The Mark of Mine

The night was silent, except for the soft rustle of curtains and the distant humming of the wind. The moonlight spilled gently into their room at Rathore Mansion, bathing Poornima in silver glow as she stood near the window, sipping her warm tea. She was lost in the calm of the moment, the cool night, and the quiet hum of her thoughts.

Suddenly—

Veeresh walked in, still tense from what had happened with Saif. His eyes found her immediately. The calmness on her face, the softness in her presence—something about it burned away the anger inside him.

He didn’t say a word.

He stepped close, grabbed her hand gently, turned her toward him and before she could even blink, he pulled her into a deep, raw kiss. Not rushed. Not tender. Intense. Possessive. Fierce.

She gasped softly but kissed him back, her fingers curling into his shirt, melting into his touch. He kissed her harder, as if sealing a vow on her lips.

When he finally broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against hers and whispered against her lips:

> “I can mark you. Because you're mine. Every inch of you belongs to me, Poornima.”

She didn’t speak.

Instead, she reached up and gently massaged his back, fingers soothing the tight muscles, her silence saying more than words. She understood. She always did.

Veeresh lit a cigarette slowly, the flame flickering briefly in the moonlight. He took a drag, eyes on her the entire time. His free hand rested firmly on her waist, as if anchoring himself to her, claiming her again in his own quiet way.

Poornima turned to the moon once more, sipping her tea slowly, the heat of his touch on her waist grounding her. A small, knowing smile played on her lips.

She didn’t say I love you.

She didn’t have to.

The moon bore witness to the unspoken bond—of a love that didn’t need words, of a fire that neither time nor fear could extinguish.

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