They say people change when they fall in love. Maybe they're right.

Just look at my best friend; she's the biggest example of this quote.

We were goung to watch a drama together at my place tonight.

Snacks were ready, and my excitement was sky-high. The only thing missing was her.

But then, right before she was supposed to come, my phone rang. “Sorry, bestie.”  Her voice was soft but guilty. “I can't make it today. Maaz called... We'd planned a long drive ages ago, but he was always too busy, and today he finally asked me out. So I couldn't bring myself to say no to him. I know you understand me. Please forgive me this time, You know na, I love you.” She said all of this in one breath.

And before I could even reply, she hung up. Straight to my face. Like she only wanted to tell me, not actually hear what I had to say in return.

And the hardest truth?

When she said, “I understand her,” at that moment she was completely right in her own place.

Yes, I totally understand her.

But what about me?

Why couldn’t she understand me too? She should have, shouldn’t she?

After all, isn’t that what best friends are for? All these thoughts did nothing but add to the frustration that was written all over my face.

Look, I have no problem with people who are in love. And I’m not one of those who roll their eyes every time someone talks about true love.

The truth is, I genuinely pray that those who love each other from the heart end up together.

But the thing is, when someone makes a promise to me and then breaks it, it makes me feel really sick. like really very sick, and you can consider that it is one of my biggest pet peeves.

And today... she did the very same thing, even though she knew very well how much it hurts me. So yeah, I'm pissed. Like, seriously pissed.

I let out a sigh-not because I wanted to, but because holding onto that thought only brought more irritation inside me and nothing else.

So I stood near my wardrobe, trying to fold a few clothes, but the annoyance kept crawling under my skin. It felt like the entire universe had conspired to test my patience today. My clothes kept slipping off-some from the left side, and just as I fixed them, others tumbled from the right.

By now, my patience had reached its breaking point. “I can't do this anymore,” I muttered under my breath, grabbing a towel from beneath and angrily pushing the wardrobe door shut.

“To hell with friendship dramas, love excuses, and this stupid falling wardrobe.” Without another thought, I strode straight toward the bathroom-the only place that could soothe my irritation and bring me a moment of peace.

I walked in, swung the door open, and stepped inside. I hooked the towel neatly onto the hanger next to my bathrobe, which was already there.

Then, slowly, I began peeling off my clothes, piece by piece, until I stood bare under the shower's white light. I twisted the shower knob, and within seconds, warm water rushed over me.

“Mmm... this feels good.” The first touch of water felt like therapy, as if it was rinsing away all the heaviness built up on my chest.

I picked up my exfoliator and gently scrubbed my skin, all over, watching the dead skin slough off my body. Then I rinsed it off completely.

Next, I flipped open the cap of my body wash. Instantly, the bathroom was wrapped in the sweet, cozy scent of plum vanilla.

I took a small amount in my hand and began to lather it onto my body. The creamy foam spread smoothly like silk, soft and gentle, before the water washed it away, leaving behind pure freshness.

I paused the water for a moment, grabbed the shampoo bottle, poured some into my palms, and massaged it into my scalp. The lather foamed up in my hair. Then I took a hair scrapper and gently rubbed it into my scalp and through my hair.

Finally, I rinsed it out thoroughly, feeling as if every troubling thought that had weighed on my mind was being washed away.

I turned off the shower briefly and took the conditioner. I ran careful strokes through my hair as the conditioner soaked in.

After a few seconds, I stepped back under the shower stream, letting the water cascade over me, rinsing away all worries completely and leaving me feeling utterly fresh and renewed.

This time, I finally turned off the shower and reached up to take the towel from the hanger where I had placed it earlier. I pressed the towel against my body and began patting my arms, my shoulders, and then my legs, gently removing all the droplets clinging to my skin.

Then I placed the towel back on the hanger and took my bathrobe. I stepped in front of the vanity, wrapping it around myself-it felt like the hug I didn't know I needed.

With my other hand, I grabbed the towel again and twisted it around my damp hair, knotting it tightly on top. A few droplets still escaped, running down my neck.

