Shaurya's POV
One week.
One whole damn week, and I still knew nothing about her.
I had been drowning in political meetings, public gatherings, endless chaos—but in the middle of all that, there was always her.
A girl without a name. Without a voice. But with a glare I couldn’t shake off.
Siya had tried everything. Movies, songs, books. She even tried making small talk, asking her simple questions, hoping she’d at least respond.
And then, that day… she just asked her a simple question.
"Who’s in your family? They must be worried for you. Tell me, I’ll inform them. Or take my phone—call them yourself.”
It was a simple question. But the moment Siya said those words, everything changed.
Her breathing turned ragged. Her body tensed. Sweat pooled on her forehead.
And then—panic.
The memory burned into my mind. The way her fingers curled into the bedsheet, how her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. How the fear in her eyes wasn’t just fear—it was terror.
The doctor had rushed in, giving her a sedative. Siya had stood frozen, guilt written all over her face.
"I didn’t mean to… I just wanted to help," she had whispered, looking at me like she had committed an unforgivable sin.
And I? I had just stood there, staring at the girl on the bed.
Because one thought refused to leave my mind.
Why had she reacted like that?
A panic attack, just from the mention of her family?
"Do not ask her about her past again," the doctor had warned us again that day.
"Didn't I tell you all to wait? To give her some time? My blood boils just as much as yours when I see her like this. But you haven't seen what I have… the burns, the wounds, the cuts. You can’t begin to imagine what she has endured. It has already taken a toll on her mental health.
Right now, the only thing that matters is that she is alive. And if you truly want to help her… use this time to let her heal."
So, that night, we made a silent decision.
We wouldn’t ask her anything again. If she wanted to talk, she would. Until then, we would wait.
But waiting wasn’t easy.
Because no matter how much I tried to push the thought away, it refused to leave me alone.
Why did she panic?
What if… her family was involved?
I clenched my fists, shaking my head.
No. No. I was reading too much into it. Overthinking.
But still… I couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something much darker hiding beneath the surface.
Something I wasn’t ready to uncover.
Yet.
And what i do is, just cook for her.
Because she is my responsibility, I couldn’t trust anyone else with her food. Maybe it was because it was the only thing she was doing—eating.
At the very least, I wanted to make sure she was physically okay. That her body healed faster.
But her silence… It worried me.
Would it affect her mental health?
Would it push her so deep into herself that even we couldn’t bring her back?
I exhaled sharply, gripping the steering wheel tighter as I pulled into the hospital parking lot.
Enough.
This silence needed to end.
I didn’t care how. Not about the past at least she can talk about the present or something other than the past or she can just reply to what siya says rather than just a nod.
With that thought, I grabbed the lunch I had made for her—rice and dal with ghee. Simple. Warm. Comforting. I took the elevator up, my mind set on one thing—I was going to talk to her. She couldn’t stay like this.
When I stepped into the room, she was asleep.
Siya was beside her, watching over her like a hawk. My sister had done everything she could—more than I expected. Protective, almost like an elder sister.
When she looked up at me, there was something else in her eyes.
Excitement.
“You’re here,” Siya said, stretching. “I’ll be heading out for a while. I’ll come back soon. Don’t worry.”
I nodded. “Okay. Take your time.”
I knew exactly where she was going.
That spark in her eyes? Impossible to miss.
Siya’s POV
A whole week.
Seven endless days.
But finally, I was here. I was going to see him.
My love. My obsession. My everything.
Standing in front of the apartment—the place that wasn’t just a house but our home—I felt a sense of peace settle in my heart. The world outside didn’t matter here. There were no masks, no rules. Just us.
I pushed open the door, and the first thing that hit me was the delicious aroma of food. Italian—my favorite. The soft hum of music played in the background, wrapping the place in warmth.
A slow smile formed on my lips.
Just as I closed the door behind me, two strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind, pulling me close. I didn’t need to turn to know who it was. His familiar musky cologne filled my senses, grounding me. I leaned back, resting my weight against him as his grip tightened.
Ahhhh….. This is home.
"You're late," his voice came, low and teasing against my ear.
As soon as the words "You're late" left his lips, he didn't wait for my reply. In a swift motion, he turned me toward him, and before I could even register what was happening, my chest collided against his firm one.
My breath hitched.
And then—his lips were on mine.
At first, it was slow, teasing, like he was savoring the moment. But then, as if something in him snapped, the kiss deepened. His arms tightened around me, pulling me even closer, leaving no space between us.
My fingers gripped his shoulders, trying to steady myself, but soon, they found their way to his hair, tangling in the soft strands.
He wasn’t just kissing me.
He was consuming me.
Every stroke of his lips, every movement of his tongue, was relentless—demanding, overpowering.
I tried to match his intensity, to reciprocate the passion he was pouring into the kiss, but I failed. He was in complete control, and I was drowning in the sensation.
The world around us blurred, forgotten.
My knees felt weak, my lungs burned for air, but he wasn’t letting go. And I... I didn’t want him to.
But when I could take no more, I patted his shoulder, silently begging for mercy. He let out a low hum, sucking on my lower lip one last time before finally pulling away.
I gasped, filling my lungs with much-needed air, my mind spinning, my lips tingling from the intensity of the kiss.
I looked up at him, my heart hammering in my chest, my body still pressed against his.
He smirked. That damn smirk.
"Punishment, Butterfly. For coming late."
I blinked, still trying to catch my breath. And then, a slow smirk stretched across my lips.
"That was the roughest... and sweetest punishment I could ever wish for."
His chuckle was deep, rich, sending shivers down my spine.
.
.
.
.
.
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