Professor Khan ✔️(completed)

32. v a s l - union

"Promise me."

His warm breath caressing hers as he asked her to promise him she'd live. Promising him meant her life was his and she sighed.

"I promise." Her words wavered, but for the first time in her life, she meant it when she promised him to get help.

He closed his eyes and their lips met again. Without barriers of the past. Without fear. Without doubt. The only thing between them was Love. Passion. Promise.

Her hands shook as she flirted with the buttons of his shirt. Knowing what this step meant between them. The hidden scars would come on display and he could never unsee it again. She shoved down her anxiety and her shaky hands battling with the buttons of his shirt.

His hands drifted down to the zip of her heavily embroidered dress. Toying with the clasp. Giving her time. Asking for permission. As the zipper moved down and his finger grazed her back softly, it crashed down on her.

She removed her hands from his shirt and snatched herself away. Her breath hitched. Her eyes filled with angry tears. Angry at herself for mutilating her body so much that she was ashamed to show it her husband.

"Rabi?" He whispered. "I'm sorry, babe."

"No," her voice was thick as she closed her eyes. Her back towards him. "It's not you."

"Look at me." He turned her around and wrapping his hands around her face. "What is it?"

She stared in to those shadowy dark eyes as he held so much patience and love for her. Her own eyes brimming with tears. She put her own hands on top of his as if holding on to him was only safety she needed.

"Asfi," she swallowed the lump on her throat. "My arms and my legs are mutilated. There are so many scars that I don't even know how I survived. Your wife is not perfect, she is scarred and mutilated."

He shook his head and then left a chaste kiss on her lips as if addicted to the taste of her. Stepping back his own forehead furrowed with the lines of worry as he dropped the opened shirt on the floor. If she wasn't nervous about her vulnerability, she would've totally drooled about how sexy her husband was.

The veins running up his arms as the years of workout on display along with ink that coiled on both of his arms up to his neck and onto the hard skin of his chest. A name written on his chest right above his heart that she couldn't figure out in the dim light. But that wasn't it.

His hand closed in a fist. His knuckles turned white as he turned around. An audible gasp left her lips as she staggered back. Her back hitting the glass of the window.

"Remember when I said I'm scarred and inked. This is what I meant, Rabail."

He whispered. So much pain an torture laced in his words.

Her hand clasped on her mouth as she held the sobs captive in silence. His back was a ground for battle scenes. Battered and scarred, covered in ink. The closer she got the more she could see the depth of them. As if someone had taken hot rods and seared his skin.

For a second a seventeen years old Asfandyar Khan flashed in front of her. The bone-crushing pain he went through as he cried for his mother.

"May I?"

She murmured between her sobs and he nodded.

She touched the base of his neck as she traced the map of his scars. The skin of his back raised and jagged. Her fingers traveling down his spine. His body going tense for a second under her touch and then relaxing. She brought herself closer to him. Touching his scars with feathery kisses. Letting him know, she accepted him how he was.