Until It Was Real

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

The boardroom gleamed beneath recessed lighting, a long glass table lined with Khan Enterprises' top directors and executives. A digital screen projected graphs, numbers, and market forecasts.

The weight of expectation clung to the room, the quarterly review was always Zaigham Khan's battlefield, and everyone present knew how unforgiving he could be.

At the head of the table sat Zaigham himself, fingers steepled with calm precision. He spoke sparingly, but when he did, the air seemed to tighten.

Beside him, Mahveen sat poised, her smile polite but edged, shuffling files with the air of someone determined to prove her indispensability.

Further down the table, Zoya sat quietly, laptop open, pen poised. She blended into the corporate atmosphere, but her eyes were sharp, absorbing every word, every flicker of tension across the table.

Zaigham's voice broke the silence, deep and measured.

"Quarterly projections show eight percent growth. Expected was twelve. We are underperforming. I want corrective strategies from every department head, today."

Murmurs ran across the table. The marketing director cleared his throat.

"Sir, we've already increased campaign budgets by—"

Zaigham cut in, not raising his voice, but slicing through effortlessly.

"I'm not asking for excuses. I'm asking for strategies. If campaigns aren't yielding, then the campaigns are wrong. Reassess."

The director fell silent. Papers shuffled nervously.

It was then that Mahveen leaned forward smoothly, sliding a neatly tabbed file toward him.

"Sir, before we move further, may I point out a recurring issue? The internal reporting system has had inconsistencies." Her tone was silky, but her eyes flicked deliberately toward Zoya. "Some figures didn't align in the last week's reports. Such errors can cost us precision."

A ripple went through the room. Several eyes turned toward Zoya.

Zaigham's gaze flicked briefly in her direction, impassive. He didn't intervene. He waited.

Zoya froze for half a second under the weight of the stares. Then she inhaled, straightened her shoulders, and spoke with calm clarity.

"The inconsistencies were detected last week and rectified the same day. If you cross-check with the updated files, you will see all figures streamlined. There was no loss of data."

Mahveen arched a brow, feigning surprise. "Really? Because the sheet I reviewed—"

Zoya swiveled her laptop toward the table, her voice firm but respectful.

"That sheet was outdated. The finance department was still using an old template. I reformatted the system, eliminated redundancies, and consolidated reports. We have saved twelve working hours this quarter because of that adjustment."

There was a pause. A director leaned forward, impressed. "She's right. I've seen the revised sheet, much smoother now."

Another chimed in, nodding. "Yes, the error margins dropped by nearly three percent. It's a good fix."

Zaigham's eyes rested on Zoya. His expression didn't soften, but there was a pride gleam there.

Mahveen's smile tightened at the edges. She tapped her pen lightly against her notebook, then tried again.

"Of course. I must've overlooked the final version. Still, efficiency in record-keeping must be consistent. One correction doesn't erase—"

Zoya cut in, her tone crisp but respectful. "Consistency is exactly why I automated half the reporting. Human error is reduced when manual inputs are minimized. I've also designed a tracking system that highlights mismatched entries in real time."

A few board members murmured agreement, clearly impressed.

Zaigham's voice entered then, low and controlled. "Which means moving forward, the board won't tolerate delays or carelessness. The assistant has ensured that. Hold your teams accountable."

The way he said it left no room for misinterpretation. He wasn't just backing the system, he was backing Zoya.

The directors scribbled notes furiously. Strategies followed expansion into emerging markets, cost-cutting, restructuring. Every proposal was dissected by Zaigham with clinical precision.

When the final slide clicked off, Zaigham leaned back, fingers drumming once against the polished wood before stilling.

"Friday," he said, tone final. "No delays. I expect execution."

The scraping of chairs followed as the board members gathered their papers and filed out in groups.

The last of the directors filed out, their conversations fading down the corridor. The boardroom fell quiet, but the air was still charged.

Zoya rose from her chair, gathering her laptop and notes quickly, her steps brisk, almost eager to escape the tension that still clung to Mahveen's presence.

Mahveen, however, moved slower. Too slow.

She stacked her files one by one, aligned them, smoothed the edges. Every gesture deliberate, every second stretched, her eyes occasionally darting toward Zoya like an unspoken challenge.

Zaigham's gaze flicked up. His tone was calm, yet final.

"Ms. Mahveen... you may leave now."

