ik baar jo hum nay commitment kr li ...( STRICTLY INVITES ONLY) - Page 11

Originally posted by: aarzoo50

InSha Allah...
ab mere bare mai kaha se suna???
n tel abt ua self...

shayad srash ke thread pe!
mere baareme kya bataun?

Originally posted by: AsyaManeet

shayad srash ke thread pe!
mere baareme kya bataun?

lets start vd the name... ye afu ka fulform kya ? n wt u do??

hmph...
😡 😡
ye aj b nahi aayi...

Hey I definitely want to join! Plz continue your story

Originally posted by: fatima30

Hey I definitely want to join! Plz continue your story

Part 46

Asad treaded into the bathroom for a shower. Before his lust drove him to do something that would cost him what little pride and self-respect he had left, he was going to get Zoya out of there! All he had to do now to accomplish that was find her keys. He had a dim recollection of seeing her get out of her car the night she arrived, and then bend down near the car's front tire on the driver's side. He'd find her keys near there. The prospect of groping around in the snow was far less distasteful than having her under his roof for another day. Or another night. If he couldn't find them, he'd hot-wire her car to start without the damned keys. Reaching into the tub, he turned on the water, wondering if she had an electronic alarm on the car that would disable the vehicle if he tried that. If she did, he'd think of something else, but one way or another, he was getting her out of there. As soon as the drive was plowed, he was going to give her five minutes to pack up and get out.

Still buttoning his shirt, Asad strode purposefully down the stairs. Zoya whirled around as he stalked past the kitchen doorway, pulling on a leather flight jacket, heading for the front door. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going outside to find your keys. Do you remember where you dropped them?"

Her lips parted in surprise when she saw the granite determination that hardened his jaw. "I"I dropped them as I walked around the front of the car, but there's no reason for you to go out there now""

"Yes," he said flatly, "there is. This charade has gone on long enough. Don't look so surprised," he snapped. "You're as bored with this pretense at marital bliss as I am." She drew in a sharp breath as though he had slapped her, and Asad added coldly, "I admire your tenacity, Zoya. You want the Houston property for twenty million, and you need a quick, congenial divorce with no publicity. You've spent two days catering to me so that I'll be more agreeable to both. You tried and you failed. Now, go back to Mumbai and behave like the competent executive you are. Take me to court over the Houston property and file for divorce, but knock off this nauseating farce! The role of humble, loving wife doesn't suit you, and you must be as sick of it as I am."

He turned on his heel and strode out the front door. Zoya stared at the place where he had stood, her heart twisting with panic, disappointment, and humiliation. He'd suddenly decided these last two days were a boring charade! Blinking away frustrated tears, she bit down on her lip and turned back to the frying pan. She'd obviously passed up her best opportunities to tell him she hadn't had an abortion, and she didn't have the slightest, the vaguest idea why his mood had suddenly turned so hostile. She hated that volatile unpredictability that was Asad; he'd always been that way. You never knew what he thought or what he was going to do next! Before she left this house, she was going to tell him the truth about what had happened eleven years ago, but now she wasn't certain he was going to care, even if he believed her. She picked up an egg and hit it so hard against the side of the frying pan that the yolk slid down the outside.

For ten minutes Asad pawed through the snow near the BMW's front tire in a futile effort to find Zoya's damned keys; he dug and sifted until his gloves were soaked and his hands were frozen, and then he gave up and checked out her alarm system, looking through the window. There was no sign of a keypad, which probably meant hers could be disabled only with her car key. Even if he jimmied her door lock and got in to hot-wire the damned car, an alarm system like hers was designed to disable the vehicle so it couldn't be driven.

"Breakfast is ready," Zoya said uneasily, walking into the living room when she heard the front door slam. "Did you find the keys?"

"No," Asad said, striving to keep his temper under control. "There's a locksmith in town, but he isn't open on Sunday."

Zoya served the scrambled eggs she'd made, then she sat down across from him. Desperately trying to restore some semblance of the relationship they'd shared yesterday, she asked in a quiet, reasonable voice, "Do you mind telling me why you've suddenly decided this whole weekend has been a boring plot on my part?"

"Let's just say my senses have returned along with my health," he said shortly. For ten minutes, while they ate, Zoya tried to engage him in conversation, only to have him rebuff her attempts with curt, brief replies. The moment he was finished eating, he got up and said he was going to start packing up the things in the living room.