Then I turned and reached for the bathroom door knob. My fingers curled around it, turning it slowly-click. The door shifted open.

A cool draft greeted me as I stepped out, pulling the door closed softly behind me.

I walked over and stood before the mirror. My reflection stared back at me-fresh, calm, and quietly alive.

Just a few hours ago, I barely felt alive; now, I felt truly present. Slowly, I began rubbing my hair with the towel, squeezing out the water until the strands felt lighter. I placed the towel on the chair nearby and paused for a moment, my fingers brushing over the damp fabric.

Then I crossed the room and switched off the light. Dressing in bright light always felt uneasy-almost as if unseen eyes were watching me. Darkness brought comfort, a privacy only I could claim.

With a deep exhale, I walked to my bed and loosened the bathrobe tied around me. My hands pushed it back and it slipped easily, sliding off my shoulders and falling in a soft heap on the floor. The sound was faint, but in the silence of the room, it felt loud.

My breath trembled. For a second, goosebumps rose on my skin-not from cold, but from a strange nervousness I couldn't name.

I pushed those thoughts aside and looked at the nightdress set I had folded neatly on my bed earlier. My hand hesitated for a moment before picking up the black printed pajama. I slipped into it, the fabric brushing softly against my legs.

Then I reached for my black bra. Most girls didn't bother wearing a bra at night-they said it felt too tight, too uncomfortable. But I did. For me, it wasn't about comfort-it was about feeling secure. I didn't like the thought of my breasts hanging loose, swaying freely. The idea unsettled me. I liked them to stay in place, firm, controlled.

I slid both arms through the straps. The soft fabric brushed over my shoulders as i adjusted it into place.

Then I moved my hands behind me, my fingers fumbling slightly as they searched for the hook.

Just as I finally found it and was about to fasten-

The sound of the door opening suddenly reached me.

My breath caught.

My heartbeat pounded fiercely.

A cold wave rushed over my face, and I froze. I went completely still.

My breath was stuck in my throat, and my heart was thudding so hard it felt like it might burst. My fingers stopped moving.

My whole body went rigid, and it felt as if the air around me had turned icy. The color drained from my face. My lips parted, but no sound came out. Then, in a trembling whisper, I manage to say-“W-who's there?”  

The door to my apartment opened with a slight creak as I stepped inside. Then I closed it gently behind me - but with a final sort of touch.

The room was completely dark... and utterly silent. Slowly, as I walked forward, I let my hand brush along the wall until I found the switchboard. The moment I turned the light on, the room was flooded with brightness.

I turned my face and glanced around - everything was just as I had left it before going to the university.

Then my eyes fell on the edge of the bed, the same spot where my princess had slept beside me last night.

For a moment, I just stood there, staring at that empty place. Then I walked towards the bed, stopping at its lower end.

I was still wearing the same shirt and pants I had put on this morning for university. They now felt heavy, the shirt clinging to my tired body. I didn't even have the strength to change clothes - the fatigue had sunk deep into my bones. Maybe because of work.

So, I bent down, took off my shoes, and placed them neatly on the floor. Then I let myself fall gently onto the mattress.

As soon as my body touched it, sleep began to wash over me; it felt as though I hadn't slept in days.

After all, last night I had stayed awake the entire time, just to gaze at my woman.

It was only at dawn that I finally drifted off, and in that moment, she must have quietly gotten up and left without telling me. Otherwise, I would never have let her go.

I just want to keep her close, every single moment, right next to me. But maybe she's not ready for that yet.

But, still, it won't be long before she's mine-completely, forever. And then, I'll never let her go away from me again.

Thinking that, I pulled up the duvet lying on the bed. My eyes fell on it-and I realized it was the same one she had used last night. Her scent still lingered on it, faintly mixed with mine, but hers was stronger. I brought it close to my face and inhaled deeply, as if she were still there, wrapped within its folds.

For a little while, I remained lost in the memory of her scent. Then, I pulled the duvet over myself, turned onto my side, pressed my face into the pillow, and began to drift toward sleep.