The deliberate use of her name, only her name....made her jaw tighten. For a fraction of a second, anger flared in her eyes before she masked it with a smile too sweet to be real.

"Sir," she murmured, her voice dipped in honey but frayed with bitterness. With slow, reluctant steps, she finally left, the echo of her heels clicking away.

Zoya let out a silent breath and took a step toward the door. But before she could touch the handle, a strong hand wrapped around her wrist. In one effortless pull, she stumbled right into the solid breadth of his chest.

"Ow—Zaigham!" she gasped, her voice a mix of shock and protest. Her palms flattened against him as if to steady herself. "Let me go..."

"No." His answer was low, a whisper. His arm slid around her waist, anchoring her firmly against him.

Her breath hitched. She glanced toward the glass door clear, transparent. Anyone passing by could see.

"Zaigham, the door—it's see-through. Someone will—"

"Does it look like I care?" he rasped, his voice rough against her ear as he buried his face into the curve of her neck. Sliding her scarf away, he inhaled deeply, lingering, the warmth of his breath skimming her skin. "Let them see."

Her pulse stuttered, her cheeks burning. She wriggled slightly, half-annoyed, half-panicked, her voice a hushed whisper.

"You're impossible... do you even realize what you're doing? People will think—"

He lifted his head, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Let them think."

Her eyes widened, her throat went dry, but her instinct to fight back found its way through. "A moment ago," she whispered, teasing though her voice trembled, "there sat the most intimidating, commanding boss. And now..."

His lips curved faintly against her skin. He leaned back just enough to meet her eyes, a rare smile tugging at his mouth.

"And now?" he prompted softly.

Her heart fluttered as she searched his gaze. "And now I don't recognize you. Who is this man holding me like he owns me?"

His smile deepened, quiet, devastating. His thumb brushed lazy circles against her waist.

"This," he murmured, "is not your boss. This is your husband."

The words sent a rush of warmth spiraling through her. She bit her lip,failing to contain the little smile tugging at her mouth, his eyes flicking to it before looking back at her. "My husband is supposed to let me work in peace," she teased, her tone soft but shaky.

He tilted his head, eyes dark with amusement. "Your husband doesn't like watching you bolt out of rooms the second you're free."

"I wasn't bolting—" she tried to defend herself.

"You always do," he cut in, voice silky. "Like you're running away from me."

Her breath caught. "I'm not..." she whispered, softer this time, eyes darting down.

He smirked faintly, lowering his head so close their foreheads brushed. "Good. Because I wouldn't let you."

Her chest tightened, her defenses melting completely. She leaned in and pressed a quick, tender kiss to his cheek to tease him.

His jaw flexed at the gesture, his grip on her waist tightening almost imperceptibly, as if her sweetness only fed the fire in him. He angled closer, lips brushing the corner of her mouth, his voice a husky whisper.

"Careful, Mrs. Khan. Do that again, and I won't stop at your cheek."

Her face flushed crimson, her hand instinctively rising to push at his chest, though weakly. But she decided to further tease him.

She cupped his jaw between her palms, squishing his cheeks together until his face looked almost boyish. "Awwwehhh... look at you now. Not my intimidating boss, just my very cute husband."

His brows shot up, unimpressed but unable to hide the flicker of amusement in his eyes.

"Cute?" he repeated flatly, though his arms tightened around her waist, keeping her firmly against him.

"Yes. Adorably cute," she teased, giggling when his expression darkened on purpose, as though he didn't like the word.

He leaned down, his breath fanning against her lips, a dangerous smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Zoya. Call me cute again and I might have to remind you how wrong you are."

Her heart leapt into her throat at the promise hidden in his tone. But instead of stepping back, she grinned wider, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Cute," she whispered deliberately, just to test him.

His responding chuckle was low, and it vibrated through her chest as he brushed his nose against her temple. "You're going to regret that, wifey" he warned, the threat softened by the way his lips lingered over her skin. Her cheeks burned.

Beyond the glass door, Mahveen stood frozen in the hallway, her nails digging into the file she held, her face twisted in barely contained rage.

Her eyes locked on them, the man she thought she could have, the woman she thought she could outshine.

The sight of Zoya nestled against him, his arm possessive around her, carved into her like a wound.

Seething in anger she walked away.

I was hunched over my laptop, blinking at a line in the agreement for the new project.

