Shayeli pov…

Distance.

It's not always about miles or geography. It's not even just the space between two people.

I used to think that staying apart wasn't a big deal. That if life demanded separation—between a parent and child, between best friends, lovers, husband and wife—you could manage. You wouldn't die from it.

And for years, I lived like that.

Since I was 20, I've been away from my parents. It wasn't a sacrifice—it was a dream. A childhood wish turned into an adult ambition. I chased it willingly. Alone. Proudly.

But now...

Now I wonder.

People always say life is short. But I once heard someone say, "Life is too long to live alone. Find someone to share it with." And back then, I used to scoff. I told myself I could share my life with my parents, my siblings. That I didn't need anyone else.

But slowly, reality crept in. My family—my people—they had their own lives. Their own partners. Their own worlds I was no longer the center of.

The first time I really felt it was when my sister got married.

We were best friends, the kind of sisters who made dramatic plans—like locking our husbands in a separate house just so we could spend time with each other, undisturbed. We promised each other forever. But after she got married, something shifted. We still met. We still talked. But it wasn't the same. She had a home of her own now. A husband. Children. A life that didn't revolve around me anymore.

That's when I began to understand the weight of loneliness.

That's when I began to understand why people look for a partner. Why they crave someone who's theirs.

But trust? That's another story.

I've seen what happens when you trust too easily. When the people you love—your own people—fail you. When the hopes you build around them crumble. I learned to carry that pain quietly.

I never imagined I'd let someone else in again.

Not like this.

But somehow, Andrew slipped past all the walls.

With his silence. With his steady presence.

With the way he held me when there was no one else.

I didn't realize how much I'd begun to rely on him until he wasn't there.

Yesterday he didn't come home. He had told me over the phone—urgent work—and that was it. No drama. No promises. And yet, the whole day felt dull, my mood heavy and restless.

I think... maybe that's how my mother and sister feel when they don't see their husbands for a day.

And me? I used to roll my eyes at them. Standing behind, making faces, thinking—"It's not like you'll die without them."

Now I know better.

"Ma'am? It's time."

The secretary's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I nodded and gathered my things.

After 30 minutes, I stepped outside the cafe building. I crossed the pavement, phone in my hand, eyes scanning across the road.

And then I saw him.

Black coat. Black shirt. Black pants. Leaned casually against his car.

And his eyes—God, those eyes—locked on me like he'd been waiting.

A smile broke across my face, stretching from ear to ear. My heart skipped.

I didn't care that people were watching. I didn't care how embarrassing it might look. I wanted to run to him, to throw my arms around him and hold on like I hadn't just survived a day without him.

I started running—no hesitation, full speed, heart pounding.

He smiled softly and took a step forward, arms slightly open like he was ready to catch me.

But then—

A blaring horn.

Screeching tires.

My breath hitched.

Out of nowhere, a car swerved right in front of me. I couldn't stop.

I was about to—

But two strong arms grabbed me. Pulled me back with force. I stumbled into a hard chest, gasping.

Everything went silent for a second.

All I could hear was the thunder of my heart.

I blinked up, my body still trembling, eyes wide—

And found myself in Andrew's arms.

His jaw was tight. His eyes furious. One hand still holding my waist firmly, the other protectively over my head.

And just like that, the world around me faded again.

"What do people do when they fall in love?"

"Exactly what you're doing for Shayeli."

"Yes, Andrew. You're in love."

James's voice echoed in my head like a haunting whisper. The conversation we had weeks ago—the one I brushed off with a scoff—now played on repeat.

Back then, I didn't believe him.

I couldn't.

Love? That was for people with normal lives. People who didn't walk through blood to earn their peace. People whose hands weren't stained with pain and violence. Not someone like me.

I wasn't made for love. I was made to protect, to lead, to kill if needed.

So why was God being kind? Why her?

As she ran toward me today—smiling like the world made sense again—something inside me shifted. And the moment that car came speeding from the side, every instinct in me snapped awake.

I didn't think.

I moved.

Pulled her into me like she was the only thing tethering me to this world.

And maybe she is.

It would be a lie if I said my breath didn't hitch. If I said fear didn't crawl up my throat for a second. I've faced guns to my head, walked into ambushes, even once laughed while taking a blade to the ribs.

But nothing—nothing—made me feel the way I did when I saw her that close to danger.

Because if it were anyone else, I probably wouldn't have even glanced.

But it was her.

And suddenly, my life felt like it was in danger.

That's when I knew.

Maybe I am in love.

The same way I saw it in my men—the way they look at their wives, the way they'd burn the world just to see them smile.