With a sinking heart, Zoya watched him go, then she automatically began to tidy up the kitchen. When the last dish had been washed and put away, she went into the living room. "There's a lot to pack," she said, determined to find a way to make him more receptive. "What can I do to help?"

Asad heard the soft plea in her voice and his body responded with a fresh surge of lust as he straightened and looked at her. You could go upstairs with me and offer me that delectable body of yours. "Suit yourself."

Why, Zoya wondered fiercely, did he have to be so damned unapproachable now, and why did he suddenly find her boring and irritating? His father had said Asad had been wild with grief over her alleged abortion and that, when Zoya had refused to see him, it nearly killed him. She'd thought at the time Rashid must be grossly exaggerating Asad's feelings for her, now she was certain of it, and the certainty made her feel strangely, inexplicably, despondent. It didn't surprise her though. Asad had always been capable of shouldering great responsibility, but it was impossible to know what he was really thinking and feeling. Hoping against hope his mood would improve if she left him alone, she went upstairs and spent the morning packing away linens and bedding and the contents of the closets, most of which he'd told her at breakfast were to be donated to a charity. Only the family mementos were being kept, and she carefully sorted through his parents' closet, making certain that nothing of sentimental value went into the boxes destined for charity. When she took a break, she sat down on the bed and opened a photograph album that had evidently belonged to Asad's mother. It was filled with pictures that were so old, most of them were fading. Many of them were of relatives: sweet-faced girls with long hair, and handsome, unsmiling men. Beneath each picture was the date it was taken and the name of whoever was in the photograph. The last picture in the album was the most current"it was a wedding photograph of Asad's mother and father. April 24, 1973 was written beneath the picture in her neat script. Judging from the variety of names in that album, Kiran Aftab Ahmad Khan had lots of cousins and aunts and uncles, Zoya thought with a soft smile, wondering wistfully what it would be like to come from a big family.

At noon she went downstairs. They had sandwiches for lunch, and although Asad wasn't friendly, at least he answered her questions and comments with aloof courtesy, and she took that as an encouraging sign that his mood was improving. When she'd finished cleaning up after lunch, she gave a final satisfied glance at the gleaming kitchen, then she walked into the living room, where Asad was methodically packing books and knick-knacks into boxes. She paused in the doorway, watching the way his chamois shirt stretched taut across his broad, muscled shoulders and tapered back whenever he lifted his arm. He'd taken off the jeans that had gotten damp while he was searching outside for her keys, and in their place he was wearing a pair of gray slacks that molded themselves to his hips and the long length of his muscled legs. For one hopeless moment she actually considered walking up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist, and laying her cheek against the solid wall of his back. She wondered what he'd do. Push her away, probably, Zoya decided dismally.

Mentally, she braced herself for a rebuff and stepped forward, but after a half day of enduring his unpredictable temper, her nerves were scraped raw and her own temper was strained to the breaking point. She watched him taping the last box of books shut, and said, "Can I do anything to help you?"

"Hardly, since I'm already finished," he said without bothering to turn.

Zoya stiffened, her frayed temper sending bright spots of warning color to her high cheekbones. With a last effort to sound polite, she said, "I'm going up to Najma's room to pack some things she left behind. Would you like me to fix you a cup of coffee before I do?"

"No," he snapped.

"Is there anything else I can get for you?"

"Oh, for God's sake!" he exploded, swinging around. "Stop acting like a patient, saintly wife, and get out of here!"

Fury blazed in her eyes, and she clenched her hands into fists, fighting back tears and the simultaneous urge to slap him. "Fine," she retorted, trying valiantly to hold on to her shattered dignity. "You can make your own damned dinner and eat it alone." Turning on her heel, she stalked up the stairs.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

She turned on the landing, looking down at him like an angry, haughty goddess, her hair tumbling over her shoulders. "It means I think you're rotten company!"

That was such an understatement that Asad would have laughed if he weren't already so furious with himself for wanting her"even now as she stood up there, glowering at him. He watched her turn her back on him and disappear down the hall, then he wandered over to the window. Bracing his hand high on the sill, he stared out across the drive. The plowed drive. For several minutes Asad stood at the windows, his jaw clenched, fighting against the impulse to go upstairs and discover for himself if Zoya actually wanted the Houston property badly enough to climb into bed with him. There were worse ways to spend a wintry day and night"and no better revenge than to let her do it, then send her on her way, empty-handed. And still he hesitated, held back by some vague scruple ... or sense of self-preservation. Shoving away from the window, he got his jacket from the closet and went back outside, absolutely determined to find her car keys this time. He found them only inches away from where he'd stopped looking before.