Something about the penalty clause wasn't adding up. Uff, these lawyers! They must be paid per confusing word.

After frowning at it for a good ten minutes, I gave up and gathered my courage.

Slowly, I walked toward His Highness.

..a.k.a. my boss, a.k.a. my husband.

"Um... Zaigham, this clause isn't clear.

If the vendor delays by fifteen days, does this apply only to equipment delivery or installation too? "

He looked up, those grey eyes locking on me. Before I could blink, his hand shot out and tugged me closer, straight onto his lap.

"Zaigham!" I squeaked, eyes wide. "What are you doing? This is your office!—"

"I don't care." His voice was calm, low, unbothered.

My jaw dropped. "You can't just— I mean, you're my boss!"

His lips curved, dangerously amused. "No. Right now I'm your husband. Who happens to also be your boss."

"Same thing!" I hissed, my hands smacking his chest lightly. "You can't blur these roles like this."

He leaned in slightly, so close I felt his breath tickle my ear. "I didn't blur them, Zoya. I merge them."

Then suddenly, a wicked little idea popped into my head. I narrowed my eyes and pulled back just enough to look him in the face.

"Excuse you, Mr. Khan. You are my boss. Please maintain some professional distance."

One eyebrow arched in amusement. "Professional distance?"

"Yes." I folded my arms, trying not to laugh. "Stay away from me. I'm a married woman, you know. And you clearly don't know about my husband."

His lips curved into the slowest, most dangerous smile. "Don't I?"

I gasped dramatically, clutching my chest. "No, you don't! If he ever found out you were touching me like this—" I widened my eyes like some tragic heroine. "He would kill you."

Zaigham chuckled, shaking his head. "That so?"

"Absolutely." I nodded with grave seriousness. "He's very possessive."

His fingers tightened at my waist, pulling me closer till I almost toppled back into him. His voice brushed my ear.

"You know what your husband would say if he walked in right now?" he whispered, shamelessly.

I shook my head, already dreading it. "What?"

His smirk widened. "He'd thank me... for keeping his wife so beautifully occupied."

"Zaigham!" I yelped, face burning as I shoved at his chest again.

He laughed softly, clearly savoring every second of my mortification. "Zoya. If you keep calling my name like that, I might forget we are in the office."

My jaw dropped, my cheeks scorching hot, and before I could even hit him for that audacity—

The door burst open.

I shot up from his lap so fast I nearly tripped over the chair. My heart was hammering against my ribs as I smoothed my kurta.

Zaigham's jaw clenched instantly, his eyes snapping to the intruder. "Ms. Mahveen, have you forgotten how to knock?"

Her eyes flicked over me, then him, and something sharp glimmered in her gaze.

His calm was terrifying. "I am a man very strict about my rules. Next time you forget, the consequences will not be very good."

I almost smiled at the way she gulped.

She dared to step forward anyway, holding out a stack of files. "These... Mr. Zack requested them for approval. Thats why I—"

Zaigham didn't even extend his hand. "Dismissed."

But instead of leaving like a normal human, Mahveen's lips curled into something sly. She tilted her head, voice dripping with fake innocence.

"Well, sir? One second ago... when she was sitting on your lap... where were those rules of yours?"

My breath caught. My eyes went wide. Did she just—?

I nearly choked on air at her audacity.

He leaned back in his chair with deliberate ease, his gaze pinning her like a hawk pinning prey.

"As far as I know, Ms. Mahveen..." He spoke calmly. "...what happens between me and my wife is none of your business. And you would do well to remember that before you let your tongue run reckless again."

Mahveen froze. The forced smirk on her face faltered, slipping into a clenched jaw.

I was still reeling, half-horrified and half-awestruck. He'd said it so calmly, like a verdict carved in stone.

When she didn't immediately move, his eyes narrowed.

"I don't like to repeat myself, you may leave."

She snapped out of her frozen state, shoved the files into his hand, and muttered, "Of course, sir," before storming toward the door.

But just before leaving, she turned and shot me a glare so venomous it almost burned holes through me.

I lifted my brows right back at her. Glare all you want, sweetheart. At least I didn't just get obliterated in front of my boss-husband.

The door clicked shut, leaving silence behind.

I whipped around to look at him.

"You!" I whisper-yelled, pointing a finger at his chest. "Do you have any idea how close I came to fainting? she had to announce it to the whole office?!"

