Meesha's tears trembled on the brink of falling.

  Xanqer's gaze lingered on Meesha's injured hand, his expression unreadable.

  Meesha's tears spilled over, trickling down her cheeks like tiny rivers. Her body shuddered with silent sobs, her slender shoulders trembling beneath her worn tunic. She didn't sob or wail; she simply cried silently, her eyes fixed on Xanqer with a mixture of hurt and confusion.

  Xanqer's face twisted, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and frustration. He held her chin, raising her face to his. "Don't," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "Don't cry."

  Meesha's gaze met Xanqer's, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. She didn't speak; she simply looked at him. The air between them seemed to vibrate with tension, a living, breathing thing that pulsed with energy.

  Xanqer's jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together. He felt a pang of... something, a feeling he couldn't quite identify. It wasn't guilt, exactly; it was more like a twinge of discomfort. Without thinking, Xanqer reached out and grasped Meesha's injured hand.

  Meesha flinched, but she didn't pull away. Xanqer's touch was gentle, almost tentative, as he examined the cuts on her fingers. His fingers wrapped around hers, warm and strong, sending a shiver down her spine. For a moment, they simply stood there, Xanqer's hand wrapped around Meesha's.

  Then, without warning, Xanqer released Meesha's hand and stepped back. His expression was once again masked, his eyes cold and hard. Xanqer's gaze lingered on Meesha's face, his gaze narrowing. "You're not like anyone I've met before," he said, his voice low and measured.

  Meesha felt uncertain of what to say, her mind racing with conflicting emotions. She asked naively, "Is that a good thing?"

  Her voice was barely above a whisper, and her words hung in the air like a delicate, trembling leaf.

  Xanqer's gaze narrowed even more as he looked at her, his eyes slicing through her with an intensity that made her heart skip a beat. His frustration was palpable, a living, breathing thing that pulsed with energy.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  He felt a storm wash over him, a turbulent sea of emotions that threatened to engulf him. And he felt a flicker of doubt, a spark of uncertainty that he couldn't ignore. He didn't know what to make of Meesha, this fragile, enigmatic creature who seemed to defy all logic. He felt uncertain, his usual confidence wavering in the face of her innocence.

  Meanwhile, Meesha just stared at him innocently, her eyes wide and unblinking. She had stopped crying, but there were still tears on her face, glistening like tiny diamonds in the light.

  Meesha's face scrunched in pain as she gazed at her injured fingers. A faint whimper escaped her lips, and her body swayed slightly. "Xanqer, my fingers still hurts."

  Xanqer's gaze dropped to her fingers before flicking back to her, his expression unreadable. "It's just a scratch. Deal with it," he said finally, his voice rough and dismissive.

  Then in a swift motion, he turned back and walked out of the door.

  As the door slammed shut behind Xanqer, Meesha stood frozen, her eyes fixed on the empty space where he had once been. The silence that followed was oppressive, heavy with the weight of unspoken words. She slowly turned her attention to her throbbing fingers, the crimson liquid oozing from the cuts like a stark reminder of Xanqer's brutal dismissal.

  With a resigned sigh, Meesha made her way to the bathroom, her bare feet making soft slapping sounds against the cold tile floor. She retrieved the first aid kit from the cabinet, the antiseptic smell wafting out as she opened it. Wincing, she began to clean and dress her wounds, the sting of the antiseptic mirroring the ache in her heart.

  As she finished, Meesha let out a deep sigh, feeling the weight of her emotions bearing down on her. She slumped onto the couch, the soft cushions enveloping her like a warm hug. Her gaze wandered to the door, her mind replaying the events that had transpired. Xanqer's words echoed in her mind, his dark tone and ominous warnings sending a shiver down her spine.

  Why was he acting so strangely? Meesha wondered, her brow furrowed in concern. What had triggered this sudden change in him? And what was behind those cryptic warnings? She rolled her eyes, a wry smile twisting her lips. Xanqer would never hurt her, she was certain of it. But the question remained: how could she breach the walls he had erected around himself? She would uncover the secrets behind Xanqer's enigmatic facade, no matter how difficult the journey might be.

  [THAT EVENING]

  As Xanqer stepped into the house, the warm glow of the evening lights enveloped him, casting a golden ambiance over the room. His gaze instinctively drifted to the couch, where Meesha sat with her legs folded beneath her, her slender fingers intertwined as she stared blankly at the wall. For a fleeting moment, her face lit up as their eyes met, but she swiftly veiled her emotions, adopting a neutral expression.

  Xanqer's eyes lingered on her for a brief instant before he headed upstairs, his footsteps echoing through the silence.

  During dinner, Meesha's unusual silence piqued Xanqer's interest. Her eyes remained cast downward, her focus fixed on the food as she mechanically chewed and swallowed. The vibrant, talkative person he knew was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a subdued, introverted version.

  Xanqer's curiosity got the better of him. "What's wrong with you?" he asked, his deep voice cutting through the silence.

  Meesha's gaze slowly rose, her eyes locking onto his as she extended her hand, revealing the faint cuts on her delicate fingers. Her lips pouted, and her voice took on a hint of petulance. "Does this look like just a scratch to you?"

  Xanqer's eyebrow arched as he examined the injuries.

  "It's stings when I do the dishes and when I hold a spoon," Meesha added, her voice tinged with a hint of complaint.

  Xanqer's skeptical gaze met hers. "Don't you eat with your left hand?"

  Meesha's cheeks flushed, and she waved her hand dismissively. "Even still," she muttered.

  Xanqer looked at her and a hint of amusement flickered across his face. He couldn't quite explain why, but Meesha's petulant expression and the faint cuts on her fingers stirred something within him.