"The drive is clear," he announced, walking into Najma's room where Zoya was putting old scrapbooks into a box. "Pack your things."

Zoya lurched around, stung by his icy tone, her hopes for a reprieve, for a return to the mood of yesterday, dying. Gathering her courage, she slowly finished wrapping the last scrapbook. Now that it was time to tell him about her miscarriage, she fully expected him to react with the equivalent of "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." Just thinking of that possibility made her seethe with anger. After a half day of enduring his sarcasm and frigid silence, her nerves and her temper were strained to the breaking point. Carefully, she put the wrapped book into the box, then she straightened and looked at him. "Before I leave, there's something I have to tell you."

"I'm not interested," he bit out, striding forward. "Get going."

"Not until I tell you what I actually came here to say!" she said, then cried out in shocked alarm when he grabbed her arm.

"Zoya," he snapped, "cut the crap and get moving!"

"I can't!" She burst out, jerking her arm free. "I"I don't have my keys." He saw it then; the small suitcase lying beside the bed. Asad wasn't clear on much about the night she arrived, but he sure as hell would have noticed if she'd been carrying a suitcase when she got out of that car. The shock of seeing it would have registered on him. Her car was supposedly locked, but she'd managed to get a suitcase out of it! Turning on his heel, he yanked her purse off the dresser, turned it upside down, and unceremoniously dumped the contents out. A set of car keys landed on top of her wallet and makeup case. "So," he said in a silky voice, "you don't have any keys?"

In her panic and desperation, Zoya unthinkingly put her hand on his chest. "Asad, please listen to me"" She watched his gaze rivet on her hand, then it slowly lifted to her face, and when his eyes met hers, there was a distinct change in him, though she was unaware that it was the intimacy of her gesture that caused it. The rigidity left his jaw, his body relaxed; his eyes were no longer hard and indifferent, but lazy and speculative; even his voice was different"smooth, soft, like satin over cold steel. "Go ahead and talk, sweetheart, I'm hanging on to every word."

Zoya's mind rang out an alarm as she looked into those heavy-lidded dark eyes, but she was too desperate to speak to heed the warning or even to notice that his hands were slowly gliding up and down her arms. Drawing a quick, steadying breath, she launched into the speech she'd rehearsed all morning: "Friday evening, I went to your apartment to try to reason with you""

"I already know that," he interrupted.

"What you don't know is that your father and I had a raging argument."

"I'm sure you didn't rage, sweetheart," he said with thinly veiled sarcasm. "A well-bred woman like you would never stoop so low."

"Well, I did," Zoya said, shaken by his attitude but determined to forge ahead. "You see, your father told me to stay away from you"he accused me of destroying our baby and newly destroying your life. I"I didn't know what he was talking about at first."

"I'm sure the fault was his for not making himself clear""

"Stop talking to me in that condescending way," Zoya warned with a mixture of panic and desperation. "I'm trying to make you understand!"

"I'm sorry. What is it I'm supposed to understand?"

"Asad, I didn't have an abortion"I had a miscarriage. A miscarriage," she repeated, searching his impassive features for some sign of reaction.

"A miscarriage. I see." His eyes dropped to her lips and his hand slid up her arm, curving around her nape. "So beautiful. . ." he whispered huskily. "You always were so damned beautiful.. ."

Stunned into blank immobility by his words and the husky timbre of his voice, she stared at him, not certain what he was thinking, unable to believe he'd accepted her explanation so easily and calmly. "So beautiful," he repeated, his hand tightening on her nape, "and such a liar!" Before she could summon a coherent thought, his mouth swooped down, seizing hers in a kiss of ruthless sensuality, grinding her lips apart. His fingers shoved into her hair and twisted, forcing her head back and holding her captive as his tongue drove insolently into her mouth.

The kiss was intended to punish and degrade her, and Zoya knew it, but instead of fighting him as he obviously expected her to do, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her body to his, and kissed him back with all the shattering tenderness and aching contrition in her heart, trying to convince him in this way that she spoke the truth. Her response made him stiffen in shock; he tensed, as if he intended to shove her away, and then with a low groan he gathered her into his arms and kissed her with a slow, melting hunger that demolished her defenses completely and drove her mad with helpless yearning. The kiss deepened dramatically, his mouth moving urgently, persuasively, on hers, and against her, Zoya felt the rigid pressure of his aroused body.

