Whispers of the Past

Chapter Twenty Three - Just a Touch of Your Love

THIRD PERSON'S POV:

The Eiffel Tower shimmered beneath the twilight sky, its iron latticework glowing like a beacon of hope against the Parisian dusk. Hand in hand, Timothee and Atiye ascended the tower, their steps echoing in the near-empty space. Every level offered a breathtaking panorama of the city, but they barely glanced at the view. Their eyes were on each other, seeking solace and connection in the vastness of the cityscape.

They had chosen Paris as their escape, a temporary haven from the shadows of their past. Both carried scars, physical and emotional, remnants of battles fought and wounds that still ached. But here, amidst the romance of the City of Lights, they dared to dream of a brighter future, a love story written not in pain, but in hope and healing.

Reaching the top, they stepped onto the observation deck, the wind whipping their hair and carrying the distant murmur of the city below. Paris sprawled before them, a tapestry of twinkling lights and bustling avenues. It felt symbolic, a reminder that life, despite its darkness, also held immense beauty and possibilities.

As they leaned against the railing, the silence settled comfortably between them. Then, with a gentle hand, Timothee moved a strand of hair from Atiye's face, his touch sending shivers down her spine. In his warm brown eyes, she saw not pity or fear, but acceptance and unwavering love.

ATIYE'S POV:

This time, we were sharing a room, the same bed.

Timothee, his movements careful and tender, carried me like a precious porcelain doll, depositing me beside the rumpled sheets. Our gazes locked, the electricity between us thrumming. His fingertips, warm and calloused, grazed my cheeks, sending shivers down my spine.

"I.. I always wanted to say this to you Atiye, but never got enough courage.

" What's that?" Though I could sense what it was, yet I asked with a curious voice.

"I just didn't wanted to burden you with these words.. "

"Just say it.. Tim." I whispered to him.

He murmured, his voice a low rumble against my skin, "I.. I love you, Atiye."

"And I love you, Timothee," I choked out, tears pricking at my eyes. "I never thought... after everything... I never thought I could love again." The memory of that past, a suffocating darkness, threatened to engulf me.

His thumb, a comforting caress, brushed against my lips. "Shh," he soothed, his voice laced with quiet strength. "Those nightmares are over now. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

A shaky smile escaped my lips. He leaned in, his breath warm against my face, the scent of his cologne a familiar anchor. I closed my eyes, anticipation fluttering in my chest. His lips met mine, soft and tender, a whisper of a promise. This wasn't a kiss fueled by passion, but by something deeper, something purer. It was the touch of two souls resonating, a language spoken without words.

His touch, hesitant at first, grew bolder as his hand drifted to my waist, turning me towards him. His breath tickled my shoulder, sending goosebumps erupting across my skin. He gently pushed aside a strand of hair, his fingertips lingering on my neck. Then, slowly, he dipped his head, his lips trailing down my spine, each kiss a searing brand against my skin. The heat wasn't just physical, it was the intensity of emotions swirling within me - gratitude, relief, and a love so fierce it threatened to consume me.