The silence between them had teeth.
For two days, Kabir didn’t speak to Meher. Didn’t look at her. Not even his usual threats or commands.
He was punishing her—with distance.
And somehow… that hurt worse than bruises.
Late one night, Meher wandered into the study, heart heavy with something she refused to name. Kabir sat in the shadows, sipping his drink, jaw tight.
“I’m not sorry,” she said.
“I didn’t ask you to be.”
Their eyes met. Tension crackled like fire in the walls.
“I didn’t kiss him,” she said suddenly.
“I didn’t ask that either.”
“But you wondered,” she whispered, stepping closer.
He stood, slow and dangerous. “Did you want him to?”
Meher shook her head.
Kabir’s voice dropped. “Then why smile like that?”
“Because it made you look at me again.”
Silence.
Then, without warning, she reached for him—pulled him down and kissed him.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet.
It was war. Heat. Hate. Hunger.
And Kabir kissed her back with the fury of a man who’d been starving.
But when she pulled away, breathing hard, she whispered, “I kissed you… so I could remember why I stopped.”
His expression shifted—cold, hurt, unreadable.
And she walked out before he could stop her.
But outside the room, her legs shook.
Because the taste of him still burned on her lips—
And it tasted too much like wanting.
Write a comment ...