When he finally lifted his head, she was too dazed to immediately grasp the meaning of his caustic question, "Are you using birth control? Before we get into bed so you can show me how badly you really want that Houston property, I want to be certain there won't be another child from this encounter"or another abortion."

Zoya lurched back, staring at him in stunned anger.

"Abortion!" she choked. "Didn't you hear what I just told you? I had a miscarriage."

"Damn you, don't lie to me!"

"You have to listen""

"I don't want to talk anymore," he said roughly, and his mouth captured hers in a bruising kiss.

Frantic to stop him, to make him listen before it was too late, Zoya struggled and finally managed to tear her mouth from his. "No!" she cried, wedging her hands against his chest, burying her face against his shirt. His hand clamped against the back of her head as if he intended to force her head up again, and Zoya fought with a strength born of terror and panic, shoving his hands away and tearing out of his grasp. "I didn't have an abortion"I didn't!" she cried, backing up a step, her chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow breaths, her words spilling out with all the pent-up pain and fury she felt. Gone was the carefully rehearsed speech she'd planned, and in its place came a torrent of anguished words. "I had a miscarriage, and I nearly died. A miscarriage! No one will perform an abortion when you're nearly six months pregnant""

Minutes ago his eyes had been smoldering with desire, now they raked over her with savage contempt. "Evidently they will if you've given an entire wing to the hospital where it's performed."

"It's not a question of legality, it's too dangerous!"

"Apparently it was, since you were in there for almost two weeks."

Zoya realized he'd already considered all this long ago, arrived at his own logical, if erroneous, conclusions, and that nothing she said was going to make any difference. The realization was shattering, and she turned her head aside, brushing at the tears of futility starting to spill from her eyes, but she could not stop talking to him. "Oh, please," she implored brokenly, "listen to me. I hemorrhaged, and I lost our baby. I asked my father to send you a telegram to tell you what happened and to ask you to come home. I never imagined he'd lie to you, or stop you from getting into the hospital, but your father said that's what he did ..." The dam of tears broke loose, flooding her eyes and shattering her voice as she wept. "I thought I was in love with you! I waited for you to come to the hospital. I waited and waited," she cried, "but you never did."

She bent her head, her shoulders jerking with sobs she couldn't suppress any longer. Asad knew she was crying, but he was rendered incapable of reaction by a memory that had started screaming through his brain when she mentioned her father"a vision of Ghafoor Siddiqui standing in his study, white-faced with rage: You think you're tough, Khan, but you don't even know what tough is yet, I'll stop at nothing to get Zoya free of you! After that tirade, after Siddiqui's rage was spent, he'd asked Asad if they could try to get along for Zoya's sake. Siddiqui had seemed sincere. He'd seemed to accept the marriage. But had he really, Asad wondered now. I'll stop at nothing to get Zoya free of you . . .

Zoya raised her eyes to his then, wounded hazel brown eyes. In a state of paralyzed uncertainty, Asad looked into those eyes, and what he saw nearly sent him to his knees: They were filled with tears and pleading. And truth. Naked, soul-destroying, unbearable truth. "Asad," she whispered achingly, "we"we had a baby girl."

"Oh, my God! he groaned, and he yanked her into his arms. "Oh, God!"

Zoya clung to him, her wet cheek pressed against his shirt, unable to stop the outpouring of grief and sorrow, now that she was in his arms. "I"I named her Kiran for your mother."

Asad scarcely heard her;his entire being was tormented with the image of Zoya, lying alone in a hospital room, waiting in vain for him. "Please, no," he pleaded with fate, clasping her tighter to him, rubbing his jaw against her hair. "Please no."

"I couldn't go to her funeral," she whispered hoarsely, "because I was so sick. My father said he went... you d-don't think he lied about that too, do you?"

The agony Asad felt when she mentioned a funeral and being sick almost doubled him over. "Ya Allah!" he groaned, holding her tighter, running his hands over her back and shoulders, helplessly trying to heal the hurt he had unwittingly caused her years before. She lifted her tear-drenched face to his and begged him for reassurance: "I told him to be sure Kiran had dozens of flowers at her funeral. I told him they had to be pink roses. You ... you don't think he lied to me when he said he sent them?"

"He sent them!" Asad promised her fiercely. "I'm sure he did."

"I couldn't"couldn't bear it if she didn't have any flowers ..."

"Oh, please, darling," Asad whispered brokenly. "Please don't. No more."

