Ok guys, I have written the shirt(less) scene finally!!
Its from Isra's viewpoint...if you want one from Shahzaib's too then lemme know 😃😆 Its descriptive, but won't go down the Tumblr path because as of this scene, Isra is still in confusion, but of course she melts at certain places 😆
Leave me a good review okay, I've stayed up till 1 am writing this for you all 😆
Here you go!
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‘Where are you going?’ I asked him. He looked scared, not knowing what to say exactly. Contemplating my next words, I assume.
‘To change,’ he simply said. He looked like a small boy who had been caught stealing candy by his mother.
I looked at his state. He was trying his level best to hide his pain, holding his shirt in one hand, the other in a sling. No way he’ll manage without hurting himself. I bit back my smart reply, knowing it would be futile at the moment. Instead, I chose to be logical, ‘Will you manage to change clothes in this condition?’
‘I’ll try.’ He wasn’t sure if that was the right response.
I rolled my eyes internally. Just ask me.
‘I know that.’ I decided to take matters into his own hands. Knowing he would injure himself even more.
Ignoring the confusion on his face, very slowly I opened the Velcro, easing the hold of the sling, pulling it off his shoulder. Placing it on the table, I looked up at his face. He was transfixed because my actions, frozen in one place. His expression was that of astonishment mixed with fear. But the tenderness in his eyes…
Taking a deep breath in order to make myself focus, I locked my eyes in his dark orbs, trying to take a stronger position. ‘May I?’ I seeked permission, realising his hesitation.
He nodded, slightly more jerk-y movements. He hadn’t expected me to offer any assistance and under normal circumstances, I would not have. But the guilt…the guilt would not go away. This entire incident had happened due to me. Whether I say it out loud or not, my words and actions had caused this.
I had hurt my husband.
‘Focus Isra,’ I told myself mentally. ‘He might be your husband on paper, but there is nothing sacred about this marriage.’
With as much gentleness as I could, I moved his bandaged arm to the side. I jerked my head up when I heard him wince.
‘You okay?’
He bit his lip and continued to nod his head, ‘Yeah.’
I acknowledged his statement and moved a step closer. His breath hitched when I touched the button. Quizzically I look at him again…when realisation hit me. I was closer to him than I thought, I could feel his breath fanning my face.
‘You don’t have to do this,’ he whispered, his voice heavier and shakier than usual.
I cleared my throat, ‘No…no it’s fine.’
‘Is—’
‘Shahzaib.’ Saying his name under such circumstances, such proximity, felt strangely different.
He shut up then, his eyes darting everywhere except my face.
Taking in a sharp breath, I began unbuttoning the shirt, trying not to touch his skin.
One…two…three…four…five.
With every new area of skin getting exposed, I could feel the gravity of the situation hitting me. Even though I was just helping him, this was a different kind of intimacy, whether I liked it or not. This time, I had got myself into something I was not truly ready for.
‘Shahzaib?’
He looked at me, confusion on his beautiful face.
I sighed, ‘You’re moving a lot.’
Shahzaib stopped shaking his leg, a habit that he exhibited whenever he got very anxious. Instead, now he stared directly at the ceiling. I felt my hands shaking as I pushed the fabric off his shoulder. The peach shirt fell on the floor with a slight thud.
My breath hitched in my throat. Shahzaib’s porcelain-like skin was marred with hues of red, blue and purple. There were no gashes, but swelling all over his torso. Any other man would have been sprawled on the bed, high on painkillers. But Shahzaib…he did not express his pain. Instead he was walking around the house, only biting his lip occasionally.
My eyes scanned the wounds again and again, until I had a mental picture etched in my brain. My head was hurting by merely looking at the pattern across his chest, ribcage and stomach. That’s when I spotted a yellow patch, on his left side. Involuntarily, I touched the skin where the older wound was.
‘This looks old…’ I whispered.
‘It is…of the day I had gone to meet your brother…’
I froze. Hammad bhai did this? And Shahzaib took it?!
I stared at him now, not the wounds. Right from his broad shoulders, down the length of his torso, his abs. My hand grabbed the bicep of his uninjured arm, and as expected, I could not wrap my hand around it. The muscles were contracting under my touch, the veins getting more prominent.
The gym was definitely doing its job.
Shahzaib’s one punch would have knocked out my brother for sure and given him black eyes. He was strong, bigger than I imagined, towering over my 5 feet 2 inches. And yet…he let Hammad bhai beat him? My brother, whose only source of exercise was walking to and from the kitchen to his bedroom. None of this made any sense.
‘Why did you take it?’ I looked up at him, my hand still on his bicep.
‘He is your brother.’ Was all he said.
Shahzaib’s eyes were reflecting vulnerability now. His state of undress had started to play on my mind. Never had he wanted me to see him like this. In a position where he could not take care of me. I remembered every conversation we had, every plan for our wedding, where we would go for our honeymoon. But never in a thousand years had I imagined I would be seeing him bare-chested under such circumstances.
‘Turn around.’
He obeyed my command as I picked up the denim shirt, taking it off the hanger. There were similar bruises on his back too.
I tried to ignore the way his back muscles rippled and quickly placed the shirt on his back, avoiding to touch the skin this time. But of course, that would not happen. My fingers ran everywhere as I slid his good arm through the arm hole first, then slowly made him turn to face me. Holding his crepe-cloth wrapped arm, I pushed it in, rolling up the shirt to avoid the bandage from tangling in the cloth of the denim.
Okay, I did the hard part. No kidding Isra…you know the shirt was not the hard part…
I started to button up the shirt, feeling his gaze on me. My fingers were still shaky, but for different reasons now.
‘All done,’ I said, mainly to myself, and placed the sling around him, manoeuvring and sticking on the Velcro.
Shahzaib, still in shock and daze, let out a huge breath. Muttering a soft “thank you”, he started walking to the living room. Leaving me with my thoughts.
As I gathered myself, another thought hit me. Shahzaib could have easily overpowered anyone, including me. He could have forced me into completing our marriage. And by what I saw today, it would have taken him mere seconds to physically gain control over me.
I stared at our marital bed, which was still untainted, then at my tiny self in the mirror. Yes…mere seconds…
And yet…he did not.
Does he really want to own me? Or does he truly love me? No one would go through such extremes for just a girl, unless there are feelings involved. So does that mean…every word Shahzaib told me about loving me was true? All his actions have been proving him to be true, no matter how much venom I spewed…
I heard another grunt and saw Shahzaib propping himself on the sofa. Shaking my head, I picked up the packet of painkillers, seeing he had not even taken one since morning.
‘Shahzaib!’
God this man…
Edited by Ashley.Tisdale - 2 years ago
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