A few minutes passed, but suddenly the sleep that had just touched my eyes vanished. Instead, a strange restlessness began to stir inside me, gnawing quietly at my chest.

I turned from side to side, hoping it would fade, but the feeling only grew stronger. Sleep refused to come.

With an impatient sigh, I threw off the blanket, sat up, and got out of bed.

The air felt cooler against my skin as I stepped onto the balcony.

From my pocket, I pulled out a cigarette, lit it with my lighter, and took a slow drag.

The smoke burned faintly in my throat before escaping my lips, curling into the night and disappearing into the wind.

Whenever I felt uneasy, I used to smoke cigarettes. But now, even after several drags, the unease still lingered.

I was still standing there when suddenly something stirred inside me—a soft voice came along, bringing a faint smile to my lips. I took one last drag of the cigarette, dropped it on the floor, and crushed it under my shoe. Then I turned around, stepped back inside the room, opened the door, and walked out.

                       -ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

I punched in the password to her apartment, and the lock clicked open. A part of me had already known she wouldn’t have changed it. Still, even if she had, there is no door in this world—no place she calls home—whose code I couldn’t break to reach her.

I slowly opened the door to her apartment, hoping she wouldn't hear the sound. But my attempt was useless-because she had already heard it.

“W-Who's there?.” she asks in her trembling voice, softly humming in the darkness.

I didn't answer. I simply stepped forward into the room and shut the door behind me.

I had imagined she'd be asleep, that I could slip into her room, climb into bed beside her, wrap her in my arms, and fall asleep in her warmth. But no-she was awake. And she stood right there in the middle of the bed.

The corners of the room are submerged in deep darkness, but her body illuminates the spot where she stands. That very light from her body is the reason my eyes can see her clearly in this dimly lit room.

The windows of her room are slightly open, letting in the moonlight. But nothing really changes, because everything faintly visible in this room is not lit by the moonlight, but by the light emanating from my woman.

I am certain that when their lights collided, the moon must have been humbled because its light paled in comparison to the radiance of my moon.

Finally, I started walking toward her. She was still silent, but with each step I took, I could hear the quick beats of her heart-She told me she isn't interested in me, yet her fast breaths were telling me a very different truth.

She probably thought it was fear, but she was wrong-because I can tell the difference between a heartbeat quickened by fear and one quickened by love very well.

For now, she believes what she wants. Later, I'll explain it all to her-how every quickening is not just fear, but something deeper. I smiled faintly at that thought.

Finally, with another step, I stood behind her. I looks up at her, noticing she had just bathed—her slightly damp hair clinging softly to her back. The soft vanilla and a hint of musk swirled gently in the air around me, wrapping me in their delicate spell. Then the sultry fragrance of sandalwood from her hair and skin began to melt into my breath... Before I could stop it from sinking deep inside me, it slipped into my veins, stealing my sanity and clouding my mind so completely that my cock refused to stay still.

I let my gaze run down the parts of her back-her neck, the soft curve of her spine, her slender waist. The skin of every part looked so soft and silky that it awakened a strange, intense holy desire within me.

Then, in between, I noticed her delicate fingers holding the clasp of her bra. Suddenly it hit me-perhaps she was just about to hook it, but my sudden arrival stopped her. Just this one thought sent a shiver down my spine.

“Is that you, Mr. Khan?”  She asks again, guessing correctly, when I didn't answer, and remained lost in the depths of my long, wandering thoughts.

I still didn't reply - speaking felt like breaking a spell. Instead, I was busy memorizing her, too busy breathing her in, too busy drowning in the scent of her skin. Her scent hit harder than any cigarette I'd ever burned. For a split second, tossing the damn thing away and getting high on her instead felt like the only choice-if she'd just let me.

Unable to resist the pull she has over me. I raised my hand, moved aside her damp hair a little, and placed my fingers at the top of her spine. Then I began to slowly run my fingers along her body. She shuddered at my touch, her control faltering, and her breaths came fast and trembling.

Intentionally and deliberately, I let my fingers trail lower, while slowing their movement. In doing so, they brushed against the hand that clutched her lifeline-the hook of her bra.

