Gabriel

The soft hum of the ceiling fan does little to disturb the golden shafts of sunlight filtering through the worn-out curtains. The room smells faintly of sandalwood and rain—the kind of scent that clings to memories long after the moment has passed. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, fingers absently tracing the faded embroidery on the bedsheet, and that’s when you hear it—his voice.

“...You’re quiet today,” Gabriel says, leaning casually against the doorway, arms folded across his chest, a loose white shirt hanging off his frame. There’s a certain gentleness in his tone, as though even his words don’t want to break the fragile silence between you.

You glance up, meeting his eyes—those ocean-gray depths that always seem to hold storms and calm waters all at once. Gabriel walks toward you, slow and deliberate, as if afraid that one wrong move might shatter whatever fragile thread ties you together right now.

“I was listening,” you reply softly, your voice almost drowned by the distant call of a muezzin somewhere in the city. “The rain... the city sounds... they remind me of us.”

Gabriel’s lips curl into a small smile, bittersweet and heavy with unspoken truths. He sits down beside you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. For a moment, neither of you speak. You can hear your own heartbeat, can almost feel it syncing with the rhythm of the raindrops sliding down the windowpane.

Then, quietly, he hums. The tune is faint, familiar—Tere bina beswaadi beswaadi ratiyaan... The words hang in the air like incense smoke, curling into your chest and leaving a slow ache there. It’s his favorite song, and now it feels like a confession.

“Don’t,” you whisper, your throat tightening, because it’s too much—too tender, too raw. But Gabriel doesn’t stop. His voice deepens, reverberating through the hollow spaces inside you that you didn’t know were empty until he filled them.

You close your eyes, letting his voice wrap around you like a shawl on a winter morning. For a second, you’re transported back to those nights—long drives under star-scattered skies, laughter spilling like wine, his fingers brushing yours on the gearshift when he thought you weren’t noticing. Back when the world felt like it was made just for the two of you.

“Why do you always sing that when we’re like this?” you ask, finally opening your eyes.

Gabriel looks at you, and something in his gaze makes your breath catch—because it’s not just affection there, it’s devotion, and a flicker of fear. “Because it reminds me of what I can’t lose,” he says simply. “You.”

The word sinks deep, anchoring you in a reality you’ve been too afraid to face. He reaches for your hand then, fingers sliding through yours with that familiar warmth that always makes you feel safe and utterly exposed at the same time.

“Stay,” he murmurs, almost pleading now. “Just... stay tonight. No goodbyes, no maybes. Just this.”

And in that quiet, rain-soaked room, with the melody of Tere Bina lingering like a prayer, you do. You let the weight of his forehead rest against yours, the silence speaking louder than any words could. Outside, the city hums on, but inside, it’s just you and Gabriel—and the kind of love that feels like a secret the universe whispered into being.

Rain-slick streets under amber streetlights. The The world narrows to the rhythm of his breath against your skin. Gabriel’s forehead rests on yours like it’s the only anchor keeping him steady. You can feel the faint tremor in his fingers where they clutch yours, the silent war between restraint and the need to close that last inch of distance.

Neither of you speaks. The silence is heavy, not empty—but swollen with words that might break the fragile spell if spoken too soon. His eyes search yours, and for the first time tonight, you see it without the armor—raw, unfiltered want, threaded with fear.

You swallow hard, your voice barely a whisper. “Gabriel…”

He exhales like your name is a prayer he’s been holding in too long. His hand slides up, grazing your jawline with a touch so reverent it makes your heart ache. And then—slow, hesitant—his lips brush yours. Just a ghost of a kiss at first, a question disguised as contact.

When you don’t pull away, he answers it.

The kiss deepens—not rushed, but aching, like two souls relearning the shape of each other. His hands cradle your face as though he’s terrified you’ll vanish if he isn’t careful enough. The taste of him is warmth and rain and something bitter-sweet that you never want to forget.

You don’t know how long you stay like that—breathing each other in, clinging like gravity doesn’t exist—until the low rumble of thunder breaks the spell. Gabriel pulls back first, his forehead still pressed to yours, his chest heaving.

“I can’t do this halfway anymore,” he says, his voice breaking on the edges of desperation. “I tried. God, I tried to keep it casual, to pretend I could survive without needing all of you—but I can’t. I can’t.”

The words hit like a storm breaking loose. Your throat tightens, your pulse a wild, unsteady drum. And then—he takes your hand and, without a word, pulls you to your feet.

“Come with me,” he murmurs, already leading you toward the door.

The corridor is dim, the walls humming with echoes of rain outside. The moment you step out, the world tilts. Sheets of water cascade from the heavens, the streetlights painting silver halos on the slick pavement. Gabriel turns to you, his hair plastered to his forehead, his shirt clinging to the sharp lines of his frame.

“Gabriel, we’ll get drenched—” you start, but he silences you with a look. That look—the one that says this isn’t about the rain. This is about us.

And then he closes the gap, crashing his lips to yours in the middle of the storm. No hesitation this time, no restraint—just raw, unbridled need. The rain soaks through everything—your clothes, your skin, your bones—but you don’t feel the cold. All you feel is him, his arms wrapping around your waist like he’s terrified you’ll slip away.

“I love you,” he says against your mouth, the words torn from him like they’ve been caged for years. “Do you hear me? I love you. Not maybe, not someday—now. Always.”

Your breath catches, a sob tangled with laughter, because suddenly everything makes sense—the song, the silence, the weight of his gaze. You grab his face, forcing him to meet your eyes through the rain streaking down his lashes.

“I love you too,” you whisper, and it feels like the first true thing you’ve said in your entire life.

Gabriel exhales like he’s been drowning and you’re the first breath of air. He presses his forehead to yours, the rain still falling in relentless sheets around you, but in this moment, the world could be on fire and it wouldn’t matter. Because here, in the quiet chaos of the storm, you’ve found the only thing that was ever real—each other.

And somewhere, faint but eternal, the melody lingers in your mind like a benediction: Tere bina beswaadi beswaadi ratiyaan...

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