Talab - Chapter 16: Chapter 16

The world slowed down.
Samarth's grip on her waist was so tight, it was as if even death couldn't steal her now.
Fanaa trembled in his arms—tears soaked into his shirt, breaths shallow—but she was safe.
He held her as if his very breath depended on her survival.
And then—
Gunshot.
His guards—alert, trained—had caught Raj.
The monster was hiding behind a pillar, gun pointed at Samarth.
One bullet struck his arm, and he collapsed with a cry.
But not before spitting out filth.
"She was pleasurable... and tight."
Samarth snapped.
He slowly placed Fanaa on a nearby hanging swing—delicate and floral, swaying softly in the breeze.
Then he turned toward Raj.
Like a storm.
Rage poured from his body in waves.
He walked up and without a single word, kicked Raj—straight into his groin.
Again.
And again.
And again.
"This... disgusting, greedy thing of yours," Samarth growled, kicking harder, "will think thrice before touching any woman again, bastard!"
Raj howled in pain, squirming like a worm on fire.
Samarth's blood boiled. He pulled out a gun—eyes wild, lips trembling.
"I'll end you—right here. Right now."
But before the trigger could move—
"Nooooo, Samarth ji!"
Fanaa wrapped her arms around him from behind. Her sobs shook her body.
"Please... I don't want your hands to be dirty for him."
She clung to him.
"For me, please."
His fingers twitched around the trigger.
But her touch was stronger than his rage.
His breathing slowed.
He dropped the gun.
The guards dragged Raj away—bleeding, broken, screaming.
⸻
Samarth turned.
She was still holding onto him.
Her tears stained his neck.
He looked into her eyes.
And she closed them—as if giving him silent permission.
He leaned forward, gently, almost reverently.
His lips met hers.
The kiss was soft.
Slow.
Healing.
Not claiming.
Not devouring.
Just being.
Like a silent apology.
When they broke the kiss, they rested their foreheads together—both shaken, but finally, united.
⸻
He lifted her carefully—bridal style—and carried her to the private suite he had booked upstairs.
Once inside, he sat her down on the edge of the bed.
He knelt in front of her, removing her heels with devotion.
Kissed each foot, then rubbed the red sore spots gently.
She let out a soft moan of relief.
His eyes darkened slightly, lips curling into a knowing smile.
He moved beside her, removed her earrings delicately, then traced her earlobe with his tongue.
She clutched the bedsheet—fingers white with tension.
Her breaths were shallow.
He massaged her scalp slowly. Her head tipped back and another soft moan escaped her.
He took her hand in his. Slowly, deliberately, he guided it downward until it rested against the bulge beneath his trousers.
A low groan escaped his lips.
She blushed crimson and turned her face away, giggling into her shoulder.
He leaned close.
"This is your effect, biwi ji," he whispered with a satisfied smile.
⸻
Then he paused.
His voice softened.
"Fanaa..." he said gently.
She turned to him, shy but brave.
"Ji... Samarth ji?"
"Would you like me to help you... change?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Her eyes fluttered closed from the embarrassment.
But then—she nodded slowly.
"I want... you," she whispered.
He took her hands in his.
"Tell me what triggers you. I'll avoid anything that hurts your heart, biwi ji," he said, pressing his forehead to hers.
She kissed him lightly.
"Aapka sab kuch mujhe pasand hai. Nothing triggers me anymore.
Your love... it's pure. That's all I feel."
His heart swelled.
No... it shattered and healed all at once.
"Jaan... my bacha," he whispered into her hair.
"I'll always be gentle. Always be yours."
And that night—
Two broken souls, wrapped in healing touches, lay tangled in each other's arms.
Not for lust.
Not for revenge.
Not for pain.
But for love.
For trust.
For peace.