Oh, my sweet siren. She is do damn cute as a little child, so innocent as angel and so pure as moonlight that she has no idea what kind of trouble she’s stumbled into.

She probably thinks this will be over soon… but the night’s only just begun, and she can’t imagine the kind of sins I’m planning to make her taste.

The thought sent a wave of heat through me; I could feel it spreading under my skin, making my chest tighten and my whole body come alive.

This time, my touch ignited a deeper fire within her-a slow-burning flame that danced beneath her skin. Her body quivered, as if she could no longer stand upright, her legs trembling, threatening to give way.

I paused for a moment, watching the storm I had awakened within her. My eyes lingered on her-filled with a quiet hunger and wonder. With every breath she took, my restraint began to crumble, the control I had held so tightly slipping away, one heartbeat at a time.

Leaning close, I brought my lips near her ear, my warm breath brushing against her skin as I whispered in a low, teasing voice, “Need some help, princess?” I had answered her question with another question, one she probably didn’t want—but my voice had already made her realize that it was me, all along.

The moment these words left my mouth, her body stiffened. I could feel it beneath my fingers, the sudden rush of panic coursing through her as if she had just understood exactly what I meant.

Noticing she was still quiet, I lifted my hand and grabs the hook of her bra, which she had been holding onto.

The sudden touch made her breath catch, her fingers trembled, letting the hook slip free. She gasped softly and spun around-and I swear, I didn't see that coming-she actually raised her hand to slap me!

I couldn't help but admire the unexpected boldness of her.

But before her velvety hand could touch my face, she stumbled, and in that moment, she pulled me down with her. We both fell together onto the mattress. And honestly, I felt a bit of regret, because at least with some excuse, she could have touched me-even if that touch lasted only for a second.

The bed cradled her first, then me. Her chest pressed warmly against mine, sending a thrilling shiver down my spine. Her heartbeat pounded wildly and unevenly against my own, as if trying to escape the prison of her ribs.

And then- A soft, involuntary sigh escaped her lips- “Ahhh...”  

Did I... just moan?

No.

No, 

That couldn't have been me... right?

But that sound- soft, trembling, utterly mortifying -the one that escaped my lips and still echoes in my mind, what was that?

The memory of it burned through me, turning every inch of my skin crimson with shame.

I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, unable to face Mr. Khan, terrified that one look into his eyes would confirm my worst fear.

My body went rigid, as though stillness could undo what had happened. But my heartbeat betrayed me, waves of guilt and disbelief crash over me.

My mind was full of questions—why can’t I stop that shameful sound? Why do I let it escape? Oh God—how could my own voice abandon me like this?

For a sec, I clung to denial, refusing to accept it, but my mind, cruel, relentless  dragging me back to that electrifying moment, forcing me to scream inside.

Through the tangles thoughts that sharp pain hit me again. But this time, I kept myself together.

But I still couldn’t understand what was causing the pain.

Suddenly, I felt a slight movement behind me... It dawned on me that Mr. Khan was pulling and then releasing my bra strap. When the strap pressed against my skin, the sharp pain flared up again. And then, amidst it all, a clear and undeniable realization hits me.

When I stumbled and we both were about to fall, his fingers—holding my bra hook—must have pulled the strap slightly from behind. And as we fell on the bed, that strap came forward, digging against my skin, and that pain made a soft gasp escape from my mouth.

Knowing this felt like a gentle wave of relief washing over me—soft, quiet, and needed. Until now, I’d been looking at everything from the wrong angle, maybe even calling it by the wrong name.

But all thanks to Mr khan, my restless mind finally stilled.

Well, whatever happens, it was still his fault, as always. And just like every time, he never apologized—and again, he did something shameful without hesitation.

He did the same thing on the day of the bike race—he kissed me without my permission and never once apologized. And today at university, when I went to the bathroom to put on a pad, I realized they were missing. Without any shame or even asking, he barged in and handed them to me. Not a single word of apology.

And now, look at his audacity—he walks straight into my room without permission, while I’m only in pajamas, barely about to fasten my bra hook. Yet again, not even a hint of regret.

