---

> "I woke up with his scent in my hair…

And his silence pressed against my skin."

---

🕯️ Midnight in the East Wing

Sayra didn’t remember falling asleep.

She only remembered waiting.

For the creak of a door.

For footsteps.

For something unspeakable.

But the night remained still.

Almost too still.

As if the haveli held its breath.

Her body, though wrapped in silk and cold tension, surrendered to exhaustion.

Until the air shifted.

---

🔒 The Door Opens

There was no knock.

Just a faint metallic click.

The door creaked open—

And he stepped in.

Kabir Azad.

Unannounced. Uninvited. Unapologetic.

He stood in the doorway for a long moment, watching the woman in his bed — the girl taken from fire and rituals, now curled in lace on his mattress.

She looked… untouched.

And that made his hunger worse.

He didn’t move toward her right away.

He just watched.

The outline of her body beneath the satin.

The curve of her spine.

The fall of her hair across the pillow.

> Mine.

The word didn’t echo in his head.

It bled there.

---

🖤 Closer. But Not Close Enough.

He moved to the edge of the bed.

Didn’t sit.

Didn’t speak.

He just leaned down, inhaling her scent—

Faint rose. Soft skin.

And something else.

Grief.

She smelled like unfinished mourning and stolen innocence.

And still…

He wanted her.

Not to comfort.

To undo.

To see her crack.

To see her beg.

But not yet.

He reached into his pocket and placed something on her pillow.

A single black pearl.

And then he left.

The door closed without a sound.

---

🌘 The Morning After

Sayra woke up to silence.

The kind that felt heavy.

Like something had been said without words.

She blinked.

Her eyes fell on the pillow beside her.

The pearl.

Alone. Cold. Gleaming.

> He was here.

Her breath caught.

How long had he stood there?

Did he touch her?

Why leave a pearl?

It wasn’t just a gift.

It was a message.

A presence.

A warning.

She picked it up.

It was heavier than it looked.

Like it carried weight far beyond its size.

She clutched it to her chest.

And for the first time in eleven days—

She didn’t feel like a widow.

She felt like a possession.

---

🥀 Breakfast. And Silence.

Later that morning, the maid brought her breakfast on a silver tray — poha, fruits, and almond milk.

Not a word.

Not a glance.

The staff had been trained not to engage.

Sayra forced herself to eat.

Every bite felt like surrender.

She wanted to leave.

She wanted answers.

She wanted to throw the pearl at his face and scream—

> “What do you want from me?”

But more than that…

She wanted to understand him.

The man who didn’t touch her.

But touched everything inside her.

---

🩸 The Bath

Later, she slipped into the carved marble bathtub.

The warm water did nothing to wash off his presence.

The maids had left a black robe for her.

It wasn’t soft.

It was sheer.

Transparent under certain lights.

She wore it anyway.

And sat by the window.

Watching the sun.

Wondering if she’d see him again.

---

🔥 He Comes Again

That night, the door opened again.

No knock.

No apology.

Just his presence.

He stood at the threshold.

Sayra was awake this time.

In the black robe.

His gaze dropped — slowly — from her face to her collarbone, to her thighs half-exposed under the silk.

He didn’t speak.

But his eyes darkened.

> “You left this,” she whispered, holding up the pearl.

> “Yes,” he replied.

> “Why?”

He stepped closer.

Close enough to feel the heat between them.

> “Because I wanted you to know I was there.

And didn’t touch you.”

> “Why not?”

His jaw tensed.

> “Because when I do…

You won’t be able to forget.”

Sayra's breath hitched.

She hated how her knees weakened.

How her skin ached.

How her throat dried.

---

🖤 The Offer

He pulled something from his pocket again.

Not a pearl this time.

A key.

He placed it on the table beside her.

> “This opens the door to my wing.”

> “And why would I need that?” she asked, heart poundi

ng.

He leaned in, voice dangerously low.

> “Because when you’re done being afraid…

You’ll want to come to me.”

Sayra’s hand hovered over the key.

She didn’t pick it up.

She didn’t look away either.

And when he walked out—

She was no longer sure she wanted him to stop coming.