Destined

*11*

Warning: Reader's discretion is advised.

There was a great roar of delirium echoed inside Shravan. He was amazed at how satisfied he felt while sitting with Suman and her small warm hands sandwiching between his own. 

If the last two times they had kissed was branding, this time the kiss they shared put the last nail to it. He didn't know if he would ever be able to come out of the pit of this abyss — bottomless, ever consuming love he felt for Suman. In his twenty-nine years of life, he never realised there's a difference between loving someone and being in love with someone. 

Loving someone is easy — like breathing. You don't think while you love someone, you don't get terrified of losing them. You just know they will be there for you to love them. But being in love is intimidating. What if the person you are so much in love with decides that you are not worthy of them. What if they decide this is not what they want — they are trapped, they want to crawl out of the space you have created for them, what if,

Shravan took a deep breath concentrating on the sound of soft breathing of Suman. She was sitting with her head resting on his shoulder. He looked from his periphery, a small smile gracing her lips — lips that were dancing with the same passion and rhythm as his. 

“What are you thinking?” Suman spoke softly. Shravan hummed. “Or shall I rephrase it, what are you overthinking?” she chuckled.

How he wished he could tell her, “Can’t a man just stay quiet?”

Suman smiled, “You can't.”

Shravan chuckled, as his eyes took in her features lazily. She seemed tired yet happy, gazing at him with so much adoration, that it nearly hurt him. His fingers left her hand and followed the path of stray hair that made a whisper of shadow on Suman’s face. “I am thinking,” his breath hitched, “what am I going to do with you!”

Suman tilted her head towards his trailing finger, and Shravan continued, “People often tell, being a woman isn't an easy feat. They never tell you about men and our struggle.” His finger pressed lightly on her pulse just below the juncture of her neck and shoulder, “From the very beginning, we are taught to grow up to be a provider— a protector — someone who is supposed to be the backbone of a family. I know this doesn't sound right, but that's how men think — at least most of them.

“Call it the pressure of society, but this very notion is imprinted in us, and that imprint is so deep, it's hard to shake it off. And being a man you have no idea what I feel when I am unable to do what I am naturally inclined to.” 

Feeling the rhythm of her breathing and heartbeat, Shravan pondered, “I so want to be the man you need, Suman, the man who would give you easy, uncomplicated love— a relationship where you can lean upon knowing even if the world goes against you there is someone who will always stand by your side and will fight for you till the last breath his body can produce. That guarantee, that support — which I was capable of,” His hand curled against her neck, “now I don't even have half the strength of what I had, Suman,” he struggled, “how I could have carried you in my arms — would have made love to you until you begged me to stop yet wanted me more,” 

Suman stayed quiet giving him a wide berth as though she was scared that if she opened her mouth Shravan would stop talking and dark allies of his mind would be left unattended again. Shravan could see the genuine interest in her eyes, she wanted to know him, understand him — she wanted this to work. As happy as it made him, it hurt him too. Relationships should be transparent, not murky like this. 

“Wanting you, knowing it isn't the right thing to do — the war between my conscience and heart goes through my mind every time I look at you is unbearable.”