No doubt, he was taught words like “shame” and “sorry” in his childhood, but perhaps he never liked those words at all. So he threw them out of his life. And, that’s why neither a single “sorry” escapes his lips when he does something wrong, nor does he feel any shame doing things others would find embarrassing or wrong.

I couldn't help but take myself back to that moment—when he was teasing me with his fingers and I was struggling to keep myself steady. Then he deliberately slowed the pace of his fingers, sending a shiver racing through my entire body.

I hate him—God, I swear I hate him—for the feeling his touch awakened inside me. I wanted to push him away, to stop him, whatever the hell he was doing to my body. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. And how could I, when this goddamn body—that’s supposed to be mine—behaves so differently in front of him? It trembles as if it craves his touch. I mutter softly under my breath and roll my eyes behind closed lids—mostly out of anger at myself.

But whatever he did, I could have taken my revenge. When I first raised my hand to slap him, if it had actually landed hard on his face, then maybe things would have been different now—but even there, my body didn’t give me that last bit of satisfaction.

My legs stumbled, and now here we are—stuck in this foolish, romantic position.His both hands are on my back, holding the hook of my bra. And knowing this, I close my eyes from shame, even though I know he should have been the one to feel ashamed, but in the end, I’m the one carrying that shame.

I snap back to reality when I feel his warm breath fan over my lips like a forbidden whisper.

Opening my eyes, I look around at us, and suddenly I realize how dangerously close we are—so close that even a breath of air would have to fight for space between us.

His whole body traps me, and oh my God, his weight is way too much on me, my breasts throb with unbearable pain. I can barely breathe.

I push him away to protect myself from the pain he’s causing.He stumbles back a little but quickly regains his balance.

I lift my lashes and look at him—really look at him. He was already staring at me. No, ‘staring’ doesn’t do justice; he was devouring me with his eyes, and on his lips played a dangerous, devilish smile—the kind that makes you wonder what exactly he’s thinking that drives him to do this.

After a brief pause, i averts my gaze from is eyes. I trails my eyes over his body. I can say that after such a long time, I truly saw Mr. Khan for the first time.

He was wearing a white shirt that hugged his body perfectly, like a second skin sculpted by an artist—it revealed every chiseled muscle. His broad shoulders looked carved from stone, the kind only earned through hours of hard gym work—and his hair, deliberately tousled, made him look dangerously attractive, like temptation in human form.

Then my eyes dropped down—where the first four buttons of his shirt were undone.

Not one,

Not two,

Not three,

But *four*buttons.

And I could never explain what kind of fire those four buttons ignited inside me. Fuck me, but my professor is dangerously hot.

He caught my stare, and a sly smile played on his lips, as if he could read my mind.

My eyes, which should have lowered in modesty, met his gaze and stayed there. It felt like a silent contest between us—to see who could look at the other the longest without blinking.

The air between us thickened, until his voice dropped low and rasped, “Stop fucking me in your mind, princess.” he growls, each word was a challenge.

I didn’t want him to triumph, knowing he was picturing exactly what I had in mind— so I shot back, “Stop calling me, Princess, Mr. Khan,” thinking it might steer the conversation away.

His body didn’t waver or shift. Instead, he leaned in, his nose brushing gently against mine, as if inhaling me and murmured “And what about my Queen?”

For a fleeting second, relief washed over me. At least, I thought, the subject had changed. But the moment those words slipped past his lips, the comfort vanished.

My Queen wasn’t an escape—it was an even harder question, one I had no ready answer for. And now, trapped in the warmth between us, I could feel the weight of what he’d just thrown into the air, knowing he was waiting to see if I would claim the title or run from it.

I parted my lips to respond, but before I could speak, breathes, or even think-

He tilts my chin to the left with his nose, stuck out his tongue, and grazed the side of my throat. In response, my teeth clenches tightly, and I feel a thousands of kaleidoscopic butterflies inside my pussy, the pulse pounding strong and alive. My breath quickened.

