"The Silence He Left Behind"
The door closed behind him with a sound too soft to match the storm he left inside me.
I just stood there, still backed against the counter, hands trembling faintly as water dripped from my fingers. The silver moonlight hadn't moved. It continued to spill into the kitchen like it didn't care that everything had changed.
I touched the side of my face where his knuckles had grazed me. Barely a brush.
And yet, my skin burned.
What just happened?
What almost happened?
My chest tightened. The space between us had been filled with heat and air and unsaid things. If he had leaned just a little closer—
If I had tilted my head up—
If either of us had breathed too deeply—
It would've happened.
I shut my eyes and leaned back against the counter, letting out a breath I hadn't realised I was holding. My heart was still racing like it had its own agenda.
He almost kissed me.
Almost.
And the worst part?
I wanted him to.
God help me, I wanted him to.
I wasn't supposed to. He was... complicated. Sharp-edged. Possessive. Impossible. And yet, when he looked at me like that—when he said the words he did, like they were carved out of heat and truth—I didn't feel afraid.
I felt…
Seen. Claimed. Known.
That scared me more than anything.
I turned to the sink, grabbing the towel absentmindedly, though I didn't dry the plate. My thoughts were louder than the dripping tap.
What did he mean—"You're mine. You've always been"?
How long had he felt this?
And more importantly… how long had I?
That night on the terrace. The way he always found a reason to fight with Hafiz. The way he stayed when the lights went out the first time. The way his eyes searched for me in every room before settling.
He said he could kill a man for breathing near me.
That wasn't a metaphor.
That was Ahad. Raw. Terrifying. Honest.
And I… I didn't know what to do with that truth. I didn't know what to do with the truth inside me either.
Because despite everything I told myself, despite the lists of reasons why I should keep my distance—
I wanted him to come back.
I wanted him to finish what he started.
I wanted him to cross that final inch and kiss me like I wasn't just someone he was drawn to, but someone he couldn't live without.
But he didn't.
He flinched. Like he was afraid of himself. Or maybe afraid of what I'd do if he did kiss me.
Would I push him away?
Would I pull him closer?
I didn't know. And maybe that's what scared him too.
The moonlight began to fade as clouds drifted past, dimming the silver glow in the kitchen. I was alone now—with soap bubbles floating in the sink and a thousand questions clinging to my skin.
He left before I could ask him.
Why now? Why me? Why not… finish?
And maybe most dangerously of all—
Why do I want him to come back?