“Wouldn’t hurt.”
We both grinned—slow, soft, absolutely wicked.
His hand slipped to my waist, fingers brushing beneath the hem of my top like he couldn’t help himself. “You know,” he murmured, voice dipping, “if I didn’t love you so damn much, I’d call this medical cruelty.”
I leaned in just enough to brush my nose against his. “You love me that much?”
He nodded. “That much.”
And just like that—I melted. God, I was so far gone for this man it was ridiculous.
His fingers traced lazy circles on my thigh as we sat there, wrapped in each other like no one else existed.
“Hey,” I whispered. “Meri jaan.”
He paused, smiling as he leaned back just enough to look at me. “Say that again.”
“Meri jaan.It’s like kryptonite for you,” I snorted.
His eyes softened—something quiet and reverent flickering behind them. “Do you even know what that means?”
“Of course,” I said cheerfully.
He laughed. “You’re adorably confident for someone with a two-word Hindi vocabulary.”
“I know some words,” I offered proudly. “Let’s see…behenchod.”
Kabir choked. “Oh my God.”
“Bhaad mei jaa.”
He looked personally offended. “Excuse me?”
“Chutiya.”
“Okay—first of all.” He pointed. “Where did you learn these? Who corrupted you?”
“The internet,” I grinned.
He burst out laughing, eyes crinkling at the corners, the sound absolutely glorious. “You sound like a drunk Indian uncle.”
“Thank you,” I said with mock pride.
We were both still giggling when I asked, “Say something in Hindi.”
He tilted his head. “It’s hard to form a full sentence in pure Hindi now. English keeps slipping in.”
“Try,” I said softly. “Please.”
He looked at me for a long moment. Studied me like he was committing me to memory.
Then he nodded once, like he’d made a decision.
And in a voice that was steady, rich, and so full of emotion it made my throat ache, he said,“Tum ho, toh main hoon. Tumhare bina, main sirf ek adhoori kahani hoon… jo kabhi poori nahi hogi.”
I stilled.
The way he said it—like a truth carved into his soul.