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Chains of Desire
They said grief changes people. But I remember when I looked at him, he didn't look broken. He looked awakened. Like a man who had finally found a reason to breathe again. Unfortunately, that reason was me. There's nothing loud about him. Forget raising his voice he barely speaks unless he has to. He just watches quietly, like a wolf waiting for its prey to stop running. When a man like him decides you're his, he doesn't need to say a word. He didn't have to touch me to make me feel trapped. He just had to look. And maybe that's what chains really are...not metal or rope, but the slow suffocation of being seen, claimed, and never asked if you wanted to be free. If the girl I was four years ago had seen who I am today, she would have laughed at herself, completely unaware that one day she would herself say that: Arhaan Mirza is my fate, my curse, my damnation and the chains of desire my soul refuses to break free from.
xeronsane
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