Chapter 31
1705 Words
✨What She Thought She Owed Him.✨
Flora Pov
They found each other again on the edge of the dance floor, the music drifting softer now, something slow and indulgent, meant to pull people closer rather than impress them.
Nasir offered his hand.
Not rushed. Not commanding. Just there.
Flora hesitated for half a breath—long enough for him to see the flicker of nerves—then placed her hand in his. The moment their fingers touched, something settled in her chest. He guided her gently into his space, one hand warm and steady at her waist, the other holding hers like it was something fragile.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted, her voice barely louder than the music.
He smiled down at her, the kind of smile meant only for her. “Good. Then you won’t try to impress anyone.”
She laughed softly. “Is that what everyone else is doing?”
“Always,” he said. “It’s exhausting.”
She relaxed at that, shoulders lowering as he began to move them slowly, guiding her step by step. She stumbled once, then steadied herself with a small gasp.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he murmured. “You’re doing exactly what you’re supposed to.”
“What’s that?”
“Smiling like you’re somewhere you want to be.”
Her lips curved without permission, warmth spreading across her face. She became aware of little things—the way his thumb brushed faint circles at her waist, the scent of him clean and familiar, the way the world seemed to blur at the edges when she focused only on him.
“This is your birthday,” she said after a moment, glancing around at the glittering room. “You should be dancing with someone important.”
He leaned in slightly. “I am.”
Her heart skipped, sharp and sudden. “You say things like that very easily.”
“Only when they’re true.”
She shook her head, smiling wider now. “You’re dangerous.”
His eyes darkened with amusement. “You have no idea.”
They moved together more easily as the song went on, her steps falling into rhythm, her fear loosening its grip. People watched them—she could feel it—but for once, it didn’t make her shrink. Not with him anchoring her.
“Are you overwhelmed?” he asked quietly.
“A little,” she admitted. “But… it’s a good kind. Like standing somewhere high and realizing you haven’t fallen yet.”
He chuckled softly. “I’ll make sure you don’t.”
She looked up at him then, really looked at him, and found herself smiling so much her cheeks ached. The light caught her face, her eyes bright and unguarded, and Nasir felt something tighten in his chest.
For that brief span of music and murmured words, the world softened.
No danger.
No expectations.
Just two people moving together, pretending—if only for a moment—that this was simple.
The gifts were everywhere.
Flora noticed them only after the dancing slowed and the laughter softened into something gentler, when people began drifting toward long tables and velvet-covered corners where boxes had been stacked in careless towers.
They glittered.
Paper folded in silk and ribbon. Boxes polished until they reflected candlelight. Names written in elegant hands, cards heavy with gold ink.
All of them for him.
She stood a little apart, fingers clasped in front of her, watching as Nasir accepted them with quiet smiles and practiced gratitude. Watches. Cufflinks. Bottles of wine older than she was. Things chosen by people who understood this world, who knew what men like him valued.
And suddenly—
A cold, hollow feeling opened in her chest.
She hadn’t brought anything.
The realization hit her so hard she nearly swayed.
She stared at the pile again, counting, measuring, comparing. Every ribbon felt like a reminder. Every laugh a whisper: you came empty-handed.
Her mind raced.
He had given her so much.
Dresses she’d never dreamed of touching. Shoes soft as clouds. Jewelry that caught the light and made her feel beautiful even when she didn’t believe it. He had paid for her hair, her makeup, her evening, her courage.
And tonight—his birthday—she had nothing.
Nothing in her hands.
Nothing wrapped.
Nothing worthy.
Her fingers began to fidget, twisting the edge of her skirt, smoothing invisible creases. She barely noticed she’d started pacing until she almost bumped into Leila.
“Hey,” Leila said gently. “You alright?”
Flora forced a smile. “Yes. I just—”
Her eyes drifted back to the gift table.
Leila followed her gaze and softened. “Oh. That.”
Flora flushed immediately. “I didn’t know—he never said—I thought maybe it wasn’t—”
Leila touched her arm kindly. “Nasir doesn’t care about any of that.”
Flora nodded, but the feeling didn’t leave.
Because she cared.
She cared too much.
