Lut Gaye || لٹ گۓ

TWENTY ONE | Rise and Fall

"kitna zaroori hai ab meri khatir tu."

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YELLOW beams of light spilling from the autumn sun permeated from the large transparent window and poured on her face.

Iman stirred and the curtain of her eyelids slowly lifted up; drowsy gaze descending on the face of the man slumbering just few inches away from her.

Zain.

A dream―Iman mused as she hazily peered at him through her lashes.

She had dreamt of him in the past week; more than once because he was constantly on her mind ever since he had left her in her house. And that's how she always saw him in her dreams; leaving.

Away from her.

There was always a distance between them.

He was never this vivid, this real, and this close to her in her drea-

The notion shoved her into consciousness and all remaining traces of sleep flew out of her eyes as they snapped wide open and her body wiggled back in bewilderment.

Lifting her head from the pillow and hoisting herself up, she let her astonished gaze wander around the unfamiliar matte walls surrounding her before it landed back on the man sound asleep next to her.

Her heart lightly thumped in her chest as her brain finally provided her the reminder that she was in her husband's room. In his bed.

Iman didn't know if it was a sense of security, of belonging, that she felt at that moment but she found herself leaning back into the bed. She rested her head against her folded elbow and swiveled her body to his side―letting her eyes fall on his face.

Softly, her gaze roamed over his relaxed features; slipped down to the curvature of his neck; paused on the sinews of his forearms and absorbed the deep rise and fall of his chest as he took in slow breaths.

And when it slid back up to his serene face, she realized how much she loved this moment―this moment she was sharing with him; this moment he was so unaware of.

Lying next to him―face to face―in a room bathed in sunehri hues of seher; redolent with the smell of lilacs and roses and lilies enwreathing the bed; steeped with the soft sound of his breathing that matched the rhythm of her heartbeat.

It felt warm and sweet and peaceful.

Seconds twirled into minutes as she kept looking at him and eventually, her dreamy gaze turned admiring as she took in all sides of his features―light and dark―soft and rugged―he was so beautiful.

Her awe-laden irises traced the dark and defined stubble covering his jaw, his chin and his neckline and she wondered how it would feel to run her fingers along his bearded jaw, how would it feel to-

Iman froze.

And when she realised her hand was almost about to reach out to touch his face, her eyes went round and mouth went dry.

Her body and her pulse, both surged up as she moved away from him and sat on the bed―feeling a charring heat forming right where the seashell pendant he had gifted her last night dangled―her heart.

Her heart that was now pounding violently in her chest.

Was she seriously about to stroke his face?

Squeezing her eyes shut and shaking off her thoughts, she opened them with a conviction to get up and take a shower.

Taking a shy glance at him from the corner of her eye one last time, she swivelled around, climbing out of the bed, and footed toward the ensuite bathroom.