I looked at her, still wrapped in my arms, chest rising fast, heart thudding against mine.

She didn't move.

And I didn't let go.

I didn't care who was watching. I didn't care about the damn city, or the meeting I was supposed to be heading to. All I cared about was her—alive, safe, warm in my arms.

"What is this, Shayeli?" I asked, voice low, gravel in my throat. Still not letting her go.

She blinked up at me, stunned, breathless, her hands trembling against my chest.

I didn't expect an answer.

Because I already knew.

This—

This was everything I swore I didn't deserve.

And yet, I couldn't walk away from it now if I tried.

She looked up at me like she couldn't believe I was real.

Like she was trying to understand why I held her like that. Why I moved like the world would collapse if anything happened to her. And maybe I did.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her lips parted, but no words came out.

And for a second—I thought she might run.

Not away from the traffic.

Away from me.

But then... she didn't.

Her hands didn't push me away.

Her body didn't tense.

She just stood there, quiet and trembling, staring at me like she wanted to say something but didn't trust herself to speak it out loud.

I let out a slow breath, still holding her.

Not too tight.

Not enough to scare her.

Just enough to remind her—she was safe. With me.

Always with me.

"Shayeli," I said again, my voice quieter now, more raw. "Don't do that again. Ever."

She blinked. Slowly. Like the sound of my voice pulled her out of the fog.

And then she gave a small nod. Barely there.

But it was enough.

My fingers slipped up, gently brushing her hair behind her ear. She didn't flinch. She leaned into it. God, she leaned into it.

And that was when it hit me all over again—

How attached I'd become.

How fucked I'd be if anything happened to her.

How I didn't even care what it meant for my soul or my secrets anymore—I'd burn the world just to keep that soft look in her eyes intact.

I glanced past her shoulder at the car that nearly took her from me.

I was going to find that driver.

I was going to break every bone in his body for driving like that near her.

But right now... right now I only cared about the way her hands had finally moved—gripping my jacket, holding on to me like she was scared to let go too.

"I thought I could handle distance," I whispered, almost to myself. "But I can't. Not from you."

She still didn't speak. Just pressed her forehead to my chest.

And for a man who once believed love wasn't for him, I was standing in the middle of a busy street, arms full of the woman who proved me wrong.

And I'd never let her walk alone again.

Not now. Not ever.

She didn't say a word.

Just stayed pressed to me, her fingers curled around the fabric of my coat like she was scared I'd disappear if she let go.

I pulled back slightly—not because I wanted space, but because I needed to see her face. To be sure she was really okay.

Her eyes were wide, still glassy from shock, lashes fluttering like she was caught between tears and relief.

And damn it—I couldn't help myself.

I leaned in, kissed her closed eyelids—first the left, then the right.

Her breath hitched.

Then I cupped her cheeks and placed a gentle kiss on one side. Then the other.

Soft. Lingering.

Like each kiss was sealing her back to me.

"You're here," I murmured. "You're safe."

She finally looked at me, her voice barely audible. "I didn't even see the car..."

"I did," I said, brushing her hair back. "And I'll see everything for you. Even when you don't."

She didn't argue.

She just looked at me like I'd undone her—completely and willingly.

I laced my fingers through hers and gently tugged her toward the car. She followed, quietly, like she wasn't ready to let go of the moment either.

As the door closed behind her and she sat beside me in the back seat, still wrapped in silence, I let out a slow breath.

The world could fall apart outside this car.

But in here...

In this moment...

She was mine.

And nothing else mattered.

.

.

The car rolled forward, city noise fading behind thick windows, leaving just the two of us—and the unspoken tension that clung softly between us like dusk light through glass.

She hadn't let go of my hand.

Not since I pulled her away from that damn car.

Her fingers were still wrapped in mine—small, warm, and trembling just a little.

We didn't speak at first. I didn't ask her if she was okay again. She didn't pretend to be strong.

Instead, she leaned her head on my shoulder—slowly, like she was testing if it was still okay to need me.

I turned my head slightly, brushing my nose against her hair. Her scent—jasmine, a little coffee, and something purely her—was grounding. Familiar.

I reached over and gently brushed a loose strand from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear.

She shifted closer, curling into me like gravity itself had given up.

"You're quiet," I said, voice low.

She hummed. "I don't want to talk. Not yet."

I nodded. "Okay."

Silence again—but the kind that said more than words ever could.

My thumb moved slowly across her knuckles, tracing circles. I looked down at her—at the soft pout of her lips, the way her lashes cast tiny shadows on her cheeks.

Without thinking, I bent down and kissed the top of her head. Then another one on her temple.

Then one... just at the corner of her eye.