Zaigham looked up from the file like nothing happened. Calm. Relaxed. "She didn't announce it," he said smoothly. "She implied it. And I corrected her."

I gasped. "Corrected her?!" I mimicked his deep tone with exaggerated drama. "Do you know how that sounded?"

One corner of his mouth lifted in a lazy smirk. "Like the truth?"

I groaned. "Ya Allah, this man will be the end of me."

He reached out, tugging my wrist gently until my hands fell away from my face. His eyes caught mine, steady and unyielding.

"Zoya," he said quietly, but his voice carried the weight of command. "Stop it, it's not a big deal. You are my legally wedded wife, and she needed to hear it."

My heart stumbled.I hated how part of me melted right then.

Still, I huffed, crossing my arms. "Do you know how awkward it is for me now? The whole office will think—"

"They will think nothing," he cut in, his tone final. Then, softer, almost teasing, "Unless you want me to make it clearer for them?"

My jaw dropped.

His smirk deepened, clearly enjoying every shade of red on my cheeks.

I stomped my foot dramatically. "I hate you."

"No, you don't." He leaned forward in his chair, already reaching for another document. "Now sit down. We have work."

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear from my now open hijab, my fingers flying over the keyboard as I tried to focus on the spreadsheet. The tension from earlier with Mahveen had almost slipped into the back of my mind when his voice made me look up.

"Zoya."

My head snapped toward him. "Yes?"

Zaigham extended some files in my direction. "Take these documents to Zack. I've reviewed them."

"Okay," I murmured, minimizing my screen and getting up. Our fingers brushed as I took the file.

The hallway was silent except for the sound of my heels. I pressed the elevator button, watching the digital display light up. 7th Floor. That's where Mr. Zack's office was. The doors slid open with a soft ding. I stepped in, hugging the files closer to my chest, and pressed the button.

The elevator moved smoothly at first... until it didn't.

Halfway down, there was a violent thud followed by a shudder that rattled the cabin. My heart jumped into my throat. The lights flickered... once, twice... then went out completely.

Darkness swallowed me whole.

"What the—" My voice cracked. "It was working fine since morning, what happened now?"

I fumbled for my phone, my only hope, but then I remembered. I'd left it on my desk.

"Damn it," I whispered, chest tightening.

My fingers clenched around the files, knuckles white.

The air suddenly felt heavier, thicker. Claustrophobia clawed at me. I pressed my back against the cold wall, trying to breathe, but every inhale was shallow, every exhale shaky.

"No... no, no..." I banged on the metal door, desperation breaking through my voice. "Help! Somebody, please! Is anyone there?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

I slid down against the wall, pulling my knees up as my heart pounded violently against my ribs. It was too dark. Too quiet. I couldn't breathe.

Ya Allah, help me please.

I prayed constantly.

It had been twenty minutes.

My eyes flicked to the clock again. Zoya hadn't returned. A prickling unease crawled under my skin. She was quick with errands, never the type to dawdle.

Reaching for my phone, I dialed her number.

A faint ding came from her desk.

She hadn't taken it.

Something cold slid into my veins.

I immediately called Zack's extension. "Did you receive the reviewed files from Mrs. Khan?"

There was a pause. "No, sir. She hasn't come by."

For a split second, my heart stopped. Then my chair screeched back violently as I shot up.

My strides turned into a sprint down the hallway. Every possibility flashed in my mind, each darker than the last.

"Zoya..." I muttered under my breath, my eyes sharp, scanning every corner, every direction.

I was halfway down the hallway when Mahveen appeared from the opposite end.

"Sir, the party has arrived in the boardroom."

Not now. Not when my gut twisted with unease. I kept walking.

She stepped in front of me, daring to place her hand on mine to stop me. I halted, my eyes snapping to her hold.

"Ask them to wait for me."

Her brows shot up. "But—"

"Do as I said, Ms. Mahveen!" My voice cracked through the corridor, louder, harsher than I intended. The grip of her fingers around my hand felt like a burn. I jerked it free with a force that made her stumble.

I didn't wait for her response. My stride turned into a run as I reached the main elevator. I jabbed the button once, twice, nothing.

The damn doors didn't move.

A sharp thud echoed in my chest. My heartbeat wasn't calm anymore it was pounding like fists against steel.

