Chapter 26
1478 Words
✨Silk And Shadows.✨
Nasir Pov
Nasir had not slept.
Not truly.
Even in his own bed, with the shutters drawn and the city quiet, Flora followed him—her breath against his jaw, the soft sound she made when she laughed without knowing she was laughing, the way her fingers had clutched his coat the night he kissed her like the world was ending.
He had disappeared on purpose.
That kiss had ruined him.
Because before her, control had been simple.
Clean. Men moved when he told them to. Doors opened. Papers were signed. Futures arranged.
But Flora did not belong to any system he understood.
He had to step back.
That was the part that hurt the most.
For seven days he stayed away, not because he didn’t want her, but because wanting her had become dangerous. In those days he met with men who owed him favors. He arranged rooms. Quiet transport. A lease under another name in his hometown. Papers that would let her leave the city without questions. He told himself it was protection.
But somewhere between the signatures and the whispered deals, it became something else.
Possession.
Home.
For those seven days he stayed away, not because he didn’t want her, but because wanting her had become dangerous.
In those days he built a life around her without her knowing.
He ordered new locks.
New curtains.
A bed she would not be afraid of.
He arranged documents that would let her travel without shadows following.
He wanted her there. In his house. In his mornings. In the small rituals of a life she didn’t yet know she was stepping into.
And while he built her future in secret, he left her alone in the present.
All of it for her.
All of it without her consent.
And the more he prepared, the more he feared what would happen when she finally understood.
By the seventh night, guilt drove him back to her.
When he finally went back to her apartment, dusk was settling. The hallway outside her apartment felt longer than usual. Dim. Quiet.
It smelled of old paint and cooking oil. He hesitated outside her door longer than he meant to, suddenly unsure.
What if she was angry?
What if she had already decided he was just another man who vanished?
He knocked. His knock sounded too loud.
No answer.
Soft.
Then harder. He knocked again harder.
The door opened slowly.
Flora stood there barefoot, hair loose and tangled, wearing a dress too thin for the evening chill.
Her eyes widened when she saw him.
For a second she said nothing.
For half a second more she only stared at him. Then her mouth trembled.
Relief flooded her face so suddenly it almost hurt to see.
“Oh,” she said, small. “You’re alive.”
The words hit harder than any accusation.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately.
She turned away from him without a word and walked back into the apartment. He followed, closing the door behind them, watching the way her shoulders were stiff, the way she refused to look at him.
The apartment looked the same—small, clean, lonely. A teacup sat cold on the table. A folded blanket on the chair, as if she had been waiting near the door.
She stood by the window, arms wrapped around herself.
“I thought…” She stopped herself, folding her arms. “Never mind.”
“No,” he said gently. “Tell me.”
“I thought you were gone,” she whispered. “I thought I made it all up.”
That nearly broke him.“You didn’t,” he said quietly.
She laughed once, brittle. “Men disappear. That’s what they do.”
“I’m not like them.”
“You were this week.”
He moved closer, slow, careful. “I was fixing things.”
Flora huffed.
He crossed the room in two steps hands hovering, careful not to touch her without permission. “I didn’t leave,” he said. “I was making things safe.”
“For who?”
“For you.”
She finally looked at him then, eyes bright, shining and hurt. “You could’ve told me.”
“I know.” His thumb brushed her wrist. “Let me make it up to you.”
Her voice broke. “I was alone again.”
That nearly destroyed him.
He reached for her hands. She let him take them.
“Let me make it up to you,” he repeated.
She hesitated. Then nodded.
That was how he found himself two days later, standing in the most expensive clothing shop in the district, holding three silk dresses and watching Flora panic over a rack of blouses like they were about to bite her.
The shop overwhelmed her instantly.
Lights everywhere. Mirrors. Music. Women touching silk like it was normal.
Flora hovered near the door like she might run.
“Nasir,” she whispered, tugging his sleeve.
“Why are there so many clothes?”
He smiled faintly. “Because you deserve choices.”
She picked up one dress, stared at the price tag, and nearly dropped it. “This costs more than my rent.”
He smiled.
“Nasir,” she whispered urgently, glancing around as if someone might arrest her.
“These prices have too many numbers.”
“You’re not paying.”
“That makes it worse.”
He laughed quietly.
In the fitting room, she took fifteen minutes to change, then peeked out like a frightened animal.
The dress was pale blue. Simple. Perfect.
His breath caught.
She studied herself in the mirror. “I look like someone else.”
“You look like yourself,” he said. “Just… seen.”
When they reached the lingerie section, she froze.
He smiled despite himself. “You don’t have to buy them. Just try them.”
She stared at a mannequin wearing lace and nearly fled the store.
“Is that… underclothes?” she hissed.
“Yes.”
“People can see those!”
Her eyes went wide. “Nasir. These are crimes.”
He laughed. “They’re clothes.”
“They’re secrets.”
The shop attendant waited politely while Flora turned red from her ears to her throat.
“I can’t— I don’t— I’ve never—”
“They’re meant to be seen by someone,” he said lightly.
Her face went scarlet.
She ran into the fitting room, she emerged holding a soft green dress against herself, eyes wide. “This is too nice for me.”
He stood, suddenly serious. “Nothing is too nice for you.”
When it came time for lingerie, she refused to touch anything. She stood frozen while the shop attendant waited patiently.
She watched him with quiet awe.
He's very serious about this, she thought.
So Nasir chose.
Slowly. Carefully.
Not for seduction.
For comfort. Soft cotton first. Then silk. Pale colors that matched her skin. Nothing bold. Nothing cruel.
She watched him with open astonishment.
“You’re very… focused,” she said.
“I’m planning,” he replied before he could stop himself.
That made her laugh, light and surprised, and something in his chest loosened.
Later, when the bags were stacked near her door like proof of a life she had never imagined.The city hummed outside, he stood close to her in the dim room. The distance between them felt heavier than the week apart.
“I missed you,” she said.
“I know.”
“Did you miss me?”
He didn’t answer. He should have told her the truth.
Instead, he kissed her.
This time slower.
No urgency.
No alley. No fear. Just his hands cradling her face, his mouth tracing hers like he was learning a language he planned to speak forever. She trembled—not in panic, but in wonder—and when she kissed him back, it was with trust.
Everything else faded. His mouth moving over hers like he was teaching her something sacred.
When they finally parted, her forehead rested against his chest.
“Nasir?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“You won’t disappear again?”
His silence lasted half a second too long.
“I won’t leave you unprotected,” he said carefully.
She smiled, not hearing the danger in it.
Later, walking home alone, he thought of the room waiting for her in his house. The locks he’d already changed. The city she would soon belong to.
At his table.
In his city.
Safe.
And in his bed. Trapped.
And for the first time, he wondered—
Not whether she would come.
But whether, when the truth finally showed its face, she would ever forgive him for the life he was quietly building around her.
Behind her back.
In his name.
- Writer
