. "Now eat,” he said, while I placed the knife on the table, and took a bite.

"Wanna go for a drive?" he asked once he was done with dinner. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, the linen rough against his skin.  

"Who else?" I countered, my voice quieter than I meant.  

"Just you and me," he replied, his eyes shining with excitement under the warm dining light.  

I looked down for a second, at the table.

"Say something," he added, softer.  

"Fine. Let's go," I surrendered.  

"Then I'm taking the car out of the garage. I'll be waiting outside," he said. His chair scraped back as he stood, pressed a quick kiss to the top of my head and went out 

I left the table, grabbed my phone from the charger — the cord was still warm — stepped outside into the heavy night air, and slid into the passenger seat beside him.

After a while, he stopped the car in front of my favorite ice cream parlor. The neon sign buzzed and flickered blue against the windshield. 

"Wanna come inside?" he asked, his hand already on the door handle. 

"Uh-huh. But single scoop for me," I said, and he got out. The car dipped with his weight.  

Moments later, he came back and handed me my favorite Choco Frenzy. Cold condensation dripped onto my fingers and the cup was so cold in that summer night.

"Double scoop?" I said, taking it from his hand. The chocolate smelled rich, almost too sweet.  

"Yup," he said, sliding back into the driver’s seat.  

"Now tell me what's bothering you," he asked as he turned to me. The streetlight outside cut across his face, catching in his eyes. They were steady. Patient.  

"Nothing," I replied with a light shrug. The ice cream was already melting, as I took a spoon.  

"I'll come back as soon as possible," he tried to assure me. His voice was low, meant only for me.  

"Okay," I said, trying to sound nonchalant.  

"Okay. Let's do it like this. You can come along," he suggested, his eyes sparkling. He reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.  

"You must be kidding me," I said.  

He shrugged, grinning.

"Seriously?" I said as I realized he was 100 percent serious. His face wasn’t joking.  

He nodded, waiting for my reply. The engine idled, a low rumble under us.  

"No, no. I can't deal with Lahore's summer," I said, trying to avoid the trip. I could already imagine the thick, suffocating heat.  

"Yeah, summers are rough, but we'll have fun," he insisted. He said _we_ like it was already decided.  

"The smog, pollution, and the heat waves... no. But yeah, we can plan a trip to Lahore in autumn," I suggested. My voice was firmer now. Safer.  

"Okay, we can do that," he replied. Promising. He said it like he was memorizing it.  

"And I'm telling you, I'm gonna make a whole list of all the historical places in Lahore. And we'll visit them one by one. Deal?" I said.  

"Deal," he replied.  

"All of them," I pressed.  

He chuckled, the sound warm in the small space of the car, and said, "Okay." 

“Want something else?” he asked, his hand resting on the steering wheel. The engine hummed, low and patient.  

“Yeah, roll paratha!” I said, licking a drip of melted ice cream. 

“Just a few minutes ago you were giving me a hard time at dinner. Now you’ve got an appetite.” A smirk tugged at his mouth. “Let’s get you one,” he said, flicking the turn signal.  

“After that, take the longer route to home,” I said, holding up the half-melted cone. 

He chuckled and nodded.

“By the way, you should be addicted to this behavior of mine by now,” I teased, looking out of the window.  

“Oh, I’m addicted to _you_ in every way,” he replied, while leaning towards me, his voice dropping. Flirty. Sure.  

I blushed, and looked outside the window, trying to hide my blush.

As we got the order, “Shall we?” he asked.  

I nodded, and his foot pressed the accelerator. The car rolled out of the commercial market, tires whispering over asphalt. 

“Should we _open it up_?” he asked, eyes glinting.  

“What’s that?” I questioned, turning to him.  

He answered by flooring it. The engine roared, a deep, guttural growl, and the seat pushed into my back. Speed pinned me.  

“Woah!” I gasped, impressed by his driving skills. Adrenaline fizzed in my chest.  

“Put your hand out. Feel the wind,” he said, noticing my excitement. He hit a button and my window slid down. 

“Seriously?” I said, but I was already doing it. The summer night air slammed against my palm — cool, fast, alive.

The city lights blurred into gold streaks. Windows down, the cool breeze of summer night hit fresh, hair whipping across my face, my hand cutting through the wind like a plane wing.

I was sitting on the couch in the corner of the living area, knees pulled up, watching the sky outside the window. My mind was lost in thoughts, the pale dawn light spreading across the rooftops, turning the clouds faint gold. The room was still cool, smelling faintly of  jasmine plant by the balcony.  