I spun to the intercom on the wall and pressed it so hard the button nearly cracked beneath my thumb. "Call the elevator operators. Now!" The guard on the other side stammered something, but I cut him off, "I don't care what the issue is. Get them here in the next sixty seconds!"

Seconds stretched. The stillness of the elevator doors mocked me. My hand pressed flat against the cold metal, as if I could feel her through it.

Was she in there?

She had to be. Where else could she have gone?

Every breath I took was jagged, shallow. I wanted to tear the doors apart with my bare hands.

The operators finally arrived, fumbling with their tools, their hesitant eyes flicking to me. My presence made them stiff, but my expression had them stumbling to work faster.

"Why the hell is this elevator not working?!" My voice was a growl, shaking the quiet hall. "What do I pay you for, huh?!"

They faltered, stuttering excuses. I cut across. "Don't waste my time with explanations. Open it. Now."

One of them nodded frantically, his hands trembling as he worked.

Minutes crawled by like years. My fists clenched so hard my nails dug crescents into my palm.

Every sound, the click of tools, the hiss of wires, made my nerves coil tighter.

Then, finally, with a loud mechanical groan, the doors peeled open.

Zoya unmoving, lying on the floor of the suffocating cabin, her head tilted to the side, her face drained of color.

For one horrifying second, my heart lurched to my throat.

"Zoya." Her name tore out of me like I had been strangled. I dropped to my knees, my hands trembling as they touched her face. Ice. Too cold. My breath came fast, ragged, and all the air around me collapsed into a suffocating vacuum.

No. Not like this.

I scooped her up into my arms before my mind could spiral further, holding her fragile weight against my chest. She didn't stir. Her head fell limply against my shoulder.

My chest thudded so violently it hurt.

I stood, storming out of the elevator. The operators and staff froze at the sight.

"Out of the way!" I barked, my voice reverberating off the marble walls. People scattered instantly.

Each step was heavier, faster. My grip on her tightened.

I pushed my cabin door open with my shoulder and hurried inside, laying her down carefully on the couch. Her dupatta slid off, and I instantly pulled it back over her.

"Zoya... Zoya, open your eyes." My voice cracked as I sprinkled cold water from the jug onto her pale face. Droplets ran down her cheeks, darkening the fabric beneath her head, but her lashes didn't flutter.

My throat constricted. I tapped her cheeks gently at first, then firmer, desperation bleeding into every motion.

"Z-Zoya. Zoya, do you hear me? Open your eyes. Zoyaa!"

Nothing.

The sound of the door bursting open hit my ears. Nouran's voice, frantic, shook the silence.

"What happened?!" Rayyan was right behind her, equally shaken, his eyes darting to the couch.

I didn't look at them.

"Rayyan...call the doctor. Now!"

He froze for half a heartbeat, then scrambled for his phone, muttering into it with urgent panic.

Nouran approached carefully, her hand hovering near Zoya's wrist as though to check her pulse, but my glare stopped her cold. My body angled between them instinctively, shielding her.

"She just fainted," I muttered.

But my hands betrayed me, they kept tapping her cheek, gripping her cold fingers as if the force of my touch alone could anchor her back to me.

Her face was far too pale. Beads of water rolled down her temple but she didn't flinch.

"Zoya..." My thumb brushed her cheekbone as I lowered my forehead to hers, my breaths unsteady. "Please."

I loosened the collar of her kurta slightly, anything that might help her breathe easier. She still didn't stir.

Every minute that crawled by gnawed at me, until finally, the door burst open again with the doctor rushing in, medical bag in hand.

I immediately moved aside just enough for her to reach Zoya, but my hand stayed over hers, refusing to let go.

The doctor knelt, checking her pulse first, then her breathing, then quickly shining a small penlight across her eyes. Her brows furrowed in concentration, but there was no fear in her expression.

"She's stable," the doctor said. "It's a fainting spell. Anxiety combined with claustrophobia most likely triggered it. Her pulse is steady, her breathing normal. There's no immediate danger."

My lungs released the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. My grip on Zoya's hand slackened slightly but I couldn't let go.

"When will she wake up?" The question scraped out of me before I could stop it.

The doctor gave a small nod. "She will regain consciousness soon. Right now, she needs rest and fluids. She needs a calm environment. No stress."

The doctor looked at me meaningfully. "She shouldn't be left alone for the next few hours. Keep her surrounded, keep her hydrated."

