It was the most delicate moment of my life—the kind of moment where restraint itself feels like punishment. I was starving for hope, for happiness, for someone to hold me steady, and yet I was forcing myself to stand still. After days of chasing Sanvi in my thoughts, this was the perfect chance to let go, to surrender to the current and stop resisting. But my subconscious—my feelings for Sanvi—held me back, tightening its grip around my will.
“Hey, Saira… what are you doing?” I finally said.
To be honest, I had been waiting for someone else. Had I known it would be her, I would never have come. She was married, with a beautiful child. Why was she risking everything—why was she trying to fracture her own world?
“Don’t try to be my master, Musavir,” she snapped softly. “If I’m here, it’s because I want to be. Why are you questioning everything? Why can’t you just live in the moment?”
I stayed quiet.
“Musavir,” she continued, her voice trembling, “I’ve been in love with you since the day we hosted you for dinner. I don’t want promises. I don’t want attachments. I just want to cherish these moments with you. That’s why I invited you here. Otherwise, it would have been easy—too easy—in PC.”
I had no words.
“Can’t you feel me?” she whispered. “I’m empty inside. Can’t you pour some warmth into my blood?”
Outside, the cold had tightened its claws around the night. My body shivered—not just from the weather, but from the weight of the moment itself. Anyone who could control such a moment must have been a saint.
I was not one.
In my helplessness, a verse echoed in my mind like a curse I could not escape:
Main tum se pehle gunaah karta tha, Mujh ko diya gaya hai azaab—yaani tum.
I had always been a sinner; sainthood was never meant for me.
Overwhelmed, I pulled her into my arms. Her embrace was warm, gentle, and dangerously comforting. She fit against me as if she had always belonged there. Her closeness carried a strange magic—her warmth, her breath, her presence wrapped around my senses and blurred my resolve.
In that closeness, she seemed fully alive, fully immersed, as if nothing existed beyond those fleeting moments. Every touch felt unreal—soft, fragile, almost luminous.
And yet, somewhere deep inside, a voice screamed.
Sanvi… was that not feeling? If it was, then what is this? Why am I losing myself in Saira?
The realization hit me like a blow.
I pushed Saira back, stepped away, and stood up. My hands trembled as I dressed. Without looking back, I walked out of Room 407, carrying confusion heavier than guilt—and silence louder than any confession.