My phone started ringing, the vibration buzzing against the glass coffee table. I picked up the call.  

"Hey! Are you free today?" Fiza asked, her voice curious and a little rushed.

"Yup. Mustafa’s out for Lahore," I replied, my mind still stuck on him, the words tasting heavier than I meant them to.  

"I was thinking maybe we could visit the campus today," she said, her voice brightening, full of that morning energy. "I need to pick up my transcript," she added.

"Sure. At what time?" I asked, finally leaning back, the couch cushion soft against my back.  

"Around 9? Maybe we could hit the bazaar too. Shall we? It’ll be fun," she replied, her voice filled with excitement, a smile you could hear.  

"Done. Now I’m excited," I said, and I felt it too, a small pull away from my thoughts. "Come over to my place, we’ll go further from here."

After spending a few hours outside, I came back home. I rang the bell and Atif opened the main door.

“Oh, I forgot about you,” I said as I stepped in. “Take a few days off. Go home, get some rest,” I added, shrugging off my scarf. It felt heavy and scratchy against my neck. And I walked toward the entrance door.

“But…", Atif said and I turned. "What if you need anything?” he asked, his voice low.

“Don’t worry. I’ll call you if I need anything,” I said, still leaning against the entrance door. The metal knob was cool under my palm.

“Okay, as you say,” he replied, stepping back.

I nodded and went inside. The smell of old wood polish and faint incense hit me immediately — that familiar, quiet smell of the house when it’s empty.

“You need something?” the elderly househelp asked softly as she greeted me, wiping her hands on her apron.

I shook my head, kicked off my sandals near the entrance. The cool marble under my bare feet was a relief, smooth and slightly damp from mopping earlier. I walked barefoot into the house, the quiet steps echoing in the hallway.

“I told Atif to take a few days off. You go to your room too, get some rest, and leave everything as it is,” I said, tossing my clutch and shopping bag onto the couch. The leather of the clutch made a dull _thud_ against the fabric.

She nodded, and I headed to the kitchen. The fridge hummed low when I opened it, cold air prickling against my face. I grabbed a water bottle; the plastic was slick with condensation.

A moment later, I heard her footsteps behind me — soft, deliberate, on the kitchen tiles. I turned. “Mr. Mustafa was asking about you. You probably weren’t answering his calls,” she said, standing near the counter where the afternoon light fell in a warm rectangle across the marble.

“Yeah, I left my phone at home. What did he say?” I asked, taking a sip of water.

“He was just checking on you. So I told him you’d gone to visit the campus,” she replied.

“Okay. I’ll call him later,” I said, and she nodded. 

“My feet are killing me. I don’t even know how long I’ve been up. I didn’t sleep last night, and I’m wiped,” I started rambling, my voice a little hoarse. “Please don’t let anything disturb me,” I finished, and went to my room.

As I entered my room, the air was cooler and still, carrying the faint clean smell of laundry detergent from the sheets. I picked up my phone, the screen lighting up my face in the dim room. I glanced at the notifications for his missed calls and messages, then tossed it back onto the bed with a soft _thud_ against the mattress. 

I went to the washroom, letting the cool tile under my feet wake me up just enough to splash water on my face. I came out wearing a soft cotton lounge gown. The fabric was light and smooth, brushing against my legs with every step as I slid under the blanket. The pillow smelled faintly of my shampoo, and I drifted off to sleep almost instantly.

I woke up for a moment. Outside the window, the sky was dark and silent. I picked up my phone to check the time — 8 PM. The screen was bright against my eyes. Scrolling through notifications, I saw several messages from Mustafa. The last one read, _“let me know when you wake up.”_ I tossed the phone back onto the mattress, the warmth from my hand still on the case, and fell asleep again.

Around 4 AM, I woke up once more to the quiet of the room. I opened his chat, and the moment I replied, my phone vibrated against the bed, buzzing low as he started calling.

“I thought you’d be sleeping,” I said as I answered, my voice rough and low, still thick with sleep.

“I was waiting for you to wake up,” he replied. His voice came through clear and calm, cutting through the quiet.

“Wait, how do you know I was sleeping?” I asked, pulling the blanket up to my chin. 

“When I couldn’t reach you, I talked to Miss Zareena. She told me you’d been sleeping since the moment you got home,” he said.  “So I figured you’d wake up around midnight… so here I am.”

“Yeah… she told me you’d been asking about me when I got back,” I replied, the words slow.

“So, how was your day?” he asked.

