Whispers of the Past

Chapter Twenty Seven - Storm

THIRD PERSON'S POV:

The symphony of crickets chirped outside, a peaceful counterpoint to the gentle rise and fall of Atiye's chest as she slept nestled against Timothee's side. Moonlight streamed through the window, painting silver patterns on their tangled limbs. A haven of warmth and security, their little yellow haven seemed a world away from the shadows of her past.

But then, the idyllic scene shattered. A guttural scream ripped from Atiye's throat, jolting her awake. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, eyes wide with terror, fixated on the swirling shadows in the corner. "Xaviar!" she hissed, scrambling away, the dream's terror clinging to her like a spiderweb.

ATIYE'S POV:

Xaviar eyed her trembling figure in front of him.

Tears blurred her sight but she didn't let them fall.

"I-i am sorry.. "

Removing his belt he moved around her trembling frame making sure to show her the hard edge of the belt which will soon meet her skin.

"What did you do. Atiye."

"I- I.   " She replied him in a trembling tone satisfying him with her fear.

He yelled as he moved his hand and slammed the
hard leather on her skin earning a painful cry from her.

"Atiye, wake up. Dammit ATIYE WAKE UP!!!!"

THIRD PERSON'S POV:
Her eyes snapped up in pure terror as her gaze met with familiar dark brown ones which were looking at her with only concern.

Timothee was by her side in an instant, arms enveloping her shaking form. "It's okay, love, you're safe," he murmured , his voice a soothing balm. But Atiye couldn't breathe, the echoes of the nightmare constricting her chest. Panic clawed at her throat, turning her limbs icy despite the summer heat.

Without hesitation, Timothee scooped her up, his strong hold a grounding anchor in the storm brewing within her. He rushed towards the car, the frantic beat of his heart mirroring the urgency in his movements. The hospital, usually a beacon of hope, felt ominous under the relentless gaze of paparazzi cameras flashing like lightning in the niunease.

Whispers and speculations swirled as Timothee shielded Atiye, his anger a simmering storm beneath his calm facade. "Panic attack," he curtly informed the concerned doctor, his grip tightening on Atiye's hand. "Please, just take care of her."

The sterile room buzzed with activity, but to Atiye, it felt detached, muffled. It was Timothee's voice, unwavering and gentle, that anchored her. He held her hand, spoke of silly things, anything to distract her from the fear gnawing at her. When the doctor confirmed it was just a nightmare, relief washed over her, leaving behind a lingering unease.

The next morning, news erupted.

Headlines screamed about "Timothee Chalamet seen with his mystery girlfriend at Hospital,"

"Did Timothee Chalamet's mystery Giirfriend attempted suicide?"

"Did Timothee Chalamet cheated on her with Selena Gomez?" fueled by blurry paparazzi photos and wild speculations.

Timothee knew the storm they'd weather wouldn't just be internal. He shielded Atiye from the toxic media frenzy, creating a cocoon of normalcy within their yellow haven.

He cooked her favorite breakfast, their laughter ringing out like defiance against the negativity outside. He played her favorite songs, filling their home with the music of their shared memories. He held her close, whispering reassurances that their love was their fortress, impenetrable to the whispers and lies.

Atiye, initially shaken, found strength in his unwavering support. The nightmare hadn't just been about Xaviar; it was a memory, a old memory burid inside her sub conscious mind; a reminder of the vulnerabilities she kept hidden. But with Timothee, she didn't have to hide. He held her fears, soothed her doubts, and reminded her that their love was a safe harbor, no matter the storm outside.