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Abhi's morning entrance, a sight to behold,
Malini's slumber, a peaceful sight to unfold.
The saree's gentle ride, up her thighs so fine,
Abhi's respectful touch, a love so divine.
He tugs the fabric, with a gentle hand,
Softly touching soles, a tender command.
Malini's toes curl, in a sleepy delight,
Abhi's smile grows, at the ticklish sight.
He teases her feet, with a playful touch,
Watching her react, with a loving clutch.
A few more tickles, and he'll stop the play,
Abhi's heart swells, with a love that's here to stay.
In 1846's world, where freedom's rare,
Abhi vows to make her teenage years fair.
Golden moments, filled with love and glee,
A promise to keep, for his Malini, he'll be.
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15th April, 1846
Calcutta, Bengal
ABHISHEK'S POV~
I step into the room, feeling the soft brush of the morning breeze on my skin.
My dhoti clings to my waist, the sacred thread resting lightly over my chest, a symbol of my faith and the new responsibilities I've taken on yesterday.
My fingers rake through my damp hair, still moist from the ceremonial bath.
I catch a glimpse of her — her peaceful form illuminated by the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the window.
She lies on the bed, her face serene, unaware of my presence.
I can feel the weight of the quiet in the room, broken only by the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest.
I lower my gaze, a fleeting flicker of something unfamiliar washing over me.
Her saree, tangled carelessly around her, has rolled up to her thighs.
Her legs, soft and delicate, are revealed to me, their graceful curves accentuated by the intimate moment of stillness.
I let out a slow, controlled breath.
In a gesture of respect, I move toward the bed, my steps light as a shadow. I gently pull her saree back down, adjusting it so it rests once more at her ankles.
As my knuckles graze the delicate anklets, a soft, melodic chime echoes in the room, filling the space with an almost ethereal sound.
A smile tugs at my lips — a playful smirk, one that I can't suppress.
Her toes curl with my touch.
She's ticklish.
Curiosity blooms within me, and I can't resist the temptation.
I brush my knuckles over the soft arch of her heels, trailing my fingers delicately up to her toes.
The sensation makes her tiny toes twitch and curl further, wrapping around my fingers as if they are holding onto something — or someone.
I lean in closer, studying the delicate arch of her foot, the slightly tan skin and tiny, dot-like nails, painted with the crimson hue of alta.
There's something about how delicate and fragile she appears in this moment that makes my chest tighten.
My lips quirk upward, and I bite back an amused chuckle, feeling both entranced and slightly guilty for invading her privacy.
She stirs in her sleep, a soft, almost imperceptible movement, as droplets of water fall from my damp hair onto her foot.
The coolness of the water contrasts with the warmth of her skin, causing her to shift in the bed.
She stretches her legs straight, her soft, slender limbs uncurling like a delicate flower opening to the morning light.
The small bells on her anklets tinkle gently, the sound so faint and melodic that it feels like a whispered secret, carried on the air.
I pause for a moment, my fingers brushing against the curve of her ankle bone, delicate and smooth beneath my touch.
It's a fleeting gesture, one that is almost instinctual, but it carries a tenderness that lingers in the quiet of the room.
I straighten up, reluctant to leave the intimacy of the moment, and move towards my almirah to retrieve my kurta.
Just as I reach for it, I catch a flicker of movement from the corner of my eye.
Turning around, I watch her, still half-dreaming, as she slowly sits up in bed, rubbing her eyes with her small, delicate hands.
A soft yawn escapes her lips, her body stretching like a cat's, the movement both lazy and graceful.
I can't help but chuckle at the sight — her eyes still closed, yet she turns her head around, trying to get her bearings, clearly disoriented after waking from her sleep.
"Morning, Malini," I murmur with a smile, reaching for my kurta.
She blinks slowly, her eyes still heavy with sleep, before finally opening them fully.
Another yawn escapes her, and she rubs her eyes again, trying to shake off the sleep and bring her surroundings into focus.
The innocence of the moment strikes me, the vulnerability of seeing her so unguarded, so unaware of the weight of the world around her.
I move slowly toward her, my bare feet making no sound on the floor as I approach the bed.
The air in the room is thick with the scent of damp earth from the night's rain, and I can almost taste the faint humidity that lingers in the air.
I lean closer, my breath barely a whisper against her ear, the warmth of my body reaching her as I murmur, "Feeling confused, phoenix?"
She stirs, her eyelids flickering open, and her gaze immediately locks on me.
Her eyes widen in surprise, confusion swirling in their depths, as if she's trying to make sense of the sudden intimacy of the moment.
I tilt my head slightly, watching her eyes travel downward, briefly catching sight of my bare chest before she quickly looks away.
A small smirk tugs at my lips as I enjoy the moment.
Her reaction is as pure as I've ever seen it, the innocence of it almost making me pause.
"Don't you think we should be fair in this, hmm, phoenix?" I say softly, my voice low and teasing, watching her intently as she finally lifts her gaze to meet mine.
The playful challenge in my voice hangs in the air between us, a silent dare.
"Huh?" Her voice is soft, slightly breathless, and her frown deepens as confusion tugs at her features.
She's trying to make sense of what I said, still caught in the fog of sleep.
I chuckle, shaking my head, feeling a strange warmth spread through me as I watch her, so utterly unaware, so innocent in her confusion.
Her vulnerability makes her all the more captivating.
"Nothing," I say with a soft laugh, my tone light and teasing. "Get up now, it's past the early morning."
I reach down, my fingers gently running through her disheveled hair, causing a few stray strands to fall away from her face.
Her hair, soft and tangled from sleep, feels like silk under my touch.
Her breath catches in her throat, and she gasps loudly, scrambling off the bed in panic.
The sheets rustle in a flurry of motion, and her bare feet hit the floor with a soft, hurried patter.
"What happened?" I ask, my voice low, laced with confusion as I watch her in this sudden state of frenzy.
Her wide eyes scan the room as if she's lost in time.
~ When freedom is not a word in a girls' dictionary.
჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻.✾.჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻
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