“Good. Actually, great. I went with Anaya to campus to pick up her degree,” I said, shifting so the blanket rustled softly. “After that, we went to the bazaar,” I continued.

“Bazaar? Then why didn’t you go with Atif?” he interrupted.

“We wanted it to feel different. More like a little adventure,” I replied, smiling at the memory even though my eyes were half-closed.

“So what did you buy?” he asked, his voice dropping lower, quieter, like he didn’t want to break the late-night hush.

“Nothing much… some hair clips and a few makeup products,” I said. The cool screen of the phone felt against my cheek.

“Just that? No dress, no heels? Nothing?” he pressed.

“Nope. I couldn’t find anything to my taste. Plus, we’re planning a girls’ trip today… if it even happens,” I said, letting out a soft sigh.

“Why wouldn’t it happen?” he asked, curiosity clear in his voice.

“It’s just… I’m tired. I’m not really in the mood for a trip,” I replied.

“I think you should go. It’ll be good for your mood. You’ve got my cards, my accounts… go for a shopping too,” he suggested.  

“But not at the bazaar,” he added.

“Okay,” I said quietly.

“Now, have something to eat,” he said.  

I hummed in response, the sound low in my throat. “Talk to you later,” I said, ending the call. The room went silent again, and the cool air settled over me.

I got up, went to the washroom, and did wudu. The cool water on my hands and face woke me up. I came out and slid open the wardrobe door. The wood made that soft _whoosh_ sound. I picked up my prayer gown and scarf, and laid down the prayer mat on the cool floor.  

I stood for *Fajr*. The room was quiet except for the faint sound of birds outside. When I finished, I sat silently on the mat. My gaze drifted up to the ceiling, then fell back to the soft weave of the prayer mat beneath me, like my heart wasn’t ready to leave that peace just yet.  

I folded the mat and placed it on the chair. I slipped off the gown and walked out in the nightgown I’d been wearing underneath — soft, worn-in, and warm against my skin.

In the kitchen, I opened the fridge. Cold air brushed my face. I poured myself a glass of chia seed water and dropped in a frozen cube of ground mint. It clinked against the glass and instantly released that sharp, clean, minty smell.  

I slid the glass door open and let the fresh morning breeze from the lawn rush in. It smelled like damp grass and sunlight. I sat on the sofa in the living area, the glass cool in my hands, and took slow sips while watching the leaves move outside. My mind wandered from one thought to another, light and untethered.

After a while, I got up and walked to the kitchen. I pulled out frozen julienne chicken and grabbed spaghetti from the pantry. I lit the stove. On one burner, crushed garlic hit hot oil and sizzled — that nutty, savory aroma filled the air immediately. I tossed in the chicken and watched it turn golden at the edges.  

On the other burner, spaghetti bubbled in salty water. When the chicken was done, I added chopped tomatoes, chili flakes, salt, a pinch of turmeric for warmth and color, soy sauce, vinegar, and my secret ingredient — a teaspoon of *chaat masala*. Cuz why not! The tangy, spicy scent hit right away. 

Soon the oil started separating and glistening. I drained the spaghetti and tossed it into the pan. It made that satisfying _tsshh_ sound as the steam rose. I gave it a big toss until every strand was coated.

I plated it, grabbed a fork from the drawer, and curled up on my cozy couch in the corner. The plate was warm in my lap. I set my laptop on the armrest and started a series, taking bites of the hot, tangy, slightly spicy spaghetti while the dialogue played in the background.

3-4 hours later, I closed the laptop and placed it by the fireplace. I tucked a cushion under my head, leaned back, and let my eyes follow the golden rays of daylight streaming through the glass door. Dust motes floated in the light, and the house felt quiet, full, and calm as I drifted off to sleep again.

I was standing near the entrance door, with one foot on the leather-upholstered stool, buckling up my heels, when the entrance door unlocked. I looked up, and it was him. 

As I caught his glimpse, I moved my arms forward, and he slid his hands around my waist, the warmth of his palms seeping through my clothes, wrapping his arms around me and enveloping me in his warm embrace, familiar scent – a mix of fresh air and his cologne. 

As soon as I felt myself against his chest, the soft fabric of his shirt a gentle caress against my skin, I closed my eyes. His hands moved up and down on my waist, the gentle pressure soothing, relaxing me. 

I tightened my grip as I hugged him over his shoulders, as if trying to hide myself in his arms. His grip tightened more around my waist, and I could hear his heartbeat, strong and steady, – certainly, he could feel mine too.

