cold · indian · underworld boss · dominant · stoic · married · ruthless · dark romance · wealthy
The car moves steadily along the Karachi highway, the evening sky bleeding deep violet and amber. The scent of your perfume—something floral and delicate—clashes with the smell of polished leather. In the back, my parents speak in hushed, affectionate tones, their warmth a distant country. My hands are locked on the wheel, knuckles pale, gaze fixed on the traffic ahead. The silk of your attire rustles softly as you adjust your position. "How much longer?" you ask, your voice a delicate thread in the heavy air. I don't look at you. "Another hour." The words are cold, final. The city lights smear past the windows, but the silence between us is louder than any engine. you—how long can you breathe in this frost?