"The Second Round of Dishes & The Candlelight Shift"
The generator was finally fixed. That infernal piece of metal had whirred to life with the enthusiasm of a resurrected corpse—groaning, shaking, and then humming like a lullaby to the tired house. The lights had returned an hour ago, and surprisingly, they were still holding up.
But what hadn't changed… was the cursed pile of dishes. Again.
"I swear this house is cursed," Iman muttered, sleeves rolled up, hair tied messily, cheeks flushed from the heat of the kitchen.I told you—next time, we use disposable plates," sh said, flinging a wet spoon into the rack with a little too much drama.
I gave her an exasperated look. "Next time, you're not invited."
"And yet here I am, shoulder-deep in soap bubbles, living the dream." She threw she rolled her eyes so hard, I half-feared they'd get stuck.
It was stupid, really. The dishes, the light, the absurdity of the moment. And yet, here we were, doing it again—like déjà vu with a cruel sense of humor.
And then…
Then she said something. Something she shouldn't have.
She laughed, drying a plate. "You know, Ali would've just ordered food and left everything to the househelp. He says men should never be made to wash dishes. It's emasculating."
I froze. My hand stilled on the soap-slick edge of a bowl.
Something in my chest twitched. Just the mention of his name — in her mouth, in this kitchen, next to me — it scorched.
I turned to look at her slowly. My smile? Gone.
"What did you say?"
She blinked. "I was just—"
"Repeating what he said?" I snapped, and then immediately regretted the sharpness in my tone.
Iman shifted. "Ahad, don't be ridiculous. It was a joke."
"It's never just a joke when it's him," I said, stepping closer, voice lower now.
There was a shift. She felt it too — I saw the way her eyes narrowed, her posture straightened. The playful kitchen air thickened, slowed, like honey turning into glass.
And right then—
Poof.
The lights went out.
"Generator," she whispered.
"Dead," I muttered.
Only the moon came to our rescue, falling soft and silver through the narrow kitchen window. It pooled around her like a halo, brushing against her jawline, catching the curve of her lips. I could still see her. That was the problem.
She stood silent now, plate still in hand, dripping faintly into the sink. The ticking of the wall clock sounded suddenly louder than it ever had.
"You're jealous," she said quietly.
I smiled. A slow, dangerous smile.
"Of course I am."
"Why?"
I took a step closer. "Because I don't like it when he's in even as a word or memory is in you"
"Ahad," she warned, her voice tight.
"I see you talking to others, and I—" My voice dropped to a whisper now. "I could kill a man who so much as breathes in your direction. Don't you get it, Iman?"
Her back pressed lightly to the edge of the counter now, nowhere to move. The moonlight flickered over her eyes. She searched mine, looking for something — maybe an answer I wasn't ready to give. Maybe a truth she already knew.
"Why?" she whispered.
I stepped closer. My hand brushed her hair away from her cheek, and my knuckles barely grazed her skin.
"Because you're mine. You've always been."
She stared up at me. Her breath caught.
I leaned in, just a little. The air between us was crackling now, heavy with unsaid things. The smell of lemon soap and wet metal swirled around us, but all I could smell was her.
"You're lying to yourself," I said softly.
She didn't deny it. Her eyes held mine and she murmured,
"And you're dangerous."
I bent my head closer, just enough to taste the promise of her words.
"Only for you."
Her lips parted. She didn't move back. My chest brushed to hers and our heart in the same sync second.Just a little dip of my head and i could relaz.My heart beating too fast while my head shouting not to!I could kiss her,just a little dip of my head towards her lips and there it happens —
But I didn't.
I flinched. Not from her. From myself.
i took an abrupt step back. Hard. Fast. Like something had burned me.
She looked at me then — not with anger, not even confusion. Just… waiting. Expecting something I couldn't give yet.
Damnit
"I shouldn't…" I said, clearing my throat. My voice was rough, too honest.My blood blazing fire ,my adrenaline in rush."I shouldn't be here."
She didn't stop me. Didn't say anything. Just watched as I turned and walked out, every part of me aching with the weight of the moment I didn't allow.
The generator had died. The moon had taken over.
And in that kitchen, something else had come to life — something more dangerous than any candlelight.
Me.