And then, he picked me up in his arms, and my feet swung in the air. The soft fabric of his shirt brushed against my skin. A soft smile spread on my face as he twirled around with me in his arms. And then he stopped and I stepped down, still enveloped in his arms, placed my hands on his chest, looked up at him.

"I've missed you so much", he said. 

I looked down and then he held my hand in his hand, leading to the lounge, as i was walking behind him while holding his hand. He sat on the couch, opened his arms, I sat in his lap. He enveloped me in his warm embrace, my head rested on his shoulder, my forehead rested against his jawline. 

Forbidden Love

Have You Heard About It?

A Forbidden Love

A Love That Dared To Defy The Conventional Norms Of The Society.

We had it.

Let me introduce you to my kind of forbidden love.

    A love that connects the soul of a 19-year-old girl and a 25-year-old man, where age is just a number, and where he showed her that love isn't just red, but a warm, golden glow that shines bright and true.

He has a sparkle in his eyes, framed by lush, arched eyebrows. When he raises one brow, locking his gaze onto mine with a mischievous smirk, I couldn't help but blush and smile instantly. Then, he breaks into a wide smile that makes me smile even brighter. His slender nose and defined beard, perfectly edged along his cheeks, accentuate his chiseled features. His wavy, shaggy layers, reaching his chin, add a touch of elegance, perfecting his captivating aura.

He had a huge crush on me and everyone around us knew it even before I did. Every girl's talking about him, but since he won't even look at them, they just say he's not their type - like sour grapes - because they know they don't stand a chance with him. This whole group of girls has always hated me just because he's got his eyes on me. Oh! You should see the way he looks at me. His eyes would tell you that he's so much in love with me.

Whenever he looks at me, his gaze softens with a slight tilt of his neck, as if he's admiring me. And I'm there, lost in his eyes, trying to read his heart, understand the mysteries of his mind, searching for a glimpse of how much he loves me, seeking a clue to believe in his love, and a hint to trust his efforts. Yet, at the same time, I find a soft submission in his gaze, a melting of my heart into his, making my defenses melt away like ice into the fire of his passion.

The way he follows me everywhere I go, always blocking my path to gaze at me whenever we're coming from opposite directions, and standing so close to me that it leaves me breathless, brings a romantic glow to my life. And when he's not by my side, my eyes are always searching for him, demonstrating the hold he has on my heart. Whenever I tell him to do something, he whispers lovingly, "Whatever you say, your highness, forever your obedient one." His sweet surrender brings a romantic glow to my face, and when I compliment him, he wears my words like a badge of honor, showcasing them to the world with the pride of a lovesick heart. His devoted behavior around me has stolen the spotlight, and now his name is on everyone's lips, accompanied by whispers of his unwavering efforts to win my affection. As a result, everyone playfully teases me with his name, saying he must be my favorite person. I was too scared to accept the fact that I had caught feelings for him, but the way he gently dismissed our age difference, saying 'age is just a number,' melted my doubts away whenever I mentioned our age gap.

        I remember our first romantic encounter when he was holding a book, I felt like he's hiding something in the book so I snatched the book from him, but he was like, " you're being this much possessive even before marriage", I looked at him , with the question in my eyes, my brows furrowed, his eyes locked onto mine, and his gaze lingered on every feature. 'You know you're gorgeous, I'm going to marry you one day, I promise,' he said, his voice low and husky. I raised an eyebrow, taken aback by his bold declaration. 'What? I'm not even going to be friends with you, and you're thinking about marriage?' I replied, trying to sound nonchalant despite the flutter in my chest. He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and said, 'You'll see that you'll be my friend too.' I snorted, a laugh bubbling up in my throat. 'I'm not even a friend to my friends, and here you are, thinking I'm going to be a friend to you'. 'You'll see', he added.

The very next day, I walked beside him as he was sitting. I felt a pull; I turned around, and my shawl got stuck on his knee. I removed it from his knee while adjusting my shawl as he looked at me, and with a smirk, he teased, "Look, even your things are in love with me." I rolled my eyes. "You're something else, you know that?" I said, trying to play it cool despite the flutter in my chest. He grinned, clearly pleased with himself, and stood up close to me "Just stating the obvious," he said, his voice low and teasing. I looked at him, trying to read him, then I flicked to get away the wavy hair strands from my face, looked at him by narrowing my eyes. "You're so full of yourself," I said with annoyance and turned to leave... As I turned to leave, he stepped in front of me, blocking my path, and grasped my hand. His warm fingers wrapped around mine, sending a flutter through my chest. For a moment, I let myself melt into his touch, but then a spark of doubt ignited, and I pulled my hand free, despite the protesting whisper of my heart. "No, it's not okay," I thought, the words echoing in my mind. "It shouldn't be like this. We can't be together." I stood there, frozen in indecision, I tried to twist the water bottle cap, but couldn't. My hands felt unsteady, my mind elsewhere. I shifted my weight, my heels clicking softly on the smooth floor, the sound echoing through the silence. Without another thought, I turned and walked away, my heels tapping out at a rapid pace. He called out, his voice low and urgent, and tried to follow me, but I quickly entered the ladies' room, the door swinging shut behind me. As I entered the ladies' room, I inhaled deeply, attempting to steady my racing heart. After what felt like an eternity, my phone buzzed in my pocket, a notification flashing on the screen – a message from him: "Are you okay? You're trembling, and your hands are shivering." I left it on 'seen', unsure of how to respond.

