BURNING IN HIS ARMS
1031 Words
CHAPTER 7: BURNING IN HIS ARMS
“He touches me like a prayer—
One that never asks for forgiveness.”
---
The hospital room was a coffin painted white.
Beeping monitors. An untouched glass of water. Shadows pooling under her eyes. Riya lay still in bed, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as if it were stitched with stars.
Outside, the rain whispered secrets against the window. Inside, her body had not moved in hours. Not since the breakdown. Not since her mother’s trembling voice had uttered the words that shattered her world.
He is dead. Burned. Gone.
But grief is never that simple.
It folds.
It loops.
It resurrects.
And tonight, it resurrected him.
---
In her mind, it is not a hospital.
It is her wedding night.
The air smells of rose attar and jasmine garlands. The walls are draped in maroon silk. Candlelight flickers like heartbeat. Music hums in the background—something old, something Urdu, something sacred.
She is not broken.
She is a bride.
And he is here—alive, radiant, dressed in ivory with gold buttons gleaming like little suns.
“Ahyan,” she whispers, sitting up in bed, her silk dupatta sliding from her shoulder.
He smiles. Oh God, that smile.
> Ahyan: “I told you I’d come for you, jaan.”
> Riya (softly): “They said you were dead.”
> Ahyan (cupping her cheek): “They say many things. But you knew better. You kept me alive... in every letter you wrote, every song you sang.”
---
Her Delusion Deepens.
He lifts her hand—adorned in mehndi fading but still fragrant—and presses a kiss to her palm.
His breath is warm.
His lips, softer than memory.
> “No more fear,” he murmurs, “Just flame. Just us.”
---
She melts.
Her body, numb for days, now tingles with fire. She touches his face, and it’s as real as it was under the moonlight by the lake. Her fingers trail down his throat, past the buttons of his sherwani, stopping at the fastened clasp.
He lets her open it.
She gasps at the intimacy.
Not the act—
But the return.
The miracle.
She thinks: If this is madness, I’ll never ask for clarity again.
---
He pulls her close until their breaths tangle like silk threads.
> Ahyan (kissing her collarbone):
“You’re mine, Riya. Even in death, I burn for you.”
> Riya (clutching him):
“Then let me burn too. Let us be ash together.”
---
She lies back on cushions that don’t exist. Her hands reach for him, pulling him onto her, needing to feel him in ways grief never allowed.
> Riya (moaning softly):
“Touch me like I’m still alive inside.”
> Ahyan:
“You are. With me, you always will be.”
---
Poetry slips into her thoughts like incense smoke:
> “In your touch, I become a wound that heals itself—
A flame that learns to burn gently.
Make me yours like moonlight owns the sea—
Silent, savage, sacred.”
---
He undresses her slowly. Reverently. Like she is a sacred verse he must read with his hands. Her skin sighs under his touch. Her breath catches with every kiss—every inch of her remembered like a prayer whispered between breaths.
He lowers his mouth to the hollow of her neck, and she arches, lost in his warmth.
Their clothes fall in soft murmurs.
Bodies against silk.
Breath against skin.
Fire against fire.
> Ahyan (against her ear):
“Do you remember the first time I kissed you?
You tasted like storms.
Tonight, you taste like surrender.”
---
She kisses him back like drowning.
Like she’s waited lifetimes.
Like she has nothing left to lose.
Their rhythm is slow.
Devotional.
Every movement a promise.
Every thrust, a return.
> Riya (panting):
“You make me forget the dark. You make me feel like a woman again.”
> Ahyan:
“You are. Mine. Always.”
---
More poetry weaves through the fantasy:
> “Your mouth writes psalms on my skin.
Your hands teach me worship.
If this is madness—
Then may I never wake.”
---
Her cries echo off invisible walls.
The candles flicker wildly as if the room itself is trembling with them. In her mind, the bed rocks with their rhythm. She clings to him like gravity is failing.
> Riya:
“Stay... Stay forever.”
> Ahyan:
“Even if I burn, I’ll stay.”
---
They climax together in that imagined world. Her body shudders with release. Her nails dig into his back. Her lips find his again and again, as if trying to memorize a ghost.
And then silence.
Afterglow.
She lies against his chest, fingers tracing circles, heart steady. At peace for the first time in weeks.
> Riya (whispering):
“I don’t want to wake up.”
> Ahyan:
“Then sleep, love. I’ll watch over you.”
---
Reality
Her hospital gown is wrinkled.
She lies flat, unmoving, eyes glazed and open.
IV fluid drips in rhythm to her fading breath.
A nurse walks in, adjusts her blanket, notes her stillness.
Outside, Raheela clutches a prayer bead, sobbing silently.
Inside, Riya is whispering to no one.
> Riya (to the ceiling):
“You made me feel like honey. Like fire.
Kiss me again before they take you away.”
Her lips move again.
A phantom smile on her face.
Legs slightly arched beneath the sheets.
A doctor enters. Checks her vitals. Notes her responsiveness as catatonic but verbal. Recommends a sedative. A psychiatric consult.
But they don’t know she’s already gone.
She’s not here anymore.
She’s wrapped in a night that never happened.
A bridal chamber that smells of perfume and longing.
She’s still dancing with a ghost.
---
Final Lines (Spoken in Riya’s Voice)
> “He undressed my sorrow like silk.
Loved me slow like I was borrowed time.
If death is what it takes to feel again—
Then bury me in his arms.”
END OF CHAPTER 5: BURNING IN HIS ARMS
- Writer
