Tears

Tears
Being subjected to Shehryaar Haider Syed's gaze wasn't an easy task, especially when you
were his culprit or his victim. Sheharzaad knew how what the feeling was like. When his
gaze would stare directly in your soul through your eyes. As if he would know that what has
been going on in your mind. He was terrifying. And with those grey orbs of his, he looked
terrifyingly handsome.
"I.. actually," she whimpered.
"Sheharzaad,"
"Yes?" Her voice was quiet and hushed.
"Go, freshen up," he said.
His voice was quiet—too quiet—and it sent a shiver down her spine. The stillness in his
tone was more frightening than if he had shouted. It was the calm before the storm, and she
could feel its weight pressing down on her chest. Goosebumps prickled her arms as fear
coursed through her. She had seen this calmness before; it was a warning. She felt as if his
voice was awfully quiet, raising goosebumps all along her spine. She was this scared of his
anger.
She quickly nodded, got up, and slowly strolled towards the washroom. Her heart beat a
mile a minute with every step she took because his eyes were on her, and she realized it
through her peripheral vision. When she was passing in front of him, her heartbeat
increased by leaps and bounds, followed by small fretful instinctive whimpers. She was
mere inches from the washroom door, just a breath away from escaping his gaze, when
suddenly, his hand shot out, and her arm was taken in his grasp, making her take a sharp
breath. The next second, he tugged her against the dressing table.
She began to whimper profusely but kept her eyes on his chest, not looking up. Her chin
wobbled. He closed in on her, and that was when those tears of fear that had been
threatening to escape finally fell from her eyes. Her chin wobbled, and her lower lip shook
involuntarily, so she bit it to stop the tremble. The tears dropped from her eyes like water
dripping down the surface of a leaf after a heavy rain.
"What happened?" he asked, holding both her arms gently.
She shook her head and said nothing.
"Did I say something?" He raised his brow. She looked up at him with those red, teary eyes
and shook her head, letting out a shaky breath.
"Did I scold you?" She could hear a tenderness, a softness, in his voice.
She shook her head as a response again, while sniffling.
"So why are you crying?" he asked as if talking to a child, while raising both his brows and
looking directly into her eyes, pulling her face up.
"I won't cry again,"
"Now when did I say that?"
"I won't cry again,"
He looked away, closing his eyes momentarily.
"Alright. Now I will punish you if I ever see even a little tear in your eyes."
She shook her head in horror. "Punishment?" Barely letting the word leave her mouth.
"Yes, punishment," he reiterated, and he could see the colors on her face changing rapidly.
The hands resting on his chest began to shiver.
He shook his head and cleaned her tears with the pad of his thumb and the back of his
fingers. "Okay, I won't punish you," he whispered against her lips, held her face, and
suddenly kissed her forehead.
A knock on the door interrupted them, and he disengaged.
"Hmm?" he asked, turning his head slightly toward the door.
"Sir, may I come in?"
"Come in," he gave the permission, placing one hand on the side of her leg and the other
near her face.
The maid entered the room. "Sir, everyone is waiting for you at the table."
"Tell them we are coming," he said, while his eyes were on Sheharzaad, and her eyes were
on the maid, who was looking down.
The maid left as the door closed again.
"Go, freshen up. Grandfather must be waiting," he said. She nodded quickly, not meeting his
gaze, and scurried away toward the washroom. Her heart raced with every step as her
hands fumbled to lift the heavy fabric of her bridal dress so she wouldn’t trip.
The moment she closed the door behind her, she leaned against it, exhaling shakily. Her
trembling hand came up to her chest, pressing against the rapid thrum of her heart. The
beats were loud, almost deafening, as if her body were still responding to his overwhelming
presence.
She pressed her lips together tightly and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. But the
memory of his piercing gaze and the feeling of his hand so close lingered, refusing to let her
relax.
What had she gotten herself into?
Swallowing hard, she straightened up and moved toward the sink. Splashing cold water on
her face, she hoped to erase the tension that clung to her like a second skin. But deep down,
she knew this was just the beginning.
She adjusted her dupatta, fixing it over her head, before turning toward the door. Her
footsteps felt heavy, but she knew she couldn’t delay. Not when he was waiting.
When she opened the door and stepped out, her eyes immediately found him. He was
standing by the window, his hands behind his back, the early sunlight casting an ethereal
glow around him. His white shalwar kameez clung to him perfectly, exuding power and
elegance.
He turned to look at her, his sharp gaze sweeping over her from head to toe. She lowered
her eyes, clutching her hands together tightly as if that could keep her from trembling.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice calm but firm.
She nodded quickly, though no words came out.
“Let’s go,” he said, stepping forward. He paused beside her, his towering presence
commanding her attention, though she dared not look up. With a subtle gesture, he guided
her toward the door with a hand lightly placed on the small of her back.
The touch sent a jolt through her body, but she walked ahead without faltering, too afraid to
show hesitation.