          ◊ I was lounging in the lounge, earbuds in, lost in the music. My upper back rested against the chair's backrest, while my lower back slouched, creating a gentle curve. Absorbed in the song's vibe, I mindlessly played with my hair, twirling it up as if to tie it, but letting it fall again. That's when he walked in, catching me with my hands in my hair, twirling it up. Our eyes met, and instinctively, I sat up straight, releasing my hair. He smiled and approached me.

           ◊ I sat in the chair, mesmerized, my palm supporting my face and fingers covering my cheek. My gaze was fixed on him, and I was completely unaware of the passing time. Meanwhile, he worked tirelessly, rearranging furniture with sleeves rolled up, revealing toned arms that showcased his strength and dedication. I was in awe. It wasn't until later, when I snapped back to reality, that I realized how intently I'd been staring. I straightened up, a smile spreading across my face as I reflected on my behavior. I couldn't believe how zoned out I'd been, admiring him with such abandon.

         ◊ That incident when he accidentally stepped on my long black dress as he was walking behind me. I turned around, and our eyes met. He looked up at me with a mix of apology and adoration, fearing he'd ruined my dress, but in that instant, all I saw was the man who had captured my heart.

        ◊ That night when I stepped into the hall, draped in a breathtaking white net gown with golden embroidery, and all eyes were drawn to me. However, one gaze stood out - his. He stood there with his friends, transfixed, his smile faltering for a moment as he took in the sight of me. But as soon as he caught a glimpse of me, he approached me, his face radiant with admiration. I sensed the depth of his fascination, and the unspoken words of adoration lingered in his gaze.

          ◊ And when he delicately blew away the hair strands from my face, not once, not twice, but three times, his breath whispering across my skin as he seemed to delight in the gentle movement of my hair. And I stood there, mesmerized by the loving gesture, my eyes widening in wonder as I realized he was thoroughly enchanted by me, my cheeks bloomed with a soft blush and my lips curled into a sweet, joyful smile. Meanwhile, his gaze shifted upwards, a soft, affectionate smile spreading across his face, his expression radiating warmth and adoration.

         ◊ And that time when he asked me, 'Will you be my valentine?' with a sly, mysterious smile, I couldn't help but giggle with delight. "What? What was that?" I replied, despite knowing exactly what he was asking. He knew me so well that he anticipated my playful hesitation. With a hint of mischief in his eyes, he whispered, "No, nothing," as he knew I was going to reject his offer.

        ◊ He said, 'Knock, knock.' I played along, 'Who's there?' He replied, 'What, when.' I teased, 'What, when who?' Then, he dropped the punchline: 'Coffee, next week, you and me.' My face flushed, and I laughed, 'I don't drink coffee.' Undeterred, he suggested, 'Tea, then?' I chuckled, 'No tea for me either.' He persisted, 'Water? Everyone drinks water, right?' I smiled at his determination. Finally, he asked, 'How about ice cream or juice?' I agreed and just like that, we had a plan.

        ◊ And when I tell him that I'll join him and ask him about the location, he's always like, 'What made you think I'm going to let you do that? Just tell me the time you'll be ready. I'll pick you up, take you to the destination we've decided on... And when we're free, we're going on a long drive. You love long drives, right?

        ◊ At the café, while we were having pizza, I picked an olive off and placed it on the other corner of the plate. He noticed and asked, his eyes sparkling with curiosity, "You don't like olives?" I smiled, and he drew closer, his attention captivated by my response. "What else don't you like?" he asked. As I talked about the foods I didn't like, his gaze lingered on me, and he seemed enchanted by the way I was speaking. He began baby-talking to me and even wanted to pinch my cheek, as if I were a baby. It's clear he's completely smitten and it's adorable!