Across the room, Nasir had noticed.
He noticed everything about her.
The way her smile faded. The way her hands wouldn’t settle. The way her eyes kept returning to the gifts like they accused her.
When she finally looked at him, he was already watching.
Concern slid across his face instantly.
He crossed the room without hesitation, stopping in front of her, lowering his voice. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said too quickly.
He lifted a brow slightly, unconvinced. “You’re terrible at lying.”
She tried to laugh. Failed.
“Come here,” he murmured, guiding her gently toward the exit. “We’re going home.”
---
The drive to his city house was quiet.
Not uncomfortable—just heavy.
Flora stared out the window, thoughts spiraling. By the time they arrived, her chest felt too tight to hold them.
The house was beautiful. Warm lights. Quiet halls. Peaceful.
The moment the door closed behind them, the silence pressed in.
“I—I need the washroom,” she blurted.
“Of course,” he said immediately, pointing her down the hall.
She fled.
Locked the door.
And broke.
The tears came fast and humiliating, hands covering her mouth as sobs shook out of her. She slid down against the door, knees pulled to her chest, breath hitching.
She felt ridiculous.
Ungrateful.
Small.
What kind of woman comes to a man’s birthday with nothing?
Her gaze lifted to the mirror.
The dress he bought her.
The jewelry he gave her.
The girl he had built tonight.
A terrible thought formed, slow and aching.
Maybe… maybe that was all she could give him.
Herself.
The idea frightened her.
Not because she didn’t want him.
But because she didn’t know how.
A soft knock came at the door.
“Flora?”
She didn’t answer.
Another knock, gentler. “Sweetheart, you’ve been in there a while.”
Her throat closed.
“I’m—” Her voice broke completely.
The door opened slowly.
He knelt in front of her instantly, concern flooding his face. “Hey. What happened?”
She tried to speak. Failed.
Then she burst into tears again.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what?” he asked, alarmed, gathering her into his arms, rocking her gently against his chest.
“I didn’t bring you anything,” she cried. “Everyone had gifts and you’ve given me everything and I had nothing and I didn’t know what to do and—”
She pulled back suddenly, tears streaming, voice trembling.
“So I thought maybe… I thought maybe I could give you… me.”
Silence.
His breath stilled.
Not shock.
Not anger.
Something much softer.
He lifted her gently, carried her out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, setting her on the edge of the bed. Then he sat, pulling her carefully into his lap like she weighed nothing, holding her the way one holds something precious.
“Look at me,” he said quietly.
She did.
“I never wanted a gift from you,” he said slowly. “Not tonight. Not ever.”
“But you’ve done so much,” she whispered. “And I don’t have anything—”
“You have yourself,” he said. “And you are not something you owe.”
Her lip trembled.
He brushed her tears away with his thumb. “I buy things because I like seeing you smile. Not because I expect anything in return.”
She searched his face, afraid he was being kind.
“You don’t have to give me anything,” he continued softly. “Not your body. Not your fear. Not your gratitude.”
She whispered, “Then what do I give you?”
He smiled faintly. “Stay.”
That broke her all over again.
She leaned forward suddenly and kissed him.
Not planned.
Not practiced.
Just desperate.
She climbed onto his lap, straddling him, hands in his hair, kiss trembling and earnest and full of everything she didn’t know how to say.
For one breath—one dangerous breath—he almost lost himself.
Then he stopped her.
Not roughly.
Gently.
Hands at her waist, holding her still, forehead resting against hers.
“Flora,” he murmured. “Slow.”
She froze, panic flashing. “I’m sorry—”
“No,” he said quickly. “No. Not that.”
He lifted her chin, eyes dark but tender. “I want you. But not like this. Not because you think you owe me.”
Her tears fell again, quieter now.
“I just wanted to give you something,” she whispered.
He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly against his chest, rocking her slowly.
“You already did,” he said.
She breathed him in.
The room fell silent around them.
No music.
No guests.
No expectations.
Just the sound of their breathing, and his heartbeat steady beneath her ear.
For the first time that night, the noise finally fell away.
And she understood—
The greatest gift she could give him was not her body.
It was trusting him enough to stay.
- Writer
