36| How Can I Not Forgive Him

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H O W C A N I N O T
F O R G I V E H I M

W O R D C O U N T: 2518

Sorry for not replying to your messages. I felt extremely bad for not updating and thanks for understanding my reasons.

For all those who are wondering, the 38th chapter will be the MATURE one.

I yawned and stretched, looking out of the open window, through which bright, golden flecks of sunlight streamed into the room

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I yawned and stretched, looking out of the open window, through which bright, golden flecks of sunlight streamed into the room.

"What a beautiful morning!" I smiled to myself.

Yesterday was the most amazing day of my existence. I couldn't stop smiling and rethinking everything that had happened.

I was astonished. How could my rab turn my life in seconds?

Much to my dismay, I had to sleep alone. Even if I wanted nothing else in the world but to sleep in his arms, I couldn't.

The rule was simple. Make him desperate!

The warmth that seeped into my heart when he confessed his love for me was spellbinding. I couldn't get enough of it. Call me stupid but I wanted to hear it again and again.

I could barely sleep at night. I was practically squealing on my bed from time to time.

I offered Fajir and slept after it. I woke up around 8.30AM and the delicious aroma of Machboos and kebab hit my nostrils making me inhale deeply.

Are we having guests today? But I wasn't aware of it.

I took a shower and hurriedly changed into some comfortable clothes. I decided not to wear hijab in the house from now on.

I followed the tantalizing and tempting aroma and of course it came from the kitchen. So without wasting more time, I splintered towards it.

As I entered the kitchen, the first person I saw was Nabiha. She was sitting on the kitchen counter and having an apple.

The second person I saw had my breathing hitched. Inhaling sharply, my hesitant gaze stared ahead. Landing on the tall figure who was easily recognizable from any direction. At the present moment, it was his back that I was facing. He was wearing a white shirt which was slightly transparent and a black lower below. He had his one hand resting on the counter and he was almost leaning to it, while he held the metal skewers tightly in the other hand. He was making kebab.

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