Talab - Chapter 22: Chapter 22

John POV
After yesterday's war between my heart and mind, I finally gave in to what felt right—I chose her. I decided I would give our story a real chance.
That morning, the Sunday sun was soft and golden, slipping through the curtains like a quiet blessing. When Arohi opened her eyes, she found me still sleeping beside her—mouth slightly open, arms curled protectively around her. I felt her ruffle my hair gently, her fingers feather-light.
But suddenly, she jerked up. I opened my eyes, startled, and saw fear on her face. Her body had stiffened. She looked... embarrassed? Nervous?
And then I saw the stain on the bedsheet. Blue turned crimson.
"Arohi, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" I asked, my voice thick with worry.
Tears slipped down her cheeks as she hugged me tightly, like a frightened child.
"You won't hate me, or hurt me... right?" she whispered, trembling.
My heart cracked open.
"Piccolo... why would you even think like that?" I whispered, brushing her hair behind her ear.
I understood. And I cursed this world that taught her to feel shame about something so natural.
Without another word, I gently picked her up and carried her to the bathroom. I filled the tub with warm water, added lavender essential oil, and made it cozy and calming. Then I asked her softly, "Do you have pads, love?"
She shook her head, eyes downcast.
"I forgot the date... I didn't mean to mess things up. It's... disgusting, I know..."
I lifted her chin and looked straight into her teary eyes.
"Who told you that? It's not disgusting—it's power, Arohi. You hold life within you. This isn't shame—it's strength. I'm proud of you."
She blinked up at me like a startled doe, and I kissed her forehead. "Relax. I'll be right back."
I returned with an entire bag full of pads—every size, every brand. Because I wasn't sure which ones she'd need.
Her lips parted in surprise. "You bought all this...?"
"Ah, I didn't know your size," I grinned. "Also... um... what's your pad size? And... panty and bra size too?"
She gasped, shocked, then giggled and shut the door in my face.
From the other side, I heard her laughing, and my heart felt lighter than ever.
"That girl is my wife," I said to myself, smiling like a fool.
⸻
Later That Night
After dinner, she was curled up on the bed, clearly still in pain. I walked in, sat behind her, and gently pulled her shirt up. Before she could panic, I whispered,
"Relax, love... trust me."
She hesitated, then nodded slowly.
I placed my warm hands on her lower abdomen and began to massage in slow, careful circles. Her body softened into mine, and I felt her relax. A soft sigh escaped her lips.
"Are your breasts sore too?" I asked gently.
She looked at me, startled. "Ji... you shouldn't ask that."
I chuckled. "I'm your husband, not a stranger. You can tell me anything."
She hesitated again. Then, quietly, she nodded.
I switched off the lights, making the room soft and safe, and whispered again,
"Trust me, sweetheart. This will help."
With tender hands, I unclasped her bra and poured a little warm oil into my palms. She shivered as my hands made contact with her skin, but not from fear—from the comfort she was slowly allowing herself to feel.
My fingers moved gently—caring, not demanding. I could feel her breath hitch, then slow again as her body melted into the moment. I wasn't rushing her. I wasn't taking more than what she allowed. It was a massage... and something much deeper.
A trust was being built, quietly, gently, between pain and peace.
⸻
John's Thoughts
She's so soft... so fragile... my little rose.
I wanted to do more—kiss her, hold her, worship her—but not tonight. Not until she wants it.
Slow steps, John.
This isn't just lust.
And maybe, just maybe...
I'm falling for her.