  ◊ I was sitting in the lounge, resting my elbow on the coffee table in front of me, with my palm under my chin and my hand covering the side of my face. I gazed outside, lost in my own thoughts. He entered the lounge, spotted me, and sat down in front of me, looking into my eyes. As he gently moved the hair strands behind my ear, my heart skipped a beat. I forgot what was on my mind. My eyes followed his hand as he moved the hair strands from my face, and then my gaze shifted to his face. His eyes were filled with concern as he gazed at me and asked, 'You seem lost in thought, everything okay'? When he got to know the reason behind me being worried, he said, 'Don't worry, you don't need to worry at all. I'm here, and I'll handle everything, okay?' His eyes were filled with concern for me as he tried to calm me, seeking to reassure me that he'd make things better. I felt a wave of calm wash over me. I nodded, feeling my worries slowly dissipate, replaced by a sense of gratitude and trust. 'Okay,' I whispered, my voice barely audible. In that moment, his presence felt like a shelter from the storm. The way he leaned in close, looked me straight in the eye, and said, "whenever you're feeling down, overwhelmed, or just want to cry, and I'm not around, remember I'm just a text away. I'll call you, listen to everything on your mind for hours if needed, and even sing to you", as he knows I love to hear him sing.

         ◊ As I stood in the middle of the ground, waiting for my convenience, he moved his motorcycle out of the parking area, with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Wouldn't it be wonderful if I took laps around you, with you as my center?" he asked, his voice filled with playful charm. My eyebrows arched in surprise, and I couldn't help but giggle at the whimsy of it all. Without another word, he impulsively started circling around me, his bike roaring to life. My hair swirled in the gentle breeze created by his passing. My skin glowed with a soft, rosy hue as I giggled with unbridled joy. He gazed at me with a look of pure adoration, as if he'd spend forever doing anything to keep this happiness and glow on my face.

       ◊ He shaved off his entire beard, and I had to admit, I was curious. I'd never seen him without a beard, which is why he was hiding behind a mask when I saw him. His friends teased him mercilessly, egging him on to show me his face. They tried to pull off the mask, but he managed to dodge them. I joined in, asking him to remove the mask, but he was nervous and evaded me too. Finally, he couldn't resist my curious gaze and pulled off the mask. Everyone focused on me, waiting for my reaction. I kept a straight face, but my eyes widened in wonder. I asked, "Why did you do that?" His friends erupted into laughter, teasing him about his new look. "You're wasted, man! She didn't like it too!" they joked. He ignored them, his eyes locked on mine with a mischievous glint. "I still have hair on my chest," he said with a smirk, "let me show you?" As he reached for his shirt buttons, I playfully jabbed him on the chest, trying to hide my blush by looking down. But he noticed, and I couldn't help but smile. "No thanks... I've seen them," I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

        ◊ I recall standing in the corner of the room, seething with anger towards him. But then, out of nowhere, he began singing - as if knowing I loved songs. It was the first time I'd ever heard him sing, and his voice sent shivers down my spine. My eyes sparkled, my cheeks flushed pink. With every high note, my heart skipped a beat. There's something about his deep voice that awakens a thrill in my soul, leaving me breathless whenever he breaks into song.

          ◊ As we stood facing each other, lost in conversation, he turned to leave. Without thinking, I reached out and gently grasped his arm just above the wrist. It was the first time I'd ever touched him, and the sensation sent my heart skipping a beat. Time seemed to freeze as I felt his gaze meet mine. In that fleeting moment, I saw something in his eyes that took my breath away – a spark of vulnerability, a glimmer of affection. It was as if his entire being had melted into my touch, revealing the deepest recesses of his heart.

           ◊ As we crossed the road, he stood beside me, noticing the traffic approaching from my side. He swiftly moved to shield me, taking my hand in his. It was the first time he held my hand for more than a moment. I felt the warmth of his grasp, a comforting sensation that enveloped me as I was overcome with a sense of protection. In that moment, I knew I was safe, shielded from harm, with him by my side.

         ◊ Back when I was sitting on the couch with my head down on the table in the room, lost in thought. He was passing by, unaware of my presence, but as he caught sight of me, he halted in his tracks. His eyes locked onto mine, filled with concern, and he whispered, "Hey, are you okay?", my voice was barely above a whisper, "Yeah......" A shiver ran down my spine, he noticed, his brow furrowing in worry. "Are you cold?" he asked, his voice dripping with care. I nodded, he swiftly said "wait here for me; let me bring my jacket to keep you warm..."

