SHANAYA’S POV

The sun peeked through the curtains, golden and warm, painting gentle streaks of light across the bed. I stirred, still wrapped in the soft haze of last night—the way Kabir had held me like I was his entire world, the way our bodies had moved like poetry under moonlight. But as I reached out with a lazy smile, fingers brushing against cold sheets, the illusion shattered.

He wasn’t there.

My hand met empty linen. No warm body. No slow breaths against my neck. No protective arm pulling me back into his chest like he always did.

Just silence.

I stretched, a dull cramp twisting in my lower abdomen, and then froze.

Ugh. No.

Not today.

Not when I’d just started to feel human again after everything we’d gone through.

I threw off the blanket, shuffled to the bathroom, and confirmed my worst fear—I’d gotten my period. And just like clockwork, the pain, the moodiness, the irrational outbursts were all set to arrive like unwanted guests.

I checked my phone. One message from Kabir.

"Had to rush to the office. Be back soon. Don’t skip breakfast. I love you."

I stared at the screen and huffed.

“Really? Just like that?”

I wanted to snap. Throw my phone across the room, maybe scream into a pillow. Instead, I typed back—

"Maybe don’t tell me what to do. I’m not your child."

And hit send.

Ten seconds later, the phone buzzed.

Kabir: "Whoa. Are you okay?"

Me: "Perfectly fine. Just tired of being left alone."

Kabir: "It’s literally been one hour."

Me: "That’s not the point, Kabir. You wouldn’t get it."

Kabir: "You’re right. I don’t. What the hell did I miss?"

I tossed the phone onto the bed, instantly annoyed by everything. The cramps. Him. Myself.

I spent the rest of the day wallowing in every kind of irrational mood. I binged a trashy rom-com, ate an embarrassing amount of snacks, and curled up in Kabir’s oversized hoodie, pouting like the world had betrayed me.

KABIR’S POV

The second I walked in, I knew something was off.

The living room was chaos—snack wrappers everywhere, a sad-looking pizza crust on the edge of the table, and her.

Shanaya was curled into the couch like a sulking cat, arms crossed, hair messy, and eyes puffy like she’d cried or yelled at the television.

She didn’t even look at me.

“Hey,” I said cautiously, slipping off my shoes.

Nothing.

I walked over and stood beside the couch.

Still nothing.

“You ignored my texts.”

That made her glance at me. Her eyes narrowed. “You ignored me first.”

“What?”

“I woke up alone, Kabir.”

I sighed, dragging a hand through my hair. “I told you I had to go.”

“You could’ve woken me.”

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

She stood now, the hoodie slipping off her shoulder slightly, exposing her bare collarbone—and I hated that I noticed it right now. Her lips were swollen from biting them, her arms crossed under her chest, pushing her curves up in a way that made it hard to think straight.

“I’m not fragile, Kabir,” she snapped.

“No. But you’re irrational as hell right now.”

Wrong thing to say.

She gasped. “Oh. So now I’m crazy?”

“No. I didn’t say that.”

“You meant it.”

“You’re putting words in my mouth!”

She groaned in frustration, turning away, giving me a full view of her walking toward the window, and my gaze followed her out of instinct. Even in her chaos, she was heartbreakingly beautiful.

But then it hit me.

The date.

The short temper. The junk food. The oversized hoodie. The mood swings.

“Oh my god,” I whispered.

Without another word, I turned and rushed out the door, ignoring her confused shouting.

I drove like a man possessed.

How could I forget?

Her periods. Her mood swings. Her cravings. Her pain.

I felt like an idiot.

Ten minutes later, I barged into the nearest general store, grabbing pads, tampons (just in case), a hot water bag, chocolate, herbal teas,body butter, painkillers, heat patches, and yes—more ice cream.

The cashier looked at me like I’d been dumped.

I didn’t care.

Twenty minutes later, I was back home, arms full.

She was still curled up, the same episode playing. She didn’t even glance at me.