Through the haze of her own sorrow and relief, Zoya heard the anguish clogging his voice, saw the ravaged sorrow on his face, and tenderness poured through her, its sweetness filling her heart until she ached with it. "Don't cry," she whispered, her own tears falling unchecked as she reached up and laid her fingers on his hard cheek. "It's all over now. Your father told me the truth. That's why I came here, you see ... I had to tell you what really happened. I had to ask you to forgive me""

Leaning his head back, Asad closed his eyes and swallowed, trying to clear the painful lump of emotion that was clogging his throat. "Forgive you?" he repeated in a ragged whisper. "For what?"

"For hating you all these years."

He forced his eyes to open and he looked down at her beautiful face. "You couldn't possibly have hated me as much as I hate myself at this moment."

Zoya's heart lurched at the naked remorse in his eyes; he'd always seemed so completely invulnerable that she'd thought him incapable of deep feeling. Or perhaps her judgment had been clouded by her youth and inexperience. But whatever the case, she thought nothing of trying to comfort him now. "It's over. Don't think about it," she said softly, leaning her face against the hard wall of his chest, but it was a hopeless suggestion because in the silence before he spoke again, that was all either of them could think about. "Were you in much pain when it happened?" he said finally.

Zoya started to ask him again not to think of it, but she realized in some part of her mind that he was asking her to share with him now the things that would have been his right to share with her long ago. At the same time, he was offering her the belated chance to turn to him for the comfort that she'd needed from him. And Zoya slowly realized that she wanted that, even now. Standing in the circle of his arms, she felt the slow, soothing strokes of his hand against her nape and shoulders, and suddenly she wasn't twenty-nine anymore; she was eighteen, and he was twenty-six, and she was in love with him. He was strength and security and hope. "I was sleeping when it started," she began. "Something woke me up"I felt strange, and I turned on the lamp. When I looked down, the blankets were soaked with my blood. I screamed." She stopped, and then made herself continue. "The maid had just come back from her village that day. She heard me and woke up my father and someone called an ambulance. The pains started coming, and I begged my father to try to call you, and the paramedics arrived. I remember them carrying me out of the house on a stretcher, and they were running. And I remember the sound of the siren screaming and screaming and screaming in the night. I tried to cover my ears to block out the sound, but they were giving me an injection and the paramedic held my arms down." Zoya drew a shuddering breath, not sure she could go on without starting to cry, but Asad's hand was drifting down her spine, holding her pressed against the solid strength of his body, and she found the courage to finish. "The next thing I remember was the sound of a machine beeping, and when I opened my eyes, I was lying in a hospital bed with all sorts of plastic tubes attached to me and a machine monitoring my heartbeats. It was daylight, and a nurse was there, but when I tried to ask her about our baby, she patted my hand and told me not to worry. I asked her if I could see you, and she said you weren't there yet. When I opened my eyes again, it was night and there were doctors and nurses all around the bed. I asked them about the baby, too, and they said my doctor was on his way and everything was going to be just fine. I knew they were lying to me. So I asked"no," she amended with a sad smile as she tipped her head back and looked at him, "I ordered them to let you come in because I knew they wouldn't dare lie to you."

He tried to smile back at her but it didn't reach his tormented eyes, and she laid her cheek against his chest. "They told me you weren't there, but that my father was, and then my doctor arrived, and my father came in, and everyone else left the room..."

Zoya stopped, cringing from the memory of what came next. As if Asad sensed what she was feeling, he laid his hand against her cheek, pressing her face to the rhythmic beating of his heart. "Tell me," he whispered, his deep voice ragged with tenderness and sorrow. "I'm here, and it can't hurt as much this time."

Zoya took his word for it, her hands sliding up his chest to his shoulders, instinctively clutching them for support, but fresh tears were flooding her eyes and clogging her voice. "Dr. Arledge told me that we'd had a baby girl, and that everything humanly possible had been done to save her, but they couldn't because"because she was too little." Tears raced down her cheeks. "Too little!" she repeated on a heartbroken sob. "I thought baby girls were supposed to be little. Little is such a"a pretty word ... so feminine..."

She felt Asad's fingers digging into her back, and somehow the suppressed force of his reaction gave her strength. Drawing a long breath, she finished, "Because she was so little, she couldn't breathe properly. Dr. Arledge asked me what I wanted to do, and when I realized he was asking me if I wanted her to have a name and a"a funeral, I started begging him to let me see you. My father was furious at him for upsetting me, and he told me he'd sent you a telegram, but that you weren't there. Dr. Arledge said I couldn't wait for days to make these decisions. And so I"I decided," Zoya concluded brokenly. "I named her Kiran because I thought you would like that, and I told my father I wanted her to have dozens and dozens of pink roses. And I said I wanted all the cards to be from us and to say, 'We loved you.'"