I nodded politely while Rayyan escorted her out and Nouran followed him after tapping my shoulder.

My hands hovered helplessly before I reached, undoing the pins of her hijab gently, laying the fabric aside. Her hair spilled out across the couch cushion, soft against my palm.

The first thing I felt was warmth. A hand, steady but trembling against my cheek. For a moment, I thought I was still lost in the dark of that elevator, that suffocating silence. But then... my lashes fluttered open, and there he was.

Zaigham.

His face hovered so close, his eyes stormy and wet, his jaw clenched as though he had been holding back the world. My chest tightened, because I had never seen him like this, stripped of control, raw, desperate.

When his gaze locked with mine, he exhaled shakily, like the universe had been crushing him until I blinked.

And then his arms were around me. Fierce. Shaking. He pulled me against him like I was air, like he had been suffocating. His heart thundered against my ear, frantic and wild.

I couldn't stop the tears. They slipped silently, soaking into his shirt. The way he held me it was more than protection, more than care. It was fear. Fear of losing me.

"Zaigham..." My whisper cracked. His embrace only tightened. His breath brushed my temple, uneven, almost breaking.

I didn't recognize him like this.

Tears blurred everything again, and the only words that escaped me were a trembling confession, "What... what would have happened if you hadn't come?"

He stiffened. Pulled back just enough to grip my face in both hands, forcing me to meet his eyes.

"Don't," he whispered harshly, almost a growl. "Don't ever say that." His thumb shook against my skin. "I came for you. I always will."

And as his forehead pressed against mine, breaths mingling, tears staining both our faces, I realized something terrifying.

He wasn't just my shield. He wasn't just the man I admired.

He was my lifeline.

And today, I had felt what it would mean to lose him.

That knowledge sank deep into my bones like fire, painful, consuming, and impossible to escape.

His voice broke through my spiraling thoughts, hoarse and frantic, as if he had swallowed glass.

"Zoya... my love... are you in pain anywhere? Tell me—your head, your chest—does it hurt? Your breathing, is it heavy? Should I call the doctor back? Should I—"

His hands moved over my arms, my face, as though checking.

I clutched his wrist, stopping him. My tears blurred my vision until he was just a silhouette of warmth and desperation. My lips quivered.

His thumb brushed away my tears roughly, almost angrily, as though he couldn't bear to see them. His eyes were glassy, his breath hot against my skin.

"You have no idea..." he rasped. "You have no idea what I felt when I saw you lying there, unconscious. Zoya... my heart... it stopped. Do you understand? It stopped. I thought..." His throat bobbed, his jaw clenched so hard I could see the strain. "I thought I lost you."

My heart ached painfully.

I whispered, my voice breaking between sobs, "I was so scared..."

"Shhh..." His lips brushed my temple, his arms crushing me against him as if he could absorb my fear into himself. "I'm here. You're safe now. No one... nothing... will touch you while I breathe."

My sobs turned helpless, burying into his chest. His heartbeat was wild, erratic, echoing the chaos of everything unsaid.

His hand slid to cradle the back of my head, his other arm circling me impossibly tighter.

"I can face enemies, battles, storms... but not you like this, Zoya."

I trembled, whispering brokenly, "I didn't mean to..."

"I know, meri jaan. I know." He pressed his lips into my hair, his breath uneven. "But still... I can't watch you suffer. It kills me."

For a few seconds, there was only silence. Our foreheads pressed together, our breaths mingling. His eyes held mine, unblinking, raw, trembling with emotions I had never seen in him before.

And then the dam inside me broke. My tears began to fall again, spilling helplessly down my cheeks.

He closed his eyes briefly, as if the sight tore something inside him apart. The next moment, I felt him move, his lips brushing against my damp skin.

One after another, he kissed them away. The corner of my eyes, the streaks on my cheeks, the trembling bridge of my nose. His lips moved with a tenderness that melted me....like he was chasing every drop of my pain, determined to erase it.

"Don't cry..." his whisper came between the kisses, rough and broken.

But the more he kissed, the harder the tears fell. And he didn't stop. He pressed his lips to every single tear, one by one, until I felt myself dissolve in his hold.

"You scared me... you scared me so much, love."

And then he hugged me again. Wrapped in each other, in the unbearable weight of love neither of us knew how to name.