29-10-2024, 05:47 PM
Raj began the aftercare with the tenderness of someone who cared deeply, softly cleaning her body, making sure not to hurt her any further. His touch was soothing, respectful, as he whispered words of apology and love. He kissed her forehead gently, letting her know she wasn’t alone, that they would get through this moment together.
Muskan, for her part, leaned into him, letting herself be taken care of, knowing that Raj was struggling with his own inner turmoil. She wanted to reassure him, to let him know that she didn’t regret anything that had happened. "We’re okay," she whispered, her voice soft but full of conviction. "We’re more than okay."
Raj’s fingers brushed her hair back from her face, his eyes searching hers for any sign of resentment, any sign that she was still in pain. But all he saw was love and understanding. "You’re incredible," he murmured, his voice breaking slightly. "I don’t know how you did it... I don’t know how you pushed through."
Muskan smiled, a tired but genuine smile. "Because I wasn’t just doing it for us. I was doing it for all the women who endure this kind of thing every day. We’re telling their story, Raj. That’s what made me push through."
Raj’s heart ached even more as he listened to her words. He understood now, more than ever, how deeply Muskan connected to the emotions they were trying to convey in their art. She had given herself fully, not just for the sake of the canvas, but for the sake of the message behind it.
As Raju spooned muskan in the quiet room, Raj continued to care for her, making sure she was comfortable, making sure she knew how much he respected her, how much he loved her. And Muskan, in turn, gave him the reassurance he needed, showing him that she was strong, that they had done something important.
In the distance, Salman watched the scene with quiet reverence, knowing that the art they had created was powerful beyond words. But more than that, he was in awe of the bond between Muskan and Raj—the trust, the love, the vulnerability they had shared. It was rare to witness something so pure, so raw.
Muskan, for her part, leaned into him, letting herself be taken care of, knowing that Raj was struggling with his own inner turmoil. She wanted to reassure him, to let him know that she didn’t regret anything that had happened. "We’re okay," she whispered, her voice soft but full of conviction. "We’re more than okay."
Raj’s fingers brushed her hair back from her face, his eyes searching hers for any sign of resentment, any sign that she was still in pain. But all he saw was love and understanding. "You’re incredible," he murmured, his voice breaking slightly. "I don’t know how you did it... I don’t know how you pushed through."
Muskan smiled, a tired but genuine smile. "Because I wasn’t just doing it for us. I was doing it for all the women who endure this kind of thing every day. We’re telling their story, Raj. That’s what made me push through."
Raj’s heart ached even more as he listened to her words. He understood now, more than ever, how deeply Muskan connected to the emotions they were trying to convey in their art. She had given herself fully, not just for the sake of the canvas, but for the sake of the message behind it.
As Raju spooned muskan in the quiet room, Raj continued to care for her, making sure she was comfortable, making sure she knew how much he respected her, how much he loved her. And Muskan, in turn, gave him the reassurance he needed, showing him that she was strong, that they had done something important.
In the distance, Salman watched the scene with quiet reverence, knowing that the art they had created was powerful beyond words. But more than that, he was in awe of the bond between Muskan and Raj—the trust, the love, the vulnerability they had shared. It was rare to witness something so pure, so raw.
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