Asad's voice was raw. "Thank you," he whispered, and she suddenly realized the wetness on her cheek was not only from her tears, but also his.

"And then I waited," she told him with a ragged sigh. "I waited for you to come, because I thought that somehow, if you were there, everything would start to be better." Within moments after she finished, Zoya felt a sense of relief, of calm sweeping over her.

When Asad finally spoke, he, too, had gotten control of his emotions. "Your father's telegram reached me three days after he sent it. It said that you'd had an abortion, and that you wanted nothing more from me except a divorce, which you were already instituting. I flew home anyway, and one of your maids told me where you were, but when I got to the hospital, they informed me you'd specifically said you didn't want me allowed up to see you. I went back the next day with some half-formed plan of getting past the security guards at the desk of the Siddiqui Wing, but I never got that far. A cop was waiting at the doors to serve me with a signed court injunction that made it a criminal act for me to go near you."

"And all that time," she whispered, "I was in there, waiting for you."

"I promise you," he said tightly, "that if I'd thought there was a chance you wanted to see me, no court order, no force on this earth, would have stopped me from getting to you!"

She tried to reassure him with a simple truth: "You couldn't have helped me."

His body seemed to stiffen. "I couldn't?"

She shook her head. "Everything medically possible was already being done for me, just as it had been for Kiran. There wasn't anything you could have done to help." Zoya was so relieved to have the truth out in the open at last that she abandoned her pride and took it one step further. "You see, despite what I had put on the cards with the roses, I knew in my heart how you really felt about the baby"and about me."

"Tell me," he said gruffly, "how did I really feel?"

Surprised by the sudden terseness in his tone, Zoya tipped her head back. With a soft smile to prove she meant no criticism, she said, "The answer to that is as obvious now as it was then: You were stuck with both of us. You slept one time with a silly eighteen-year-old virgin who did her best to seduce you, and who didn't have sense enough to use birth control, and look what happened."

"What happened, Zoya?" he demanded.

"What happened? You know what happened. I came looking for you to give you the glad news, and you did the noble thing"you married a girl you didn't want."

"Didn't want?" he exploded, his harsh voice in complete opposition to the poignancy of his words. "I've wanted you every day of my godforsaken life."

Zoya stared at him, mesmerized, doubtful, joyous, shattered.

"And you were wrong about something else too," he said, his expression gentling as he framed her tear-streaked face between his palms, his fingers brushing the wetness away. "If I'd been able to see you in the hospital, I could have helped."

Her voice dropped to a shaken whisper. "How?"

"Like this," he said, and still cradling her face, he bent his head and brushed his lips over hers. The exquisite tenderness of his kiss, the caressing way his fingers slid over her face, destroyed Zoya's defenses completely, and fresh tears welled up just when she thought she had cried them all. "And like this"" His mouth slid to the corners of her eyes, and she felt the touch of his tongue on her tears. "I'd have taken you home from the hospital with me, and held you in my arms"like this"" he promised achingly, drawing her against his full length, his breath against her ear sending shivers down her spine. "When you were well enough, we'd have made love, and later, when you wanted me to, I'd have given you another baby"" He didn't say "like this," but when he shifted her backward onto the bed and followed her down, Zoya knew that was what he meant. She knew it as surely as she knew it was wrong to let him take off her sweater and unfasten her jeans, as surely as she knew it was impossible for her to have another baby. But, oh, the sweetness of pretending, just this once, that all of this was reality and the past was only a dream that could be altered.

...

Sweet dreams Everyone !!! 😉

Res

Wow sooo beautiful 😳
Looove this update...
Asad is chooo cute...I loved the way he comforted her...
The way she said everything again...the way they both cried ...it was truly awesome Amna ki Bacchi 😊

And I hate u for stopping there 😡
How could u be so cruel to just stop there

I want an 18 + update 😳

And I love u bas 😉

My mood is good after reading this awesomest update 😛

Loads as of luv
It's me 😉
(Naam tho pata hai na 😆 )

M thinking I ll res this entire page

U sust evil aurat Itna Kate Kyun update kiya 😡

Atleast update tho Kiya...m happie for that 😛