        ◊ During our trip to Lake-view when I was sitting in the chair, he spotted me and couldn't resist joining me. He brought a chair closer, his eyes locked on mine, and sat down in front of me. Then, he took my hands in his, sending shivers down my spine and making my heart skip a beat. I felt a rush of excitement mixed with a hint of nervousness as his warm touch sparked a flutter in my chest. I tried to pull away, feeling a little self-conscious about the people around us, but he gently held on, his gaze never leaving mine. I tried to free my hands again, but he wouldn't let go, his grasp gentle yet firm. As I surrendered to the moment, he spent the rest of the evening tenderly holding my hands, his touch igniting a deep connection between us. I felt my heart overflowing with emotion as I basked in the warmth of his affection.

        ◊ I was writing something about him, and he noticed I was completely absorbed in my thoughts. He became curious, and I could tell he wanted to read what I'd written, but I was determined to keep it private. Out of nowhere, he snatched the paper from my hands. As I tried to retrieve it, he proved to be too quick. He teasingly held the paper just out of my reach, moving it from one hand to the other. In my attempts to grab it back, our hands touched, and suddenly he was holding mine in a romantic grasp, his fingers intertwined with mine. Every time our hands touched, he'd hold mine in a gentle yet possessive way, his fingers wrapping around mine. My heart skipped a beat with each tender touch, the sensation leaving me breathless.

        ◊ As I sat in the chair, he sat beside me, his mischievous grin fixed on me. With a playful tug, he'd grab the armrest of my chair, pulling it towards him, trying to scare me into falling. But his intentions were far from malicious; in his mind, he knew I'd land safely in his arms if I fell. Every time he tried to startle me, I'd instinctively grab his wrist, holding it tight. Deep down, I trusted that he could handle me, and that holding him would keep me safe. Ironically, despite being the one teasing me, he made me feel secure. And he loved the way I held his wrist, especially when fear made my grip tighten.

         ◊ We were walking side by side, my fingers flying across my phone's keyboard as I texted. Lost in conversation, I didn't notice the uneven path ahead. Suddenly, my feet slipped, and I felt myself tilting. In a flash, he grasped my hand, his fingers intertwined with mine, and wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me close. His swift rescue left me giggling at my own absent mindedness. He smiled too and for a moment, everything else faded away.

         ◊ As I wore the vibrant mustard frock, he gazed at me with a captivating smile, his eyes locking onto mine. He took my hand and whispered sweetly, "You're the beauty from Beauty and the Beast. Why don't I be your monster?" I couldn't help but giggle at his charming words, and when he asked me to dance, I hesitated, and told him that I don't know how to do it. But he insisted, his eyes sparkling with persuasion. I giggled again, and he took it as a sign to lead me onto the dance floor in the lounge. He streamed music on his phone, and he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. I felt a deep sense of comfort and security in his embrace, my initial hesitation melting away with each gentle sway. As we danced, he whispered sweet nothings in my ear: "You're even more beautiful than Belle herself." I blushed and giggled softly. The song ended, but he didn't release me. Instead, he pulled me closer, spinning me around. I laughed and twirled with him, feeling carefree, joyful, and utterly enchanted.

        ◊ As he stood beside me, leaning in to examine the book in my lap, his side profile was inches from my face. My gaze drifted to his neck, and suddenly, my breath caught. I felt an inexplicable urge to reach out, place my head on his shoulder, rest my arms over his biceps, to be enveloped in his arms.

        ◊ In the soft glow of the moment, when his black button-down shirt was open to reveal his chest, I was entranced by the soft tufts of hair that peeked out. As he spoke, his words barely registered. My gaze lingered on the gentle curls, and I couldn't help but yearn to touch them, to feel the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips. The desire to caress him, to explore the contours of his chest, was almost irresistible.

        ◊ I still remember the moment I took 2-3 steps back, a habitual gesture, he moved towards me, and my shoulder grazed his chest. I froze, my eyes widening in a mix of fear and wonder. I turned slightly, still standing there, enveloped between his arms, feeling the warmth of his presence with barely an inch between us. It was as if I was shielded in his arms. He stood there with his arms open wide, ready to catch me if I fell, wearing a huge, mysterious smile with a spark in his eyes.