She let out a breath—quiet and shaky.

So I kissed her cheek too.

"Andrew..." she whispered, like a warning and a surrender at the same time.

"I know," I murmured. "I just need to do this."

She didn't pull away.

So I didn't stop.

We rode like that for a while—her tucked into my side, my arm around her, my hand stroking hers in slow, steady patterns like I could memorize her calm.

And maybe I was.

Because if there's one thing I've learned in this life, it's that peace never stays for long.

But if I could buy her a few moments of it...

I'd buy the whole damn world.

Her hand was still in mine as I drove, her fingers curled loosely like she hadn't even realized she was holding me so tight.

She hadn't said much since I pulled her away from that car. Just leaned into me, quiet and shaken. It wasn't fear I saw in her eyes—no, Shayeli was too strong for that—but something else. Something heavier. A realization, maybe. The kind that changes people.

She'd been smiling when she saw me.

And in the next second, she was almost gone.

That thought hadn't left me since I started the car.

Now, in the passenger seat, she sat curled up with her knees drawn close.

Until her head dropped lightly onto my shoulder.

I glanced down, careful to keep my eyes on the road. Her lashes had fluttered shut, her lips slightly parted. She was asleep.

I exhaled, easing my grip on the wheel, heart softening instantly.

God, she trusted me like this?

Me?

A man who spent most of his life driving into danger... now driving the most precious person in his life home. Silently vowing to never let her be that close to harm again.

I turned into her lane, slowing down. She shifted slightly, nestling closer. My shoulder stiffened at the touch—because the weight of her head, so soft and natural, made something in my chest ache.

We stopped in front of her apartment. I left the engine running.

"Shayeli," I said quietly, brushing my knuckles against her thigh. "We're home."

Nothing.

I turned a little, letting the back of my hand trace her cheek. Still no reaction.

So I bent in, lips brushing gently over her closed eyelid. soft and slow.

"Shy lady," I murmured near her ear. "You planning to live here in my car now?"

She stirred at that. Barely. A small groan escaped her lips as her hand shifted across my lap like she was searching for warmth.

I smiled. Couldn't help it.

I kissed the corner of her mouth—just a breath of contact. "You're going to kill me doing this," I whispered against her skin.

"Hmm?" she mumbled, still mostly asleep.

"We're home," I said again, this time sliding my hand under her thighs and the other around her back. She didn't protest. Just let herself be lifted, head resting against my chest like she belonged there.

And maybe she did.

Her door was already open by the time I carried her inside. I walked slowly, letting the familiar scent of her apartment wash over us both.

Once inside, I placed her gently on the couch, careful to keep my hands on her a moment longer than necessary.

Her eyes opened slightly—just a sliver.

"You carried me again," she whispered groggily, a ghost of a smile touching her lips.

"Next time walk by yourself," I said, brushing her hair from her forehead, "and I won't have to."

She blinked up at me. Her eyes were sleepy, unfocused. Beautiful.

I bent down, pressing one kiss to her nose.

And when she sighed, eyes fluttering closed again, I kissed the soft corner of her lips, barely there.

"Go back to sleep," I murmured, pulling the blanket over her. "I'm not going anywhere."

And I meant it.

Even if the world called. Even if my past tried to drag me back—I'd always return to this.

To her.

To home.

I watched her breathing slowly—peacefully, the kind of sleep that came only when she felt safe.

And that made me stay a little longer than necessary.

Her fingers were still curled around the sleeve of my hoodie like she wasn't ready to let go even in sleep. The soft rise and fall of her chest settled something inside me that the entire day couldn't.

I'd been stuck in back-to-back meetings since morning—logistics, supply chain, the usual chaos. I hadn't even gotten the chance to come home, not even to change. She'd called once around noon. Just to ask something random. But the sound of her voice had made the weight on my shoulders feel lighter.

I never said it, but I missed her.

The kind of missing that starts in the bones.

Now, she was asleep in my arms like the universe was taunting me. Offering something soft when everything else in my life had been hard, brutal, sharp-edged.

With a small exhale, I stood and walked over to the side table near her couch. Her favorite cream-colored throw blanket was folded neatly there—small embroidered flowers at one end, something her sister gifted her, I think.

I picked it up, carefully draping it over her. It wasn't big, but it was warm and soft and smelled faintly like lavender.

She shifted a little under it, lips parting just slightly, but she didn't wake up.

I brushed a kiss to her forehead.

"Still not going to wake up, hmm?" I whispered.

But I didn't push.

Instead, I quietly stepped into her small kitchen. The lights buzzed low, and everything was where she always kept it.