His teasing didn’t stop—he touched that spot again, this time pressing his lips there with fierce urgency.

The sensation was so intense that my eyes rolled back, and my legs weakened beneath me—suddenly, all my energy drained away.

Caught between fury and something far more dangerous. I push at his chest away and stammered with a trembling voice.“The relationship we share... it's enough for me.“My breathing grew ragged as I whispered. “I don't know what you think of me, Mr. Khan, but to me, you're just my professor-nothing more.” I snaps hoping that hearing it would make him stop.

But the truth was, I was just a naïve, innocent girl-pathetically clinging to that foolish hope.

Because, he didn’t flinch, or didn't stop not even for a breath.

Instead, his tongue moved over my skin with an almost unbearable intensity—licking fiercely as if he could make the skin there paper-thin. His movements were rough and possessive, as though he meant to mark me as his own.

“I don't want you to be just my beloved student,”  he whispers coldly, pausing. “I want to make you my woman,” he adds, as he kisses and nibbles my skin

My mind goes completely blank. “Did he really say what I just heard?” The words echo inside me, heavy and unreal.“No, Alizeh.” I try to reason with myself, “You must have heard him wrong.” One part of me tries to believe that I’m right.

But then another part of me slices through that denial. “What if he actually means it?”

I’m trying to make sense of his words when suddenly he releases the hand that has been holding the hook of my bra. My breath hitches as the strap slips slightly off my shoulder, and my breasts pop out just a little from my bra.

A sudden wave of panic crashes through me—What if he sees my breasts fully?

He grabbed my throat with his free hand, not harshly but with enough control to make my breath stop. His gaze dipped lower, a tender mischief glinting in his eyes. “Tumhare ye bade boobs mere inn bade haathon mein fit aane ke liye bane hain. Ab tumhari ye bra inhe nahi sambhal paayegi.”he says, his voice filled with shameless teasing. “See, princess,” he whispered, as he cupped my right breast in his palm.

(Your big boobs were made to fit perfectly in my big hands. Now your bra won’t be able to hold them.)

I bite my lip trying to suppress the gasp that threatens to escape my mouth at his shamelessly intimate words.

He kneads it, making my eyes roll. My chest rises and falls as he continues to kneads it. God, Why does his hands feel so good? When I feel nothing for him.

He angles his face over mine, his hand still kneads my breast. Leaning closer, he begins kissing my neck.

I arch against him, my body responding to his touch like a flame, and my pulse burns like wildfire.

I can feel the restlessness rising inside me, knowing that this is wrong. Instinctively, I try to reach for him. But his body is pressed so closely against mine that it leaves me helpless while he continues kissing my neck. I try to push him away, but my resistance remains weak, my body unwillingly craving his touch.

His tongue roams shamelessly over my neck, and his hand now squeezes my left breast, setting every nerve inside me ablaze.

Suddenly, he stops and pulls back. I see his lips, swollen and red from the kiss, his breathing quick, and the pulse in his throat clearly visible.

He slowly runs his thumb over my neck, bending closer, he wets the center of my throat with his saliva, locks his gaze with mine, and claims that spot with rough, possessive finality.

In response, my upper and lower lips curl inward, then slip out along with my tongue, trembling in the wave of pleasure.

Seeing this, he chuckles softly against my skin before fiercely lapping his tongue again.

Goosebumps erupt all over my body at once, and I wouldn’t be lying to say even between my legs—though I had just shaved today.

But then, despite his reluctance, he releases my throat when he realizes I’m not breathing.

Gently caressing my face, he whispers urgently, “Breathe for me, Princess, or I will die.”

Hearing his words, I take a deep breath, open my mouth, and all I manage to say is, “You’re insane, Mr. Khan.”

He looks up at me, lips curling into a smirk as he states, “Wajah tum ho, meri jaan.”

(You are the reason, my love.)

And I swear, I tried—God, I tried to scream, to push him away, to spit in his face, to fight back against the unbearable mix of pain and pleasure he drags out of me, to resist him with every shred of my strength. But it’s impossible. Absolutely fucking impossible to resist him.

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