      ◊ As he sat beside me, his knee accidentally brushed against my calf. The touch sent a surge of warmth through me, a stark contrast to the chill I felt. He noticed my shivers and silently took my hands into his, offering his warmth. Without a word, he subtly adjusted his position, sliding his leg down so I could rest mine on his. The gentle gesture spoke volumes, and I felt a sense of comfort and security wash over me. In winters, whenever he's around, he'll come to me, take my hands in his, and softly rub them so they can warm swiftly, as he knows that my hands are always freezing during this time. The gentle touch of his fingers, the warmth of his palms, and the love in his eyes make every cold winter day feel like a warm embrace.

        ◊ When I wore a delicate net dress with ethereal sleeves, he approached me, sat beside me, and gazed at me with gentle concern etched on his face. 'Don't you feel a chill? Come here,' he asked softly. He opened his arms, wearing a shawl, and placed one side of it over my shoulder, covering me. Then, he slid his arm around my waist and pulled me closer. I felt the chill of the night melt away. In the warmth of that moment, my head naturally found its resting place on his shoulder. His arms remained around my waist as we both snuggled under his warm shawl.

         ◊ We were sitting together, side by side; he was deeply engrossed in his work, but I was struggling to stay awake. Feeling unwell, I whispered to him that I needed to rest, and he tenderly offered his shoulder as a pillow. I rested my head on his shoulder, and before I knew it, I had fallen asleep. He continued working, careful not to disturb me, letting me sleep undisturbed. Wrapped in the warmth of his presence, I don't know how long I slept on his shoulder, but he remained still, considerate of my rest, making sure I wouldn't wake up.

        ◊ Since he knows I tend to sleep a lot, he's always mindful of when I'm feeling sleepy. When he notices I'm starting to feel sleepy-eyed, he gently pulls me close, so my head can rest on his shoulder, my forehead touching his neck, my hand in his hand, and his arm wrapping around my waist. He does this to make me feel cozy and warm, allowing me to drift off to sleep without worrying about others around us. The way he tenderly looks out for me, his thoughtful gestures, and his unwavering support all fill my heart with warmth and love. Seeing the depth of his care for me brings a soft, romantic glow to my face.

        ◊ That evening when we were both invited to that special event, I really wanted to attend it with him, but he had a family commitment to attend another event. I had been telling him that he had to attend this event with me, but he said it would be difficult. Instead of being understanding, I threw tantrums and said, "This is the last time I'm telling you that you have to attend this event with me, or I'm not going to talk to you ever in my life!" He gently reassured, "Okay, don't worry, I'll, I'll find a way." And he did. He arrived at the hall exactly on time after dropping his family off at their event. When he saw I was running late, he briefly attended the family event for 5 min just for formality's sake , then came back to wait for me. When I arrived in a stunning cherry red sari, he was there, as promised, waiting for me, his eyes filled with adoration, and then he came close, and said, "You're looking breathtakingly beautiful; why don't we capture some pictures today?', his gaze was captivating, and I felt like the only person in the world.

        ◊ I remember when I was consumed by jealousy, even though he hadn't done anything to provoke it. He was blissfully oblivious to my possessive feelings. As we stood at the staircase, ready to head down together, he gallantly said, 'You first,' gesturing for me to go ahead. But I was still simmering with emotion, so I hit him on the chest and teased, 'As if you're this caring!' My words were laced with a mix of annoyance and affection. I brushed past him, leaving him confused and wondering what was wrong and why I was taunting him. The way my hands instinctively fall on his chest - whether in playful jabs or angry slaps - is a testament to the fact that he is mine.

        ◊ I'll never forget the time when I was furiously hitting him with the book on his chest, he stood gracefully, his eyes locked on mine, silently communicating "it's okay, relax, I'm here for you". In an instant, my anger dissipated, replaced by a sense of trans-quilting. Oh God! I love the way he tenderly handles my tantrums, calming me down with ease.

        ◊ We stood face-to-face; arguing about something with him, as I was upset with him. Suddenly, he grasped my hand and pressed it onto his chest, his own hand covering mine. His partially unbuttoned shirt allowed my fingers to rest on his warm, bare skin. My long nails dug gently into his chest, a subconscious expression of my turmoil. But as our gazes locked, a surge of anger and frustration swept through me. I tried to pull away, yet his grip held firm. In struggling to free myself, my nails inadvertently left visible scratches on his chest, which turned red in an instant. His eyes never left mine.  He wrapped his arm around my waist, pulled me close, and whispered reassuringly, "It's okay, I've got you." In that moment, his words and touch conflicted with my desire to resist.

Gosh! I'm a goner. I can't hold it back anymore. I can't help how I feel. I'm totally, completely, utterly, head-over-heels in love with him. I can't eat-sleep-breath without thinking of him. I love him. I'm a lovesick mess, I don't care who knows it!