I rolled up my sleeves and started cooking. Nothing fancy. Just something warm. Something that smelled like home. Stir-fried veggies, scrambled eggs, warm flatbread from the leftover dough in the fridge.

Halfway through, I remembered Pumpkin.

Her neighbor had been looking after him today.

I wiped my hands and headed next door. Her neighbor, a young lady, opened with a smile and handed me Pumpkin with a knowing look in her eyes.

"She's lucky," she said.

I didn't reply. Just gave her a polite nod and carried the little furball back home.

Pumpkin purred the moment he recognized the scent of Shayeli on the blanket. He curled up on her feet and let out a soft meow before dozing off again.

I smiled faintly.

Home.

I plated the food, setting two dishes on the counter, though I knew she wasn't awake to eat yet. The smell filled the apartment, mixing with her shampoo, her perfume, the trace of that hoodie she still wore.

It was dangerous—how easily I fit into this space.

I leaned over the couch, brushing a loose strand from her face. Her skin was warm beneath my fingers.

"Shy lady," I whispered, coaxing her gently. "Wake up. You need to eat."

She stirred slightly, brows scrunching. "Mm tired..."

I chuckled under my breath and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. "Just one bite"

Her eyes fluttered open slowly, still heavy with sleep. And then, as she saw me, she blinked—confused, lips parting like she wasn't sure if this was real.

"Andrew?"

"I'm here." My voice was low, steady. "Brought Pumpkin. Made dinner."

Her hand reached up instinctively, brushing my jaw like she needed to feel if I was really there.

I kissed her palm.

Then her wrist.

And when I pulled back, she was smiling—small, drowsy, but genuine.

"Come on," I said gently. "Let me feed you before you pass out on me again."

She yawned, nodded, and slowly sat up as I helped pull the blanket off her. Pumpkin gave a small annoyed sound at being disturbed and curled closer into her leg.

The apartment smelled like warmth and something that wasn't loneliness anymore.

I helped her to the kitchen, hand never leaving her back.

And as she sat at the counter , hair messy, eyes still sleepy—I thought, maybe this is it.

The beginning of something I didn't even know I deserved.

She blinked a few times as she adjusted to the kitchen light, still tangled in the lingering threads of sleep. He had one hand on her waist, guiding her gently to the stool.

"Smells nice," she murmured, voice scratchy and soft.

Andrew just gave a quiet smile and turned to plate the food.

"Vegetables, egg, and bread. Eat before Pumpkin finishes it all," he teased without looking, knowing well she was still watching him.

He reached up to grab two glasses from the shelf and pour water, and in the brief moment he stepped away from the counter—

"Ow!"

The sound made him snap his head toward her instantly.

She had reached for the hot steel vessel sitting on the edge of the counter—curious, probably trying to peek at what he'd made. But her finger had touched the metal directly where the heat hadn't escaped yet.

"Damn it," she whispered under her breath, shaking her hand instinctively.

Andrew didn't ask questions. He didn't say I told you so. He was already in front of her in a second.

"Show me," he said, eyes sharp now—not panicked, but focused.

Before she could argue, she lifted her hand, showing him the faint redness on the pad of her index finger. But instead of grabbing ice or running it under cold water—

He did something else.

Something that knocked the breath right out of her lungs.

He took her hand carefully in his and brought her finger to his mouth—gently sliding it between his lips.

The heat of the burn was met with the coolness of his breath, the softness of his mouth. His eyes never left hers, watching her expression flicker from shock to something else entirely.

Intimate. Delicate. Intentional.

Shayeli couldn't even breathe for a second.

"Andrew..." she whispered, but it wasn't really a protest.

He pulled her finger out slowly, brushing his thumb over the now slightly damp skin, as if checking it again. "Better?"

Her breath hitched. "Y-Yeah."

He smirked faintly. "Maybe next time let me finish serving, hmm?"

She looked away, embarrassed. "I wasn't going to actually touch it."

"You touched it."

"You weren't supposed to notice!"

"I notice everything you do," he murmured, stepping a little closer. "Especially when it's something that could hurt you."

Her cheeks flushed red as he leaned forward again, this time pressing a soft kiss to the same finger.Pumpkin barked in protest from below like he was fed up with the tension.

Andrew chuckled and stepped back, "Alright, sit. I'll serve before you burn the kitchen down."

Shayeli slid onto the stool, still nursing her heart more than the finger. She watched as Andrew moved easily around the kitchen, completely at home in her space.

And something in her chest ached—not from pain, but from peace.

Maybe... this was what being cared for looked like.

Maybe this was what love felt like, even if they hadn't said the words yet.

To be continued...