I quietly walked up, placed the bags on the coffee table, and sat beside her.

SHANAYA’S POV

Ten minutes later, Kabir returned with two giant bags from the pharmacy. I blinked.

“What...?”

He dumped the bags on the table.

“Pads. Tampons. Heating pads. Painkillers. Chocolate. Ice cream. Face masks. Body butter—don’t ask me why, I just bought everything that looked soft.”

He looked frantic. A bit sweaty. So out of place, standing there in his suit and mafia energy, holding a pink heating pad.

And suddenly, all my frustration melted.

My heart clenched.

“You bought all of this?”

He exhaled slowly and walked to me, lifting the heating pad. “You’re bleeding. You’re moody. You’re irrational. You’re eating junk. And you look like you might cry or kill someone at any moment. So, Yeah, baby, It's my duty.”

I giggled—genuinely—and threw my arms around him.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“So much,” I whispered into his chest.

He kissed the top of my head, lingering. “I’m sorry I left you alone today.”

“I’m sorry I was a moody little bitch.”

“You are a moody little bitch. But you’re my moody little bitch.”

-----

LATER THAT EVENING…

The kitchen lights were soft and golden as Kabir rolled up his sleeves and opened the fridge, looking like the broody, dangerous domestic husband Pinterest would obsess over. His gun holster still hung off his pants, and somehow that just made him hotter.

“Pasta?” he asked.

I leaned against the counter. “You really think carbs and cheese are going to solve my problems?”

“Not all of them,” he said, walking toward me. “But maybe just enough to make you smile again.”

He was too close now. The air between us buzzed with leftover tension. The emotional kind. The physical kind. The kind that had my heart racing even though I was still mildly pissed at him.



His hand came up, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face.

“I missed you today,” he murmured. “Even when you were yelling at me.”

My throat dried. “I missed you too.”

We cooked like that—half flirting, half fighting the urge to rip each other’s clothes off. Every time I turned, I caught him watching me. Every time he leaned over to grab something, his fingers grazed my waist just a little too slowly.

It was a game neither of us were trying to win.

---

Kabir’s POV

She had that flushed, post-anger glow—cheeks pink, lips bitten raw, eyes moody and deep. She was wearing my black hoodie, and it barely covered the curve of her thighs.

I was trying to be good. I swear I was.

But when she stood on tiptoes to grab the oregano, her ass pressed against me and I groaned under my breath.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” I asked.

She turned around with wide, innocent eyes. “Doing what?”

I stepped into her space, backing her up against the counter. “You know exactly what.”

She licked her lips—slow, deliberate. “I’m on my period.”

“I know.” I bent down and whispered against her ear. “Doesn’t mean I can’t still drive you insane.”

Her breath hitched. “Kabir—”

I didn’t kiss her. Not yet. Just dragged my fingers down her sides, slow, teasing. Let the tension pull tighter. Let the air thicken.

“You smell like vanilla,” I murmured. “You’re in pain. And still, you look like something I want to ruin.”

Her nails dug into my biceps. “You’re such a menace.”

“I’m your menace,” I said, brushing my lips along her neck.

She shivered.

---

SHANAYA’S POV

We managed to finish cooking—barely.

By the time we were curled up near the giant floor-to-ceiling window, pasta bowls in hand, city lights shimmering outside like scattered stars, I had already forgotten why I’d been mad at him in the first place.

He fed me a bite.

I licked the fork slowly. Just to mess with him.

His eyes darkened instantly. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Maybe I like the burn.”

He didn’t reply—just watched me. The kind of look that made my thighs press together.

When the dishes were done, he stood behind me as I washed my hands. His hands slid around my waist, his chest against my back.

“You need a shower,” he whispered.

“So do you.”

He kissed the back of my neck. “Together?”

I turned in his arms, looked up at him, and nodded.

Because,

Even on the worst days, even through pain and fights and tears… this was home.

Him. Me. Us.

----------

End of chapter

______________________________________